This better be some good stuff.
I'm out voyaging in girl looks. Roaming from club to bar, looking for scandals, eyeing for some peacocks. Colorful ones. Nice build, thick, pleasantly stout, and big eyed. Why? Ask my scabs. My punctuation marks on my skin. They cover my left arm like leprosy, following my vein lineage like cobblestone. I always look to them when I need an answer and I'm always adding more.
I end up at Club Bunns. I usually stand in front of bars or clubs in midtown, smoking a cigarette, waiting for some birds to fly by. There's usually always a few light poles illuminating the front of a bar, giving that classic Baltimore night lighting; a dirty yellow glow that makes you glow like some kinda night angel.
I see a man eyeing me the fuck down like like God. He looks familiar. He's probably been to one of my drag shows or he might follow me on Instagram, who the fuck knows. There's always some regulars at my performances or on my page, who are into girls like me.
"Hey ma," he says.
I'm entering his glare, as he scans my tits and my cakes. People love illusions, especially men. Men love it. They're visual animals. They get off at the sight of sight. They live in their brains, cheating on their lives with made up fantasies that buzzes through their brains like a tapeworm. All you gotta do is be sexy to get their attention and no shade, it's easy for me.
"Damn you look real ma," he says.
He's already turnt with just a look and I know it cause I feel real cute tonight. I'm giving Kim Kardashian looks. My mom is from Venezuela and my dad is black. So it works. My hair is in goddess braids and hurled into a bun. I'm wearing a heavy eyeliner, with a rouge cheek, and a Ruby Woo lip. I was just in Hampden the other day, where the white people live, and just got this vintage leather dress that stops at mid thigh, and the sleeves stop perfectly at the wrist and beacons my figure. It gives me body on top of body although a bitch naturally got plenty of body. No need to pad.
Let me get this nigga. This pill I took earlier to add a little extra push, is stomping the fuck through and got me feeling like forever. Perfect timing. I push my hips closer to him, so he can grab it. I tilt my bun down, smizing my eyes devilishly, and whisper, "Twenty five for a twenty minutes. Safety first." I like to do quickies, there's less chance of bullshit. I like to make sure that my purpose is blunt. He's my first for the night. I do about three hits a night. I'm not greedy.
He's tall, slim, looking like your typical trade and a tad bit cute.
"I see you around sometimes, what's your name?" he says.
"Meet me in the upstairs back bathroom," I say.
I go inside the club. It's pretty dead. I pumped to the bathroom and wait for him to come in.
"Coins please?" I say. He passes me ten fucking dollars. "I said 25."
"C'mon ma. That's all I got. All I want is a little sucky."
The trade stay trying it.
I unzipped his pants. Lord, his dick is little. I can't take the stench much either but I start doing my thing and he immediately goes wild of course and starts grabbing my hair and shit. Tells me to call him daddy and blah. Sometimes, I do feel strange doing what I do but I only do it cause I want to, so fuck it. I'm gone and start doing what I do and of course he nuts in minutes.
"Bye," I say.
I don't even care to zip him back up and I start to storm out and he grabs my arm.
"Slap me," he says with his dick still out. "Slap the shit out of me." He's begging.
I'm feeling it, so I slapped him so hard my goddamn nail broke. Fuck. I still feel the sting. Damn that was kinda cute. I start kissing him and I don't know why but I feel like that fairy white girl from "True Blood."
He's in it only for a moment and stops me, zips himself back up, and walks out the bathroom. The mirror catches my face, lipstick came off a bit but I still am giving it though. Damn, I'm sexy as fuck.
Abdu Mongo Ali is a Baltimore native. He is a writer and rapper and graduated from the University of Baltimore.