RIPPED & READY (PART 87)

RIPPED & READY (PART LXXXVII)

            After making many empty promises and making out with Peewee for about an hour after I had recieved the text from Collin, I was finally allowed to get dressed and leave.  It was pretty taxing getting dressed, because every time I put on a piece of clothing he kept trying to distract me with a seductive statement or a not-so-subtle gesture. 

          “Look at this here, Thickness,” he said, hand wrapped around the base of that stiff monster, eyeing me up and down. 

          “Quit, now,” I said, trying to ignore him.

          PLAP!

          PLAP!

          PLAP!

          He kept moving it backwards and forward and the sound it made hitting his naked torso sounded like a Grandfather clock’s tick on LSD (Psychedelic echoes ya’ll).   

          “You my thick ass Underwood, Marco,” he said, licking his lips, slowly, thrusting his hips up towards the ceiling. 

          Who would have ever thought that a natural born killer could be this charming? 

          It didn’t matter though, charm or no charm, there was no way I could allow myself to fall head over heels for this nigga because, as with most streetwise brothas, his love and admiration for you would always come second to his drugs and his money. 

          Sure, right now he is infatuated with me because, as he put it, he has always wanted me, but let a bag of dope or a stack of money come up missing; everyone would be considered guilty until proven innocent.  That lot he associates with is filled with haters, backstabbers, and liars – at any given time anyone of them could make a dash for head gangbanger and if you’re unlucky to get caught in the crossfire then, just be prepared to model that new toe-tag that will be dangling from your toes. 

          Now, just the thought of that made me think about that weird ass motherfucker I met, Big Bank Hank – now, that formaldehyde smelling mansion, that crazy ass foul mouth parrot, and them two devil dogs should have been enough drama for me, but no, somehow I am trapped in another story, a ghetto fable. 

          “Brotha Marco, you need to throw caution to the wind and get with the get down, man.  I want to give you er’thing your heart desires, thickness, so why you fightin’ all of this over here?” he asked, in a cocky tone, rubbing his bulging pectorals with both hands.    

          I continued getting dressed while half-heartedly acknowledging Peewee’s gestures, statements, and answering his questions with brief responses.  By the time I had tied up my last shoe, Peewee swiftly made a move over towards the end of the bed where I was sitting, and wrapped his arms around me. 

          He parked his chin between my shoulder blade and neck and whispered, “Marco, you have no idea how persistent I can be when it comes to something or someone I want, so please do not disappoint me because I am not a nice guy when I am disappointed,” he said, nibbling on my ear. 

          That did it! 

          “Peewee, what is it that you want me to promise you?  What kind of life would I have being your dude?  You have females sweating you all the time and now, for the first time since I know all of this, probably niggas too?  I ain’t no street brotha, man? Now you tell me exactly where I would fit into your world, baby?” I asked out of frustration. 

          Even if I wanted him as bad as he wanted me those were legitimate questions that he couldn’t answer.  He represented a consortium of hoods and hood rats who practically worshiped him.  I knew without any doubt in my mind that any sort of relationship between us would be confined to the walls of a motel/hotel room and that he would GPS me like the “gotdayum” government.  With his type, it was all about control and I did not want to live that way. 

          I don’t smoke weed (anymore).

          I am not really a drinker

          I am scared shitless of guns

          I know the difference between a preposition and noun

          Silver and Gold are nice for jewelry but they don’t belong in the mouth

          The only time my pants sagged was just before I dropped them to the floor to use the bathroom.

          I do not have IMAX speakers in my car so that everybody I pass can hear what I’m listening to. 

          I don’t even like watching fights on television so you know I ain’t even interested in seeing one or being part of one at any given moment.

          Don’t get me wrong, some of these thugged out ass niggas are absolutely beautiful, but that mentality and life is not one for me. 

          I wouldn’t last four seconds.

          When he didn’t respond, I knew those were questions that he could not answer.  His silence was a little intriguing to me because it made him appear more human to me.  Even if he did a 360 degree turn there was no way his previous life would allow him any peace.  He was too deep in to ever think about getting out without getting carried out in a body bag. 

          “Marco, you stay away from your daddy, he owes a lot of money to a lot of people,” he said out of the blue. 

          Now that really touched me there, he seemed to really care about me.

          “How much money, Peewee?” I asked.

          He cleared his throat.

          “Let’s put it this way, it’s enough to make a six-figured nigga blush,” he said. 

          "Dayum"  

          Riddle me this…

          Riddle me that…

          Who's afraid of a cocked loaded G.A.T.?