Bad Boy

Bad Boy

Yezall Strongheart

Black Tie

A traditional Thai Iced Tea, which is a spicy and sweet mixture of chilled black tea, orange blossom water, star anise, crushed tamarind sugar and condensed milk or cream, with a double shot of espresso

It was one of those really hot days, when the air was so thick it was hard to breathe.  I lay in bed with a fan aimed at my face.  Every window and door was open, and I could see all the way to the front door.  There leaned with his back against the door jam, was Marco smoking a cigarette.  I hated it when he smoked; it made his mouth taste bad.  Sweat rolled down his tanned cheek from his hairline, dripping on the shirtless bronze chest of this Greek god of a figure.  When his hand came up to take the cigarette from his mouth, the muscles rippled in his bigger-than-my-head tattooed bicep.  His jeans hung slightly slanted at his hips; maybe it was the way he stood.  The jeans were so tight that you would be able to bounce a nickel off his ass, and he didn't have to be hard for you to know what else he was packin'.  No shoes and I watched as his toes rolled a bottle cap on the concrete of the stairs, aimlessly.  He stared out into the bright sun, squinting a little, smoking.

        Our life together wasn't bad, we didn't have a lot, but we had each other.  Marco did odd jobs, worked on people's cars, whatever he could find.  I did nails and hair for the neighborhood, I charged way less than the salons, it was enough to cover some supplies and still make a little money. Between that, food stamps, and the local food pantry, we almost always made our rent on time.

          We would try to stay cool until the sun went down.  Then after washing the soot of the city off of us, we would meet our friends in the street.  In the dark by the streetlight, we'd gather.  The boys would tell stories, real or imagined, as they kept an arm possessively around their girl. All of us were poor, and yet somehow, there was always money for beer. The boys would get louder and more aggressive as the night wore on, depending on how much beer they could buy with the money they pooled together.  The fight was usually over something very stupid, and thankfully, it wasn't every time that someone was hurt.   It was either that or the girls would get put on display in some fashion, as if to say, ‘Hey man, look what I got to take home.’  A grab of a breast or an ass cheek was the usual exhibit.  Our self-respect was determined on how our men bragged about us sexually.  Emotions were raw on the street; little was left to the imagination. Some of the girls were embarrassed inside, but they would never show it.  They had to laugh along with everyone else when their man demonstrated how she sounded in bed.

        It was when the night ended that I sometimes became afraid.  When Marco had too much to drink, he was mean.  He would imagine that I smiled at one of his friends, or whispered to them.  Those nights he would run his fingers into my hair and ball his fist.  He would lead me home by my hair, yanking his hand and swearing.  I had to be very careful to keep my eyes down when we were around the other boys.  The littlest thing would set him off, thinking I disrespected him in front of his boys.   Most of the time he gave me bruises where no one would see, but he has been careless before and left me with a swollen eye more than once.

        On other nights, he couldn't keep his hands off me.  He would stop to kiss me several times on the way home and shove his big hands up my sides under my shirt.  I was embarrassed and saw people looking.  He told me that they were just jealous; I don't know maybe they were.  He was so drunk one night, and in a good mood, that he had sex with me on the outside stairs to our building. I remember the concrete stair step cutting into my back, as he forced his way inside me.  He said nobody saw us.  He was quick that night so maybe he was right.

        I hope this day will bless us with a breeze or rain and cool things down. This is a special day.  I will wait until darkness cloaks the city again and our world condenses to the street where we live. I need the intimacy it brings. I will make him a special dinner of his favorite, mac and cheese with hamburger. I planned this for a Thursday, because tomorrow he will have money and he will use it for beer. I have to be extra careful today and make sure he doesn't drink too much.  I need him to be in a good mood.  Not for the reason you think.  I have news for him.  He's going to be a father.

Author Bio

Yezall Strongheart is an independent self-published author, having nine books to her credit on Amazon from how to build your own corset to young adult, and erotica. Having published her tenth book with Horny Devil Publishing, she is now more of a hybrid author. After winning first place in a poem contest early in her writing experience, she was captivated. A majority of her books end with a happily-ever-after, but it's the journey to get there that makes each book a rich experience. She lives with the love of her life and their three furry babies in Texas.

Website http://yezallstrongheart.weebly.com