The Re(al)-Pimp, Chapter 8 : I'm Gettin Stable

Eventually I had enough moping. I told myself, "Alright Mack, what you got is what you got, what you lost you never had an' that's that." When I finally got out, it was Saturday night around maybe seven or so. I went to see a prison movie. I figured, how bad could it be ? It was a grim drama. A young green punk tried a double cross. He was criss-crossed into the joint. He made deadly enemies while doing his long bit. When he got out, a long black short pulled up and riddled him with a tommy gun. As I went out of the theatre, a big black car was pulling to the curb toward me. There was something familiar about that small pinhead driver. I had seen him before. Turns out, it was Dalanski, the roller. He gave me a thoughtful look as he walked past.

I didn't want to see Mama in my state of mind. Back in Rockford she had been a dutiful church goer, leading a christian life until Steve came on the scene. She relapsed at some point after moving to Chicago ; maybe it was all those alumni she started spending more and more time with. The whole year and change I was serving time upstate in that Tuskegee dump she'd write me long, rambling letters almost every week, well supplied with threats of fire and brimstone for me if I didn't get Jesus in my heart and respect the Holy Ghost and the fire. It seemed to me poor Mama was becoming a religious fanatic to save her precious self-importance from her own history. She found out about Henry's death just about this time, too. I guess she felt trapped in a cage of her own making. She was bearable enough if I had the drop on her and a young, fresh, innocent looking little whore in tow ; but like aspirin I didn't have the appetite for taking her straight, without buffer.

I walked aimlessly a while, and eventually found myself in an underworld bar, The 711 Club, some rum and coke in front of me. The place was thick with pimps, whores, and thieves. There was probably more hot stuff in between the patrons' pockets than in the whole city court system. I was at the far end of the bar, facing the front door across the room. Years later I was sitting down in the same place when I asked the slightly familiar elephant beside me about Party. He turned his head. His dime-sized eyes got stuck in my fly's zipper as he looked me over head to toe. He did remember me. He said, "You ain't heard ? About a month ago your boon coon Party caught sixty in the county. One of them tight pussy broads opened his nose wide enough to drive a freight train through. He married her and all, then one day he caught a stud whamming it into her like he was trying out a new mattress. The stud quit the scene. The broad had to go to a croaker to get Party's shoe outta her ass." It came as a shock but no surprise. The game's the game, nobody gets to check out just because they say so. Nobody asked them anything anyways. I didn't know about any of that back then. I didn't know a lot of things, like how Weeping fell dead outside a shooting gallery within the week. He musta' shot some pure by mistake, cause a lookout on the sidewalk heard his last words before he croaked. He mumbled 'Well kiss my dead mammy's ass if this ain't the best smack I ever shot'."

The sissy barkeep sat a fresh bottle of coke on the log before me. I yanked my eyebrows into a question mark. He lisped, "The runty black bitch in the middle of the bar sent you a taste." Without taking my eyes off his thin yellow face, I said, "Sugar, run her down to me. Is the bitch qualified? Is she a whore? Does she have a man?" The corners of his mouth see-sawed. He slugged his soggy, dirty bar rag against my reflection on the bar top. He almost whispered, "The bitch ain't nothing but a young skunk from Saint Louis. She ain't nothing but a jazzy jive whore. I'm more whore than she is. She ain't got no man. She's a come freak. She's Georgied three bullshit pimps since she starting showing up a month ago. If your game is tight you could play a hog outta her ass. She tells people she's nineteen but it's more like twenty-nine." I eased a bone from my pocket, put it on the bar for the refresher. Pepper's words might have been just last week, but they already melted into my mind like just good sense known since before the war. I said, "Tell the bitch I said I'll take care of the little things, and if she's worth my time maybe I'll let her take care of the big things. And give her a drink on me." On the juke box Billie Holiday was crying about her man not respecting her enough. If he respected her any she'd have just sung about some other pimp, that's all.

The barkeep twinkle-toed toward her with the wire and drink. Through the blue mirror I zeroed my eyes in on the target. My ass bone starched on stiff point. Her big peepers were two sexy dancers in the velvet midnight of her cute round face. Hot scratch fever streaked through me. I thought, if I could cop her and get a pimp's terms she would be out of pocket poison to all white tricks that pinned her. Pepper sure knew what's what in whorology. I was glad my ears had flapped to all her rundowns. She had said to me, "Puppy, you chase a whore, you get a chump's weak cop. Stalk a whore to get a pimp's strong cop."

My turn down had her paying attention. It worked like a slick sharp hook twisting in the bitch's mind. Her juicy tongue darted out like a red lizard past her ivory teeth. It slithered over her full lips. She wiggled toward me in an uneven race with the bar keep. He was sliding her green drink between me and the guy one over. I heard a low excited trumpeting from him. He was digging her rounded props and gourmet rear end, rolling inside her glove-tight purple dress. I painted a lukewarm indifferent grin on my face as she perched on the stool. I noticed a roll of scratch wedged deep between her tits. She looked right at me, and cracked, "Who the hell are you, and what is that off the wall shit you cracked on the bartender?" My eyes were sub-zero spotlights on her face. I looked at her, smiling, eyes half closed, like she was a kiddy pestering daddy on vacation. I said, "Bitch, you've got a sassy jaw on you. It could get your ass ruptured."

The big vein at her temple quivered. Her rapper was shrill. She bleated, "I ain't no bitch. I'm a god-damned lady. The stud ain't been pulled outta his mammy's womb that kicks my ass. Goddamnit, call me Phyllis. Be a gentleman and respect me. I'm a lady." I chuckled low and turned to look her up and down. Then I let go. "Who asked you anything ?" She jumped off of her stool, and then stood there. Opened her mouth two or three times like she was gonna say something, but nothing ever came out. I wasn't even looking at her, I just drank my drink. She sat back down. She looked straight ahead a minute too. Then she turned around all smiles. "I'm sorry, sir. We came off to a bad start." Then reaching out her hand she said "My name's Phyllis. Pleased to meet you." I just looked her up and down again. Then I reached over, pulled down her top, got her roll out of there and set it in front of her, on the bar. She just shuddered, pushing her tits in together slightly with her elbows, eyes closed. I said "You ain't pleased or nothing. You're just a fake. What do you think you're doing, trying to get into the game with all those chilli pimps ?" She stammered. "I... I just..."

I chuckled at her again. "You ain't no whore. You ain't nowhere close to being a whore. You don't even need scratch. What hole in hell did you crawl out from ?" Her eyes were two huge lampoons lit on Beg river. "Please", she said, "can we go somewhere and talk ?" I chuckled at her again. "We are somewheres. Ain't we ?" She pushed herself into me "Somewhere more... private." I took a sip. I looked at her. I took another sip. Finally I said "Bitch, I ain't going anyplace with no lady. If word got out I did that, why! No decent person would talk to me." She hesitated a moment. She let out a wet sigh, like I was taking her kitty away from her. Then she pushed herself into me harder. "What can I do ?" I sniggered. "You got panties on ?" I asked her. Then I continued, as if catching myself, "Of course you do, you're a lady, ain't you. Alright, bitch, here's what you do to not be no lady no mo : you take your pretty ass over to the ladies, you peel those panties offa it, you bring 'em over in your hand and you plonk them right here, on the bar, where your lame lady drink didn't catch. You got it ?" She nodded and ran off. A half minute later I was putting a dollar on the frilly lacey panties still warm from her cooch and telling the bartender, loud as thunder, "Here Jack, this pair of ladies underwear and a dollar buys this bitch here a drink!" Her face was red hot. Some whores sniggered, but most nobody gave her little exposure the time of day. For her though, it was the biggest deal since some whore first pissed standing. She felt like she had been pasted naked on the gate of her Pa's old farm and every neighbour fucked her twice. The stuffy bullshit that gets caught in ladies' skullboxes...

I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. I dragged her ear to my mouth, and whispered "You got a short, bitch ?" She didn't get it. "A car." She nodded yes, "It's outside." I let go of her neck. With my finger I pushed her chin so her face was facing me, our noses a half inch apart. I looked into her lovely eyes and I said "Beat it to your short. Get inside and take every stitch of clothing off. Everything. When I come out, you step out of your car, both bare feet on the ground, and invite me over. If I feel like getting in with you I guess you're lucky ; but if I don't you just lock your keys inside and walk away. You got that ?"

She drew a breath so sharp it must've hurt her. I was expecting her nose to start bleeding any moment. She nodded like crazy and shot out of there. As she was thundering out I said to the bartender "I guess I find out if deep down she's really a bitch, or just a fag in drag." I finished my drink and I was about to take off when the bartender pointed to her wad. "Don't forget your scratch, Mack." That sissy was right, it was my scratch alright.

I peeled a five off of it and pushed it to him. "Steal the change and cop a hog." His eyes sparkled bedroom gray. His delicate pinkie scooted the saw buck back to me across the log. He said, "Sweetie, it's on me. Come back at two and cop a real girl."

The lady sure looked comical, standing buck naked by the door of that yellow club cabriolet of hers. Like that fire-and-brimstone preacher, trying to hide his hard-on from the cute sister in the front pew flashing her cat for him. She was waving me over like she was scaring away crows. Now a '36 Ford isn't exactly what passed for pimp wheels back then, but on the other hand I couldn't really drive anyway. Pepper had tried to teach me a little, but to say it true we just didn't have the time for nothing like that. I walked up to her. The broad was speechless. She just fretted in place like a bronco filly. I had called all the shots. I reached out my hand and put it on her left tit. I smiled at her. She just gazed at me with big wide open eyes. "Why's your heart reaching, whore ?" I asked her, lightly. She didn't say anything. "You ain't ever done anything like this before ?" She shook her head no. I walked around her, got myself seated good and comfortable. Then I lowered my window and bellowed "Well then get in, bitch. You'll be getting plenty of practice before I'm done with your skank ass."

She tugged at my sleeve as she sat her ass down behind the wheel. She looked up at me. Those dancers had stripped. I looked down at the hot runt and said, "Well bitch ? What's your story ?" She grabbed my shoulder. She pulled me down toward her. I could feel her hot breath on the side of my head. She popped that lizard tongue into my ear like I was made of candy. It sent hot shivers through me. I stayed cool. I turned my head and knifed my teeth into the side of her neck. I don't know why she didn't bleed. She just moaned. She whispered, "You cold-blooded sweet mother-fucker. I go for you. Let's go to my pad." I grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. She closed her eyes. As she was starting to go limp I kissed her. It was like I was giving her the chair. When I had enough of her torture I said "Go ahead, bitch. Drive." She looked at me like a kicked puppy. I could tell she wanted to ask for her clothes. I just shook my head. She gunned it out of there. I said "You ain't putting anything on, bitch. You'll drive there like your Mama made you, and you'll walk there like your Mama made you. Is that clear ?"

She didn't say anything at first. Then she nodded. I yelled out, strong and sudden, "Is that clear!" Her breath was hard and rapid. She squaled "Yes, sir!" She drove to her pad. It was only ten minutes away, but still we didn't say much. After a minute or two I could tell she's catching back to herself, getting back to familiar territory, feeling at home again. She must've taken a thousand suckers down this same throat, to the digestion room, like one of those flytraps. She was breathing at ease now, waiting for me to move, to speak out of line, to step on my own feet, to break it for myself. I didn't. Her ease was short lived. She really didn't want to get out of the car naked. I got her key out of the ignition, and told her if she's not out there in the street I'm gonna dump them down the sewer grate and walk away. She shuddered. I told her if she knew she's got a chicken heart, she shoulda chickened out at the bar, at least there they'd have fucked her. Here where she lives, they'll just scorn her to death. She took one deep breath and shot out of there. At the door up three steps she reached for the key in her purse she didn't have. It was comical to watch. I got out of the car and made my way over, taking all the time in the world because guess what ? I had all the time in the world. Besides : if you're important enough, they'll wait for you, whatever it is.

I grabbed her by the hairs on the scruff of her neck and lifted her so her feet were almost off the ground. She yelped. I said "Louder, bitch. Let everyone hear you." She whimpered. I opened the door and dragged her in like that. We climbed the stairs, the naked bitch on tiptoes that used to be a lady who lived there and the pimp that owned her ass. I opened the door she pointed at, then grabbed her under her knees and carried her over the threshold. She started chuckling like an idiot, and wouldn't let go of my chest. Her pad was a made trap for suckers all right. She had pasted luminous white stars on the hotel room's blue ceiling. There was one blue light. It glowed sexily from behind a three-foot plaster copy of Rodin's "The Kiss." There was a mirror over the bed. There were mirrors on the walls flanking the bed. There was a polar-bear rug gleaming whitely in front of a blue chaise lounge. I sat myself on the lounge. She flipped on the portable record player. Some broad whined out "Paper Moon" all wrong. She ran off into a cell-sized bathroom. She left the door wide open behind her, I could see her clearly digging a washcloth into her armpits and cat. "Hook your foot up on the wall, bitch." I told her. "You'll get yourself better that way". She tried to do it, clumsily. I was thinking she needs more practice ; she was thinking she needs more practice. We were on the same wavelength, isn't that right ?

She came back out a little later, her kitty pretty and smooth, fresh shaven, just like a baby's bottom. She offered me drinks. I told her "You know, she's right. I don't believe in your fake ass paper moon. I don't believe a rat's ass." She looked at me puzzled. "You know who that is ?!" I didn't say anything. She kneeled next to me, on the rug. She started talking, with her eyes closed. She told me about black music and how everything's changing, starting with some Ella broad on that record. She was a lady alright, or at least had been. She was an assistant working at National Louis University, which is where all the teacher broads with college degrees come from. She was involved in some kind of eritrological program whatever that is. Basically she was faking being a whore for research! She blew my mind. It was like if one of those dour old motherfuckers at Tuskegee were the jaspers, and I copped them. She talked to hundreds of young cunts each day, she was a goldmine of goldmines. I was so hot for her I was about to burst. And the best part of it is, she didn't know it. She didn't know any of it! She was ashamed of it, ashamed to admit it, and I played it up for her as far as she'd lap it up.

After I figured she spilled most of her beans, or anyways once she started circling back over the same ground I gave her a stern look. She stopped, dead in her tracks. Her ass lifted off her heels as if by itself, bringing her to attention. Her nipples were rock-hard. She was quiet, looking up at me imploringly. Finally I spoke, slow and solemn, like a hawk-headed executioner. "Bitch, it's come time for your punishment. You have to be punished. You know that, don't you ?" She nodded like I thought her head might jump off of her shoulders and make its way to orbit. "Where you keep the ropes ? Bring 'em here." She looked at me like I had guessed the lottery numbers in every state. How hard is it, I could see the solid posts on the bed, the eyelets in the beams here and there. A freakish broad like that ? Easy.

She scurried off, and came back with a bunch of bundles. There were a lot, dozens. Pepper had taught me some basics, but it was obvious to me I was outgunned. This bitch had practiced, who knows how many years. Who knows what they do to those sweet future teacher gals in college, anyways! I didn't let the thought bother me. I said to her "Bitch, I'm not gonna plug that mouth of yours. You're ok to moan ; but if you scream I'm out of here. And I'm propping the door open on my way out, too." She shook her head yes, while her eyes were candles burning wax of please. I tied her up like I knew'd hurt her. Every so often I'd let her out and make her hurt somewhere else, some different way. I worked her over more than an hour. Her curvy black body had the sheen of seal skin. I could tell she wants her release, but she's not gonna say anything. She quivered and rolled her jet satin belly under my nose. She was pushing herself to be as good as can be. She was trying to earn it. That's the way the best bitches are, and don't let any fool tell you no different, either.

"You want to get off, don't you." I asked her. "Mhmmmm..." she came right back. "Well bitch... you can't." Her eyes turned to terror. "Not here. Not now." She looked at me, the flames in her eyes questionmarks. "To get off you gotta turn a trick. That's the only way for you from now on." She just looked at me, and then she nodded her head. "You ever turn a trick before ?" I asked her, contempt in my voice. She hesitated, then shook no. "Well... there's a first time for everything." I walked over to her shoe closet, picked out the tallest, reddest pair of heels in there. Threw them on her and then let her loose. "You a whore now, bitch. Naked or no, you don't go barefoot, remember that. You get those heels on and you keep them on. Even in bed." She put them on and split. I locked up behind her and met her in the car. She was shuddering, flushed. She wasn't cold, she was scared. I said "How much scratch you got, bitch ?" Suddenly her eyes opened wide. "Fuck! I... I left it at the bar. Where you... were I first saw you." I reached in my pocket and pulled it out for her. "Dumb bitch." She bit her lip and lowered her forehead. "How much is in here ?" She looked at me. "Two hundred forty-five."

I knew she had to have it from her Daddy, the first one. It was way too much for her no-skill dumbass to have come by in any other way. That's the way all these lady bitches are, they don't whore on suckers they found themselves, like real women. They too lazy and stupid for that. Instead, they whore on suckers their mamas found and crippled for them, like god damned pumas and cheetahs. How they're not ashamed of themselves God only knows. "Alright, bitch. Once you get two hundred forty-five new slats with your pussy I'm gonna let you crash." I directed her to the edge of the red light district. We had a method down pat, made just for her, just for that night. We ran it smooth, she'd pull over next to a sucker and I'd go "Hey brother, see this bitch here ? She's naked and horny. Twenty, whadda ya say ?" She sold two in three no problem. The shy ones she turned in the back of what used to be her car ; but more often than not I had her get out and walk around, to take them standing, her titties on the window on my side. After the first few I had her choking on my rod while the punter worked her ass. At first I thought no punter'd want anywhere near any set-up anything like that, but boy was I wrong! They went wild for it! After the fourth or fifth like that I finally figured out what they wanted to hear. I'd say "Yeah man, fuck my wife. Give it to her hard man. Fuck that pussy full. We've only been married six months now, but I turn her out regular. Put a baby girl in her, so the whore seed never dies out." It drove crazy, half the time they paid over the twenty we agreed on! One guy peeled out a fifty off his wad, rolled it up thin and shoved it in her asshole!

Once I pulled it out of her and we drove off I told her I guess this stinky one pays for breakfast, huh. She laughed but then stopped herself with a gasp, like she had broken all ten commandments together or something. I was laughing myself. It was the rush of a lifetime, like the best party ever. I told her so, and she started laughing again and said she was thinking the same thing. I asked her what's it feel like, being a dirty whore ? She looked at me with dreamy eyes and said it's the best filling in the world. I mean she didn't say feeling, she said filling, like a pun. I told her now at least she knows what dirty stands for. She had dribbled all over her seat to the point there was a sloshing puddle down there. We kept laughing and jibing all the way back to my run down rat trap. The same clerk raised an eyebrow at the sight of the naked whore walking with me, four-something in the AM. "You'll give her one tomorrow, Jack. She's filled up now." I said as we went by, without stopping. I think he nodded. She took a soak and I went off to bed. I think I remember her sliding into bed and spooning with me afterwards, but my sleep was thick with dreams, rich, vivid. Fantastic.

I saw myself gigantic, all-powerful, like God Almighty. My clothes would glow. My underwear would be rainbow-hued silk petting my skin, soft and loving like a whore's velvet. My suits were glittering like spun-gold but soft as cotton, and shot through with priceless gems and diamonds. My shoes were all dazzling silver or shining black but still like some sort of metal, the toes as sharp as daggers. Beautiful whores groveled at my feet, their huge udders dangling on the floor, under my feet. I'd step on their tits, and on their nipples either. They were dove-eyed, begging, worshipful.

Through the dream mist I'd see in the distance huge sharpened stakes. The whores' painted faces'd turn wild with fear. They'd wail and beg me for forgiveness, for delivery from those sharp, biting, frozen steel stakes. I'd laugh madly. Rich wells of scarlet spurted from their asses as I joyfully booted them, crotch first on those sharp pikes. They'd flop around like hooked fish, little dying chickens bleeding their last. They'd slowly slide down to the bottom in a welter of blood.

I woke with a start, my ticker earthquaking inside of me. The runt, awokened with me, gave my shoulders a warm embrace. She whispered in my ear it's ok, it's just a dream. Go back to sleep, she said, and I did. Right back to dreaming. This time I was tiny, barely the size of a locust. I'd jump around on grassy meadows, by a river. Lots and lots of naked girlies danced and pranced all around. I'd jump inside their pussy, and they'd caress me with their lips and carry me inside from place to place. Fantastic beings hung like horses, with hooves and a horse's behind would chase after them. They'd yell in terror and run off, in fear the huge shafts might crush me inside them. I'd crawl and jump from one to another when their time was come, to avoid being crushed. Eventually they were all dead, the spiny, barbed, harmful pricks of the galloping punters having gutted them all to the last one. I'd stand on the pile of corpses, the green fields turned red with blood, and look over the horizon.

A huge figure of towering light would come towards me. In his anger his eyes would be blazing blue suns, his spiky platinum hair standing on end. He'd point toward a woman, chained naked to a pole, her back turned to me. He'd hand me a barbed leather whip. Like a crash of summer thunder his voice commanded me, "Punish this evil woman. Destroy the devil inside her. The Lord so directs thee." I'd grab the heavy whip eagerly, with both hands. I'd bring it down with all my force on the woman's back. She'd would just stand there, as I shred her flesh off of her bones. The scarlet drained down from her slashed back. She'd be standing to her knees in a river of blood, and then turn her brown, agonizing face toward me. It was always Mama. The sight made me wake shaking and screaming in a pool of sweat. It was horrible. I could never cut these dreams off until they reached their end. They had to run the fearful course. The dreams about Mama came until her death.