Notes, from the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 33, it isn't complicated. So I'm out on the sidewalk reaching for a SIG and I walk to Cynthia about 20 seconds later.
She just missed seeing me flip open my lighter in that nonchalant way I have. It was a missed opportunity, but I was pretty sure I'd be doing it again in a few minutes. She walked right up to me and just stood there first. I was trying to hide the fact that I was looking at her rack, but then I saw her looking up at me and baby the fuck was so on.
So I thought Scroopt hacked and I just looked slowly down the front of her. Yeah, she said. She did a slow spin for me. When her back was to me, she was wearing short jeans that crawled up her gape over thick tights.
Oh, and she was wearing leg warmers too. She kind of glanced at me over her shoulder. She said, You like the shit cuttah hat? I took a pull on the cigarette.
Yes ma'am, I said on the exhale, I do. She get cackity, I get cackity. She turned the face of me again. Jesus, her tits were muscle balls.
You got cigarettes for me or what? It was weird. Right at that second I realized she was Dominican. Not that there's anything wrong with Dominicans, I just, well in the club I thought she was a Brooklyn variety black chick.
She said, I guess I was staring. I came for the cigarette and lit her up from the ember on the end of mine and she looked at me and said, So you want to come home with me hat? I live just up the blocks near the theater hardware places. No other places I mean?
Sorta. Hah? Yeah, I said Hell's Kitchen. You want me to suck on your dick for you?
That, that would be super, I said. Supa? You mean sucky as dick or what? I pulled her over to me and said, Lo and her here, Sarcasm is for pussy.
I'm gonna fuck you deep like in a prison cell. Yeah. We both get cackled. Then she said in a soft voice.
You're gonna lick my holes for me? Sure am babe. Your wife don't know what she's missing, I bet. We shared another gig cackle.
See, that's what I like. Chicks who dig me and walk right up to me and lay their cocksucking cards on the table. It isn't complicated. The licking her holes thing I could make up a solid excuse for not crossing that bridge when I came to it.
Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist. Notes from the Upper West Side. Copyright 2013 to 2016 by Dan Ren.