If variety is the spice of life, then this poor bastard has
one long salty evening ahead of him
one long salty evening ahead of him
Prison Bitch by Patrick O'Neill
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Teddy
was one of those white boys that sagged. Checkered shorts sticking out from
black 501's tucked into big ass white K-Swiss sneakers. Hella old school, and
shit, with a stained wife beater and a beanie. And then that walk. A cold yard
stroll shifting shoulders as his feet hit the ground. Word was he'd just gotten
out, finally made the streets on high control parole, and his presence was not
going unnoticed.
Luanna,
working the ho-stroll, looked up from inspecting her nails and there was Teddy large
as hell, all buffed from working out nonstop that twelve-month stretch he'd
just done up in Corcoran. Luanna thought Teddy a dead ringer for Eninem; all
muscle, blonde buzz-cut, and blasted with penitentiary tats. She'd gone all
goofy when she'd seen him. Something twitched inside of her. Like deep inside.
Made her wet imagining his hands on her. Hard taut muscle rubbing her pussy
lips totally stretched out, and he hadn't even said a word to her yet.
But
the night had barely started and Luanna had business to conduct. If she didn't
get to it, she'd be left out in the cold with no scratch to even pay her overdue
motel bill. So she turned a trick, and kept her mind on business, and then
Teddy slid up next to her and said "hi." It was all she could do not
to go full on goo-goo eyed. She wanted
him so bad. But apparently he didn't want to just do it. He had other plans, and they talked while sharing a forty outside
the liquor store on Third Street.
"Baby-doll,
ya ever fuck a tranny?" He asked.
"Now
baby, whys I gotta be fuckin' a he she?" Was Luanna's response.
"Not
you," he said. "Us."
But
that was before they'd made it back to her motel and Teddy pulled out an eight
ball he'd scored with his Department of Corrections gate money; two hundred
plus the cash off his books from that little job making office furniture in
prison industries.
He'd
popped a gram and a half of speed into two rigs and hit Luanna like her veins
were still the same as when she was fifteen years old. Slamming that meth into
her brain at hundred miles an hour. And
when Teddy jazzed his issue, his face went all red, eyes bulging and sweat pouring
out from everywhere on his body.
"Nothin'
like a good lookin' bitch with boobs an' a dick," he said, stroking the front
of his boxers.
Luanna
saw his pud stiffen, fell to her knees in front of him, and pulled down his
shorts. Teddy didn't even miss a beat, grabbing her head and pushed into her mouth
until she gagged.
Later,
sharing a cigarette on the bed, the covers tossed on the floor, an open tube of
lube on the nightstand, FOX network blaring COPS reruns on the color TV across
the room. Luanna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and rolled over. Her
face inches from his.
"Y'all
wanna tranny, I get ya one," she said.
Shuantae
saw her coming, skinny-ass white bitch bee-lining straight for her. She was on
a mission, and that mission was obviously Shauntae. That much was plain as
hell, but what Shauntae couldn't figure out was why, or even what this bitch wanted
with her. Shauntae didn't do bitches. She was strictly man meat. Her dick got
hard for boy abs and tight buns of steel. Not pussy and tinny bitch tits.
"Got's
a proposition for you," cooed Luanna.
Something
about this white girl made Shauntae's skin pucker up in goose bumps, and not
the good kind either. She had a creep vibe coming off of her like a child-molesting
counselor on a three day run at a YMCA summer camp.
"Don't
do snatch," said Shauntae.
"Not
for me silly," purred Luanna as she waved the last of Teddy's dollar bills
in Shauntae's face.
"Gotta
boy, just got out. Needs your special attention."
"Where
he be at?" Asked Shauntae.
"Room
104. Sunset Motor Inn."
"Show
me the way, lil' girl. But it gonna cost y'all a lot more than what ya got
there."
Luanna
laughed, and grabbed Shauntae's hand, pulling her across the parking lot.
Something about this wasn't right, thought Shauntae, but she went along anyway.
Money was scarce and it's been a slow night. Maybe her luck was about to
change?
Luanna
looked up at the blade pressing into Shauntae's throat, and reached down to
guide the tranny's dick inside of her.
"It's
still limp, baby," she said to Teddy.
"Best
be gettin' hard," whispered Teddy into Shauntae's ear.
His
arm wrapped around her waist, body pressed up against her ass. In his other
hand he held a knife against Shauntea's adam's apple, a trickle of blood
dripping across the blade. Shauntea closed her eyes. A teardrop ran down her
cheek.
"This
ain't how my fantasy was workin'," said Teddy. "S’posed to be fuckin'
you, while you're fuckin' her."
"Told
ya… don't do pussy," sobbed Shauntae.
An
unmade bed in an empty motel room, a "do not disturb" sign hanging
from the doorknob swings in the breeze outside. A siren echoes off the
surrounding buildings, fading as it goes further away. The morning sun just now
rising over downtown waking the winos and junkies early so they can get a head
start looking for that first fix of the day.
Teddy
had shot the last of his speed while waiting for Luanna to show up with
Shauntae. His two-day meth binge coming to a screeching halt, just in time to
report late to parole or be listed as absconding. His PO's on the spot piss
test violates him in thirty seconds flat and before he can say "what the
fuck?" Teddy is weighed down in chains on the grey goose heading north on
a one way return ticket to Corcoran.
Luanna,
back on the ho-stroll trying to make up for last night's lost revenue, shifts
her eyes at the battered blue Ford Maverick as it haltingly pulls to the curb
beside her.
"Wanna
date, sugar?" She says to the fat man behind the wheel. His dick already
out and in his hand. Which normally would have set Luanna off and she'd of
cussed him out. But all she's thinking about is Shauntea's perfect set of fake
boobs in her face when she finally got hard.
