Dear King of the South: Okay, I'll Do It

Dear T.I.,

It has come to my attention that you want to have sex with me. Not me specifically, of course, but me generally. Do I miscontrue? Your intentions seem clear.

You began with gentle teasing:

Go and tell a n***** no, with a ass so fat,
Why you wanna go and do that love, huh?

You plied me with lilting pimp talk and I thought, why would I want to go and do that? Why decline your advances while in possession of an ass so fat? And thank you, by the way, for commending its fatness--not its bubbliness or its roundness, but its very fatness. This successful entreaty gave you the upper hand, and you played it naughtily:

I wanna kiss you everywhere between yo knees and waist
Hear the sounds that you making, get yo knees to shake

Well! I...I was rather flustered...and...But certainly not! I rebutted forcefully that I was not interested and had a very nice boyfriend, thank you.

Can't help but notice how you glowing, I can see in yo face
Now I just wonder if he know he close to being replaced

The gall! No. No. No. I would not have you. I found you abhorrent! As it became clear I wouldn't be taken in by the usual pimpy patter, you changed tack:

Compliment you on your intellect and treat you wit respect

(The change was momentary.)

Give you sex till you sweat, tongue kissing on yo neck
It's been awhile since she got it like this I bet

My mind was pacified by the bone thrown it, leaving my loins free to hear the offer. You watched the melting of my resolve with satisfaction. You cocked your head, and with a squinty stare, moved to close the deal:

How you keep saying no when yo panties so wet?

It was a legitimate question--and yet, I kept saying no. I had a nice enough life. Why throw it all away? I watched American Gangster and you looked a bit young and scrawny. I would be taller in heels and you would be married in any case.

I didn't hear from you for a while and considered myself out of danger. Little did I know you were just giving your seduction mission a fallow period, single-minded man that you are. In that period, you researched. You obtained my bank records and credit reports. You monitored my Firefox-window shopping. A new strategy took shape. And when the moment was ripe, you hit me with it, hard:

Stacks on deck
'Tron on ice
And we can pop bottles all night
Baby you could have whatever you like

I could have. Whatever I liked. Weak knees and wet panties were only the beginning! And it was the way you said it, pressing the "ever," drawing out the "like," engaging the full Southern sine curve of your voice and pouring out every drop of charisma. You played dirty again too:

Late night sex so wet you're so tight
I'll gas up the jet for you tonight
Baby you could go where ever you like

Which brings me to the point. I write today to say, T.I.: I submit. Call me.

Yours cordially,
Cleb

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