I’m going to skip some of the boring stuff and explain how I came to settle in Atlanta. I really could have gone anywhere to start my life, however no other city had what I longed for: Troy Jenkins! Troy had a sister who attended the same school and was in the same grade as me. Brenda was a member of the same fictitious club I belonged to: the lonely, unwanted, fat girl no one dated or dared be seen with in public crew. I won’t say we were friends or bosom buddies, but I did keep in contact with her after moving away from Herndon for only one reason. Yes, I’m going to say Troy again. Okay, call me dim witted or obsessed, but Troy was a hunk. He had wavy black hair, soft pink outlined lips, a regal nose, and light brown eyes, all placed on a sweet honey toned body, usually seen only in women’s dreams. Having the chance to just stare at him, I knew no matter what I had to do to get him, I’d do. If the only way to possess him meant hiring a kidnapper and having him delivered to me, I would have paid the cost with pleasure. It never transgressed to that point due to the information passed on to me by Brenda. She advised me of Troy’s decision to move to Atlanta after obtaining his law degree. That’s how I wound up in Georgia’s hottest city.
Atlanta is a nice place to live and an even better place to visit. I can still recall the first time I ventured into ATL’s famous nightlife. It was an eye opening experience. I donned a pair of red Guess jeans and a matching button-down shirt prior to leaving my pad. Since I’d spent hours getting my hair styled, nails painted, and convincing myself I looked presentable, I was feeling ready to mingle. I arrived at the club alone, meeting a few of the other big girls I worked with. We copped a table and watch the show as people were dancing and meeting potential hookups all over the club. A few of the females at our table were asked to dance, so I figured it was only a matter of time before someone tried his best pickup lines on me. While scanning the dance floor from the elevated platform, I didn’t see any of the ladies from our group.
“Hey Linda, where is everybody? I don’t see any of them.”
“That’s right, I forgot you’re new to the underground,” she said, leaning closer to me so she didn’t have to shout. “We’re big girls, so if a guy asks us to dance, what he’s really saying is he wants some action.”
“Some action?” I questioned, although now I realized I must have sounded stupid at the time.
“Yeah, action! If they ask us to dance they’ll either want a blow job or a quickie in a darkened nook. But don’t worry, they won’t ask you, since you have on pants. Guys like easy access, if you know what I mean,” she informed with a wink and a grin.
If I had gained any self-assurance in relocating to the new city, it evaporated right on the spot. A short while later, when two of the strayed females returned with their skirts wrinkled, along with ashen knees, there was no doubt as to what their endeavors involved.
I was ready to depart when a dark hued Prince charming asked me to dance. I accepted and headed for the center of the dancing area. He took my hand in his and gently guided me to a dark isolated corner, where we began to groove to the music.
“You have nice lips,” he said, while my back was facing him.
Basking from his complement, I said,” thanks” as soon as we were face to face again. That’s when I realized the reason for his comments. He wasn’t moving anymore, and his inaction caused me to stop boogying too. Putting a hand on each of my shoulders, he applied pressure, trying to push me downward. Reality came hard and quick. Maybe as hard as the exposed ebony python protruding from the fly of his pants, that he undoubtedly expected me to constrict my mouth around.
“Go ahead mama; show me you know how to use them sweet lips.” lewdly gyrating his pelvis as he spoke.
I had never participated in any kind of sex act up to that moment, yet often wondered what the equipment I wasn’t born with looked like. Sinking to my knees, I followed his instructions. The huge and incredibly thick organ didn’t look as bland or innocent as the drawings in my biology classes back in school. I went out on a limb and tried it. The thing was different, but otherwise, well – I don’t know why, but the flavor was exotic. I opened my mouth wider to sample more of his spicy elixir, receiving more of the intoxicating juice. Maybe if I had more experience or at least seen a few porno flicks, I would have known what I was doing. That wasn’t the case, so I improvised. As I started to apply suction, only a trickle of the salty sweet fluid emerged. Thinking a clog must be interrupting the liquid’s flow, I engulfed as much as my mouth could hold, biting down as hard as possible, hoping to be rewarded with the large squirt I’d heard other females talk about. That’s not quite what happened. The only thing I received was having my teeth almost being pulled out by the roots as he yanked his snake out of my mouth. Without bothering to even fasten his britches, he ran out of our private spot screaming. Embarrassed, I rejoined the ladies at our table.
“Damn girl, wipe yo mouth,” Linda said.
When I did, the napkin became stained with blood. Excusing myself, finding the restroom, I found, thankfully, the blood wasn’t mine. Returning to the table, I was treated to the latest gossip.
“Some dude had his thang almost clean bit off.”
I was too ashamed to stay a second longer. I left the club with the yearning for a strange new flavor and a rededication to my life’s ultimate goal: Troy!
Some things are easier altered than others, so I researched dieting, and found that a change to healthier eating along with exercise could actually help shed weight. After implementing my own diet plan of eating rabbit food for a month and exercising an hour every morning before going to work, I lost two whole pounds. Now, that might not sound promising to anyone, but I forgot to mention I worked at the Wing Delight. They were home to Atlanta’s best and biggest Buffalo wings, so 2 pounds seemed an amazing feat to me.
My next hurdle was to tackle my speech problem. The therapists discovered my stuttering did not stem from any medical disorder, but from a lack of confidence. Whenever I spoke about a subject I was sure of, I didn’t stutter. When the matter broached unknowns or topics of a personal nature, I-I-I j-ju-just… Well, you get the picture, right? He assigned a set of practice exercises to help me, and within a year, no one remembered I ever had a speech impediment.
In that year, I had also increased my workouts to include jogging in the morning and again late in the evening. I also changed jobs, finding employment at a coin operated laundry. In switching my line of work, I really started to see the weight melt away. I dropped from 322 to 260 pounds. I still had a way to go, yet being 5’8” tall, the change was noticeable.
I still wore the thick eyeglasses; however, I learned Lasik eye surgery could eliminate my need for eyewear altogether. The problem there became one of finances. To rid myself of those extra pair of eyes, I needed almost 5 grand. I was right back at the drawing board, because even with two sets of peepers, I couldn’t see a way to get that kind of cash.
I thought of every conceivable idea possible to come up with the money I needed, only to find out I had been, on a daily basis, letting a fortune slip through my fingers. Just when I was about to hit the streets in a mini dress and high heels (don’t laugh, some guys like big boned women and will pay for their… um, company), a customer approached me at the laundry asking if I’d change a bag of dimes for foldable currency. The store was almost empty and I had already completed my noon duties of cleaning the lint traps, filling the coin dispensers, added products to the vending machines, swept, mopped, and emptied the video games of their coins. I exchanged her $40 worth of dimes for paper money out of the cash drawer. When the old woman thanked me and left the laundry, I realized the owner Jeremy Grigsby was going to be furious having so much change in the till. To avoid any needless flack, I put two $20 bills in the register and place the bag of dimes inside my purse.
The next day while jogging, I decided to start collecting aluminum cans to pick up a few dollars and at the same time maybe loose a few extra pounds in the process. There were a lot of empty cans and my plastic bag was half-full. I thought I was a genius, finding money others passed up because they were too proud to pick up discarded metal trash. Just as I was about to pick up an empty can, a man with a metal detector yelled, “stop!”
“I saw the can first,” I said picking up the old container.
“You can have the can; I want that dime next to it.”
I retrieved the dime and handed it to him. I guess the puzzled expression on my face instilled to him I knew nothing about coins, especially old ones. He took the time to explain the dime I handed him was a Mercury dime and after checking the information in the little coin value book he carried with him, advised the coin was worth approximately $65. Introducing himself, Bruce Brown went on to share how older coins achieved their value. He explained about total coins production in a particular year, at which mint, and also coin conditioning as reasons for the round pieces of metal to have a worth greater than their face value. There went my belief of thinking the older the coins the more it was worth. He gave me several examples such as the 1943 penny, which is worth about five cents unless it was one of the very fewactually struck out of copper, and then it could be worth over a hundred thousand dollars.
I told him about the old dimes the lady traded in at the store and wondered if any of them might be valuable. Bruce gave me the coin book and his business card, letting me know he owned a shop on Martin L. King Boulevard, and if after checking my coins and finding any of them had a high value, he’d be happy to purchase them for 60% of their estimated worth. I thanked him and agreed to his offer, saying I’d give him a ring after checking all the dimes against the book’s listings.
I became so excited, I abandoned my can search in hopes of locating a few coins worth $65, like the dime I’d turned over to Bruce. After carefully logging down the year, mint, and condition of each dime, finding their value in the coin book, I listed their worth. When I came across a coin minted at the long-ago shut down New Orleans mint, I realized I’d hit the jackpot. The single dime was listed as having a value of $43,000. I checked and double checked every coin over and over again, and if my calculations were correct, the total value of the 400 dimes I traded $40 for, was worth almost $100,000. If Mr. Brown wanted to buy them as per our agreement, I’d bank a cool 60 g’s.
The next day I had to work the morning shift. I took the coin book with me and found a few pre-1960 quarters, which meant they were basically pure silver. After finding their worth in the book, each was assessed at a few dollars. As I said, I’d been letting a fortune slip through my fingers every single day. The high I felt was invigorating, and soon as my shift was over, I went to Mr. Brown’s shop. I showed him the coin I thought was worth the big bucks, only to see the wrong expression on his face.
“If you weren’t an amateur coin collector, one I hadn’t started down this road of numismatics, I’d agree with your findings. Since I’m an honest man and consider us friends, I’ll tell you the honest truth,” he paused.
“It’s not worth that much, is it?” I asked, deflated and depressed.
“I’m afraid I can’t buy it.”
“Why? I thought we had a deal.”
“Rolanda, we do. The problem is, this coin is worth more than I can afford. You were right about everything pertaining to this dime except one; conditioning. You wrote the condition as good, yet this coin is in very fine shape which ups its value to an estimated $85,000.”
I was speechless. Who would have thought that one little dime was worth more than most people earned in three years of working 40 hours a week?
“If you like, I could contact a few collectors who might be interested in adding this piece to their collection,” he offered, eyeing the coin through a magnifying glass. “I can’t make any promises, but I’m sure any of them would jump at the chance to obtain this treasure.”
“What about the other coins?”
“Tell you what, why don’t you leave them with me and I’ll verify their proper conditioning and ascertain their correct market values and phone you later tonight with the results.”
I couldn’t hold back my euphoria, issuing Bruce a bear hug, before giving him my phone number and heading home. Remember when I said I was a virgin? Well, add young and gullible to that list. I’ll admit I treated myself to a big dinner that night to celebrate. Hell, I even allowed myself to have a double helping of some devilishly delicious triple chocolate cheesecake. It was late when I made it home, yet I stared at the phone all night. The next morning I was still in a glorious mood as I worked my shift at the laundry. Rushing back to my apartment, once the clock acknowledged my hours of work were over, I sat by the phone waiting, almost willing it to ring. It didn’t happen. Mr. Brown’s business card indicated his shop closed at five, and if I drove on the interstate, I could still make it there before the doors were locked. I drove my trusty rusty Ford Escort to his shop as fast as it could go. Or should I say where Bruce’s shop used to be? Only the sun faded overhead sign left any clue that there had once been a coin shop at that location. Maybe at that point I should not have considered myself a virgin anymore, because Bruce Brown had royally fucked me. I sat and cried away at least 2 pounds, understanding both the joy and heartache of sex without ever engaging in the actual act itself.
I know most folks would have let Bruce’s treachery incapacitate their ability to function in a positive manner for a while; not me. I learned from it, and drafted a plan to better my future. Having a talk with Mr. Grisby, the owner of the Laundry Lion where I worked, he agreed to let me return to the store after it closed each night, to roll the coins in our wrapping machines, and verify the amount taken in matched the register’s total. My actions would make his deposits easier in the morning and in exchange he gave me permission to swap out any coins found to be worth more than face value.
Over the next few weeks, I began to familiarize myself with any coin which had increased value without having to verify it with the book. Within a few months, I collected quite a quantity of silver coins, yet nothing as impressive as what Bruce cheated me out of. Besides building up a nice collection of coins, my hard work paid off in other ways. Mr. Grisby promoted me to manager of the place after he found Christina, our former chief, had been looting his till for the past two years. The truth became evident after he checked his records and compared the totals taken in, before the months I started my coin searches. He was so elated; he even let me install a four rack gumball machine I purchased at the flea market.
The extra money I earned as manager came in handy, as did the medical insurance the position provided. Since I had insurance, I opted to have my teeth fixed in lieu of either Lasik surgery or a new pair of stylish glasses. The orthodontists put me on an easy payment plan for placing my teeth behind bars. I had to keep telling myself each time I saw my reflection in the mirror, that the braces would be worth their weight in gold once Troy was safely in my arms. In the interim, I moved to an apartment in a lower class neighborhood in order to save on expenses. Eighteen months later, and another 40 pounds lighter, I still wasn’t where I needed to be, but I was beginning to see results.