we were lost in a ghetto. i grew up in areas such as this, and i had to keep reassuring her it isnt how it is on the screen. it’s not a warzone, someone will not leap across the street, straight though the mothafuckin window, and tear me limb form limb while running a train through her. i got dirty looks from the latinos and blacks that we slowly drove by, because she was white. mostly though becuase they were jealous, fine assss white woman. if she stepped out my car, and dropped a leg, the earth would shake from that asssss shakin. traffic was reduced to a crawl thanks to the bar b que down the road. i made a turn down a street because i thought it was the right direction to go (bullshit of course. i liked spending the time in the car with her, we held hands a lot) Some lady, drunk darted out in her piece of shit civic and cut in front of a woman with her young son in the front. i went off on how i hate stupid crazy bitches. at the red light, the woman with her son blew the horn (more like rested against the horn) and the bitch jumped out the car with beer bottle in hand and started down the street cursing to whomever was looking.
my girl took out one of her cigarettes at the red light, and accidently broke it. she somehow managed to put it back together and was able to smoke it. i shared my first puff with her. it wasnt bad.
after that we went back to my house, smoked a few more, as i began to like how it all felt against my throat. then we lied against one another, rubbing each others skin, holding onto each other tightly. unaware we were falling in love in the dry summer heat. rolling around in light afternoon sun.
i’m walking with my girl down the street. we’re on our way to the finest hookah bar we’ve been too thus far.
“we are not getting coconut.”
i say it again so she hears me, “i told you baby, no more coconut.”
she pouts, “but then what else we going to have.”
the night city air is dark, and the lack of street lights on a shady part of this town leaves me at ill ease. and my fears only get worse. we turn the corner as she curls up to me, and i see men down the way. right away i get that bad feeling.
for the record the love on my arm is the prettiest girl in town, soon to be a model, and the just happens to be the finest fuck anyone can ever have. and she gives me the reason to keep on breathing…anyway.
the five punks start the ghetto taunts. disrespectful, and i dont need to stick up for her, she’s tougher than i am. she lays it in thick.
but then this is where i have to step in. they crowd around, and there posture changes. they’re high off being assholes, and they want a piece. and i wont allow it.
they all talk and talk, cussing, shoving me here and there. but i try to stay calm. we try to keep walking around, and we cant. now they’re putting hands on my sweet. and i’ve lost it.
i shove them away, one of them says, “you wanna die mother fucker.” and the rest chime in with the chorus.
i whisper to myself, “christ i dont have the patience for this.” i reach into my pocket, and pull out my knife. my girl steps behind me (for the record shes like a foot taller than i) “now look, this is a real fucking knife, and you guys wont be my first time using one.” i jab the blade in there direction, “now me and her are going somewhere right now, and i would like to get there sometime tonight, so if anyone has any plans to do something,” i wave my hand toward me, “stop pussy footing around and go ahead. but i promise you i will use this.” nothing happens, we pass, and me and my baby get…a hookah…fuckin coconut.
we carry our love home and express it between the sheets. passion and fire, thats what she is. goddamn fire.
"oh god." for the last ten minutes…well to be honest half hour now…these words of blasphemy have hypnotically rang in my ears from her lips. her breath is heavy, heavy has the damp darkness that covers over our body. the whiskey sweats through our pores as my soar tired ass, soar and tired from all the other fucking this week, thrusts. my cock is loud with quivering hardness, and she can feel it, hear it’s damaging song.
"come on." she spins around while on top of me and i turn the heat up, i reach under her thunder things, squeezing the soft flesh between my fingers, as i drive my heart to madness. i pull her faster and faster until her devil’s brunette mess is covering her pleasuredd face from bounce. she screams and grabs at her tits, pressing her stiff nipples between her middle and index finer. she digs her nails into her breast and clenches her teeth. "are you going to cum."
"fat chance." she should know better, i slap her ass, grab at the cheek as the sound echoes through the empty blackness, she knows i will last for at least another half hour.
To start off, there are those who scream and beat there shaven chest, and spread there pea-cock (see what i did there) feathers, and try to behave like they are “real men.” Hil fucking arious.
First off leather boots, jeans, big belt buckles, cigar, lots of rings, chains, big loud engines, fucking long stares and crushed up faces dont make you tough. and let me clarify now that being “tough” doesnt give you a pair. mainly because the meaning for the word is entirely different to the actual meaning.
stepping out each night with your fucking faggot friends who all lift more weight they can handle for 2 or 3 reps, and being in everyones face instigating bullshit because you have to prove to yourself and half the room that you can take a motherfucker isnt badass. it’s being a bitch.
and if “men”…(alright i’m just gonna call em all boys now)…these days dont act like 12 year old cavemen, they are these…bone thin, tight jean wearing, flat ironing, whiney little pretentious crybabies.
i wont ever refer to any man as a chick because…okay ready?…most chicks are and always have been tougher than most guys. it’s true. which is why if a guy isn’t treating a girl like shit (which also means your a punk) he’s kissing her ass and borderline stalking her.
most of the time because guys dont know a good quality woman when they’re right in front of em.
and if they do they cant accept they just aren’t man enough for her.
bottom line is you dont have to be a heavy lifting tough guy, who goes out every night and sits in a corner, drinking his whiskey being an emotionally retarted moody asshole. Just be exactly who you are, walk like you walk, talk how you talk, and be unapologetic in who you are. Do what you know is right, and do so with ambition. get to where you want to be and dont be stepping on people’s toes to get there. Dont be throwing down every night and day but dont let people wlak all over you. (that goes for women too. dont kiss there ass, and suck up, but treat her with respect and as a compete equal, while still understanding having a woman gives life worth. dont put on a show, let her take her as you.)
basically be what you are the best you can, but dont be in everyone’s face about it, putting on an act, and flaunting who you are. Because generally people dont care.
and that…for me is what having BALLS is. what being a man is.
also you have to be able to have sex for at least an hour.
troy duffy. is that third kind of “man”. i’ve discussed the wimpey artsy woman-like man, then i’ve talked about the over the top hyper masucline fucking idiots. troy duffy is that last kind of man i’ve been trying to classify. the fucking, soft, rolley polley fucking ollie jackoff. the kind of ass that’s flipped fucking burgers for a month, and thinks he now represents “the blue collar man.” he’s got zero reason to be a cocky bastard, and cant even pull the cockiness off. he’s a fucking joke, that thinks he’s got balls. he learns life through fucking cliches and for whatever reason, his bitch ass gets recognition.