Questions of Respect
by Bill Turner
He’s a stone cold pimp with the bloodlines of a gangster. Wearing a bright red cap turned sideways for the look and shorts that have never reached the zenith of the crack of his ass, he’s styling. The fixed pout and perfect glaze in the eyes complete the ensemble. He’s driving.
She’s ghetto fabulous. The hip huggers and pump boots make her ass sway like a star’s. The pooch on the belly will go and she’ll be back in business. She’s riding.
A few more blocks and they’ll arrive. It was a mission gathering the coin for this deal. The warehouse had the DVD players, but selling them was a bitch. He had to drive to Miami to ditch them unnoticed. The boys gave him props for twice stealing gas along the way.
“You straight?” He looks to see if she still wants to do it.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes.
“I’m just showing some respect.” He slows the car and looks at her. “You asked; I’m delivering.”
“Thanks.” She looks out the window, no deliveries any time soon.
He likes his fifteen-year-old adolescents. She thought she wanted a man. He’s no man. He’s a punk. His probation officer would agree with her.
“Keep it and I’ll take you to Disney World.” He cuts a grin.
“You won’t.” She leans her head against the window.
Two blocks more and Dr. Snatchy Crotch will abort the basis for this relationship. There was a day when she would’ve kept the baby just to keep him coming back, but she doesn’t need him anymore. She’s been doing her homework and he’s been skipping class. He’s paying, but she’ll keep the dividends.
“I love you.” He’s sweating.
“Ok.” She rubs her belly.
One day, she’ll have a baby. He’s not in the equation. She’s straight, all right, totally straight and good to go. He’s out. It’s a question of respect.
© 2004 Bill Turner