Three Problems
As I walked out of the house, I knew I'd face severe ramifications for putting a beating on Tough Guy. Although he was an obvious poser, he had associates. These associates were most likely the largest group of posers walking. But, sometimes even the most ignorant poser is motivated. The combination of motivation and ignorance can be very dangerous.
These are the thoughts that circled my head as I stepped into my car and started the engine. Very carefully, I unscrewed the paneling underneath the steering wheel. It was in there that the QP would get stashed. Driving around town with that much green was never a bright idea, but there are certain degrees to idiotic decisions. Putting car air-fresheners on the window handle of the driver's door to cover the pungent weed aroma tends to lessen those degrees. The effect was that I felt reasonably safe. Not safe enough to toke a little, but enough that I felt confident I would make it home without incident.
At ten o'clock my cell phone started ringing. The caller ID said "Boo", so I knew it was my girl. After I explained to her that I was caught up at work and wasn't going to be able to see her tonight, I decided to tell her I'd take her shopping tomorrow. I figured that would be a smart way to keep her happy, and snuff her curiosity about what was making me so busy. There were certain things Boo didn't need to know. Her boyfriend's real "job", was one of them.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan of lying, but necessity is a bitch. Sometimes, for all parties involved, it is safer not to know the truth.
Let me also try to explain the most complicated aspect of my life: women. I have three girls. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I have one girl, and two yacks. I treat all of my girls with respect, but everyone has their role. Their role, whether they know it or not; should be obvious. Boo, whom you've already been introduced to, is my girlfriend. I've met her parents, and she knows about mine. She accompanies me to all holiday and family functions. She's the girl I tell my friends and relatives about, the girl I celebrate birthdays and anniversaries with, and the girl I will eventually marry.
On the flip side, there is "Shorty". Shorty is my apex. She's the girl I go and see when I'm jonesin' and need some nappy. She let's me hit it raw. She's the girl that I go see at three, or four in the morning when I'm feenin. She let me beat it up immediately, but soon after, she started to really put it on me. Although I do have love for Shorty, she isn't going to meet my friends, my family, or anybody. Don't get me wrong, I am not ashamed of my affiliation with Shorty, but there are several reasons she is my undercover lover. One: Shorty has that sex appeal that mothers don't see, runways don't use, but the fellas are really feelin'. She has all angles out and was the definition of thick, but thin. Second: her crib was where I went to lay my head to rest when the streets got a little too hot. Third, Shorty is a stripper. I had always believed that guys that date strippers are asking for trouble. I didn't want people to know that she and I were close, because it could easily be used against me.
Shorty is the best. I go over there sometimes at two o'clock in the morning and she'll make me some food, roll a blunt while I am eating and light it up as I take the last forkful to my mouth. Occasionally, when I am really stressed out, she'll put on the "Thunderstorm" CD and give me a swizzle while I get nice.
Our sex life is off the meter in the truest sense. In the beginning I tried to pull a pump and dump, but Shorty told me that, "if I play I stay." At first, I didn't want to stay, but now, I've got a toothbrush in her bathroom and I keep a couple of outfits in the bottom drawer.
Shorty is like my anti-stress girl. When the drama mounts, she acts as my catalyst to conquering it. All I need to do is call her, and she's there. When Boo's stressing me, it's Shorty I go to. She is the only girl that knows I do dirt. She knows how I make my money, and that's because I chose to let her know. There is only one thing I keep from Shorty. Out of a list of a hundred things I hide from Boo, to protect her, I tell ninety-nine to my girl number two. The only thing I don't tell her about, is girl number three.
Girl number three I call "Conflict". Try not to misunderstand, I like her, but nobody can ever know that.
In my twenty years and change on this earth, I've learned that some things are never meant to be. Whether for reasons of fate and destiny, honor, passion, or common etiquette, there are just some things that can't happen.
Conflict was meant to be one of those things. She was a wonderful person, though. She was tall, black, and beautiful. She was definitely blazin', but she didn't play it up. She didn't front like she wasn't good looking, but she wasn't a jerk about it either. She had everything that was desirable in a girl, and believe me, men desired her. Although she was only eighteen, she had been asked on thousands of dates. She'd accepted only a handful. Three of that handful actually got a second date. One got a third date, and a kiss at the end.
In her eighteen years, the last five being propositioned for love by potential suitors, Conflict had never given it up. Try as they may, and did, none of the suitors came close. Maybe it was because she was beautiful, or intelligent, or too "much" for a man to handle. These were all respectable reasons, but they weren't the correct reasons. The correct reasons that Conflict stayed virtually untouched was very simple. It was fear.
Fear of Conflict? No. The fear was of "One Punch." One Punch was her older brother. He got his nickname from a lifetime of fistfights that all ended with the same result: one punch. One would land just one punch, and the struggle would end. Once, One fought a guy and actually, it took two punches. First of all, One did in fact knock out the victim, but he somehow stayed on his feet. Maybe that seems tough or brave to you, but to me, it's suicide. One threw a second punch to end the fight. The results were disastrous. Pieces of teeth rained down to the curb. They were shortly followed by his skull, which cracked off the curb with a disgusting sound. Don't worry though, One Punch didn't kill him, and all of his teeth have since been fixed. But he talks slow and soft now, and his left leg lags behind when he walks.
With a nickname like One Punch it was safe to say that people kept their distance from Conflict, if that was the order. But One didn't care if someone dated his sister; he just had to abide by two rules. Rule one, Conflict wouldn't have sex until her wedding night. Two, she can never date one of his friends. I had known One Punch for years and we were friends. Also, I generally try to follow a majority of rules. But for some reason, I broke both of those rules at the same time.
It wasn't really my fault. I tried to avoid it, but she shines. I let her crash one night at my place, on the couch. She'd slept over dozens of times, and usually after she said good night, I wouldn't see her until the morning.
This one night she came over at two forty five in the AM. She had been at the clubs all night and she didn't want to sleep at home. While I fell asleep, she lay on the couch thinking. She quickly went to my room after her mind was made up. I felt a slight tap on my shoulder and turned to see her standing before me in all her glory. The rest is history.
These are the women of my life, and the trouble of my days.
Poser's Dictionary
YACKS- women that men use for sex instead of love
APEX- soul mate
JONESIN- desire to do something, an intense feeling of need
NAPPY- sex
HIT IT RAW- sex without protection
FEENIN- a sexual "jonesin"
BEAT IT UP- to have sex
PUT IT ON ME- when a women takes control during sex
FEELIN- to find someone attractive, to like something
ANGLES OUT- curvy women
SWIZZLE- oral sex, filatio
GET NICE- get high
OFF THE METER- something so good it's beyond comparison
PUMP AND DUMP- when a person leaves immediately after sex
BLAZIN- an attractive person
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