Getting some dreds
“Of course I’ll come with you to get dreads. Come get me, and I’ll just spend the night at your house. We’ll leave from there, but I still can’t believe you’re driving all the way to BFE Ohio and paying $300 when you could just head up to the ghettos of Detroit.”
“I know,” Sheena Ann sighed. “I tried lookin’ around, and I just want to get this done. It’s my present to myself, because I’ve wanted it for so long.”
“I hear ya,” I shrugged my shoulders, not like she could see over the phone. “Jus’ pick me up, and I don’t care. I’ll support ya either way.”
“Cool, cool,” I could picture her nodding her head. “I’ll be there in a bit, and jus’ ta warn ya, Wayne’s here. He’s all anxious about meetin’ ya, so you’ve been warned.”
“Whatever,” I snorted. “I can take care of myself. I’ll see ya in a bit.”
I packed my black and red book bag with a change of clothes, scrambling around to think of what I would need for a trip towards the heart of Ohio. The thought of passing by Cedar Point on the way to Akron killed me, making me wish it were open for a quick spin on a roller coaster. Truly, Ohio was a second home to me.
Crust leftovers from fast food bags had to be kicked aside, along with the collection of cans that needed to be taken back to the party store for the ten-cent refunds. Michigan was cool like that, giving ten cents back on pop cans, but the policy helped to promote procrastinated collections that could take over the floor space in a car such as Sheena Ann’s. When I hopped in the car, she commented on the mess, and I said it wasn’t as bad as the time when she asked me to search on the floor for something, only to result in my hand squishing in a dirty baby diaper.
A little baby shit didn’t bother me, because it came from the ass of my girl’s baby girl. You gotta understand, this is the girl who I experienced growin’ up with, buttery dildos, co-ed naked hotel swimming parties at 3 a.m. with security, being on stage naked at ragin’ concerts and a private lesbian show tease for the guy who may have possibly fathered some child we don’t know about. Fuck all the people I meet on my travels, this girl’s like my right-hand home base connection, and yeah, I’ve licked her twat.
So anyways, we get to her house, and here’s this guy waitin’ for us. At first, he pretends to not notice, then he’s gotta be the center of attention. In order to achieve this, he hops on my lap like a puppy waggin’ his tail, all happy to see a new person.
That’s when I get a good look at ‘em. This muthafucka’s got some nappy ass weaves all tangled in his hair, hot pink at that. All eighties glamed out, his hair was taller than him.
Considering I don’t wear any, he had on way more makeup than me, complete with hot pink eyeshadow that matched his hair extensions. Honestly, I gotta admit the contrast of hot pink against his black hair and black eyeliner looked kinda cool, and I’ve always had respect for a guy who could wear makeup better than me, as makeup and I have never really gotten along, same with curling irons. So he’s all jus chillin’ in the living room, wearing leather pants like he’s ready to jump on stage at a show.
But we’re in the trailer park! And he’d been there for days, drunk! Really, this is nothin’ new though, considerin’ that he couldn’t find his way back to Detroit and was being held captive, droolin’ at the thought of me comin’ ova to fuck wit ‘em.
He was like half my size, and I felt like I shoulda had a leash for ‘em. Jus straight up cuddlin’ in my lap, makin’ himself all cozy like, it was all good ‘til he made some snide remark ‘bout Polaks. Nex’ thing ya know, his ass flew off of my lap and into the glass-top table, nearly bustin’ his head wide open.
“Oh my Gosh, Wayne!” Sheena Ann looked at him but offered no help other than asking, “are you okay?” Tisking, she looked at me, “you’re so mean.”
“Well, he shouldn’t a talked shit,” I coifed. “You know I’m Polish, along with Irish, English, Welsh, German, French-Canadian and Native American…” As I spoke, he struggled up, and my heart went out to him, offering him a hand.
“You’re not Native American; I’m Native American, and Irish, too!” Reluctant for like 30 seconds, he settled back on my lap, “so, like, I’m into getting drunk and scalpin’ yo ass.” Peepin’ into my eyes skeptically, he asked, “so you’re like all Trail of Tears and stuff, too?”
“Nah, I’m Chippewa,” I answered. “My mom’s family came over from France, settled in Trois Riviere, came down to Michigan, got with some Indians and founded the city of Bay City. My dad’s from Philly though, and his line goes back to the Mayflower and shit.”
“Man, fuck that,” he jumped up angrily. “I’m Cherokee, and those fuckin’ Chips ain’t got nothin’ on us. They took the easy way out; they gave up.”
“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout? How you think they gave up? Jus’ cause they got together had some drinks and got to fuckin’, how ya think that’s givin’ up?”
“That’s what the Trail of Tears is all about,” he looked at me hard and seriously, pacing back in forth for a minute in front o my chair ‘fore sittin’ down. “They sold out, and we went on this hard journey across the nation, getting’ pushed back farther and farther, havin’ our land stolen from us. Y’all jus gave in without a fight, and that’s not right.”
“How you say we gave in, jus ‘cause we drank some o’ that French wine and started fuckin’? There was drunken sex, curled up on fur while smokin’ tha peace pipe, like what up? What’s so bad ‘bout that?”
“Well, I didn’t say there was anything wrong with that exactly,” he stated with an almost British accent, his drunkenness becoming apparent. “I could use some more alcohol right now, come ta think of it. I’m jus sayin’ don’t give in, and stay strong, no matter how bad it sucks, because the painful path isn’t fun, but it’s respectable.”
“I think there’s some melon tequila coolers in the fridge,” Billy chirped up from the couch. “Oh, and here’s those Creeping Moon pictures, from when you were on stage singing,” he offered, turning his laptop in my direction. “There’s you and Sheena Ann in your cowboy get-up.”
While I laughed hysterically, Wayne raided the fridge, and Sheena Ann looked as if she was going to pass out on the couch with her daughter, tryin’ ta fight the nods. With a snort and a shake of her head, she put down her vanilla vodka and cranberry, another one of my drink suggestions, and stated sleepily, “I’m goin’ ta bed. I gotta wake up in like three hours to make that drive, so we can get there in time; I’ll wake ya up in the morning.”
Stumblin’ ta bed, we bid her g’nite, but she didn’t pay attention, hefting her sleeping daughter to bed with her. I’m not sure what transpired next, as different rumors float around, but I jus ‘member talkin’ ‘bout fistin’ Wayne’s ass. I think he might have asked if I wanted to fuck, and I said that as some sort of reply back.
Billy laughed in agreement, eager for an opportunity of humiliation on film. “Let me tape it. It’ll be funny.”
It coulda been some talk about his porno music soundtrack or whatever, as he was all excited about one of his songs being the opening music for “If It Ain’t Black, Bring It Back 3.” He slurred out, “yeah, my band, Filmore Slim, there’s like chicks all over the world that are like into me or whatever, you don’t even know. They draw pictures of me and shit, send ‘em to me.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll fist your ass.” It was about all I could say in response. Sure, we splashed rockstar stories back and forth, I’m cooler, no me, no me, but it always came back to the idea of fisting. Why not?
“What am I gunna get out of it? Do I get to fuck you? If I get to fuck you, I’ll do it.”
“You can’t fuck me,” I smiled wickedly. “I’m saving myself for marriage. I’m a virgin.”
“You’re no virgin; I’ve seen your twat, well, a picture of it at least. Billy shoed me. You got all those piercings down there and shit.”
“Yeah, so I pierced myself shut. So what? It’s one way to keep a cock out,” I grinned.
“You’re really a virgin?” More alcohol was poured down the poor guy’s throat, not like I forced him to do it. Freely, he grabbed the alcohol of his own free will.
Still, I’m not sure exactly what took place, but the next thing I know, Billy had the camera on a tripod. We were smokin’ in the band room, and the camera was set up. “You’re all ready to go; all I gotta do is press the red button to record, in focus and everything.”
“Aw, fuck it,” Wayne pulled down his red and black leather pants and belt. “If this is really gunna like do it for ya or whatever, then do it. Fist my ass.”
I was caught off guard, not even having butter to lube my hand with. Fuck it. “It’s goin’ in dry then…”
Like a perfect gentleman, he bent over, extending his butt in my direction. Shruggin’ my shoulders at Billy, who pressed record, I balled my hand into a fist and punched his ass with as much force as possible. He braced himself, as I pushed harder.
“You gotta tight lil’ ass, Son,” I giggled. My fist was halted at my knuckles. “I might have ta give ya a spit afterall.”
Taking my hand outta his ass, I spit a hawker onto my knuckles. Rammin’ it again, I had a little bit more success, but not much. “Is your ass virgin territory?”
“Yeah, well, ya think I do this stuff often? I’m jus doin’ this ta please you, Sweetheart. Is it getting’ ya off?”
“I’m getting yo shit on my hands, and yo ass is too tight,” I whined. “Don’t we have any lube around this bitch? Why is that always a problem when I’m hangin’ around Sheena Ann, never any fuckin’ lube!”
Lookin’ back at me rather disappointed, he asked, “so does that mean we’re done here?” Billy and I exchanged glances, nodded a confirmation, and I shrugged me shoulders. “So, like, do I get to fuck you now?”
DOES WAYNE GET IT ON?
YES, click for Wayne
NO, not this time Wayne
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