Dethroning the Queen

I sat on the spoiler of my car, my foot tapping to the beat of the blaring music
coming from the stereo. I eyed the girl from underneath my bangs as she approached. Lots
of guys called her name and she waved or hollered back but did not blush, a dead give
away she’s well known amongst the guys. Seeing as we were sitting in front of a city high
school, I kept it a cool glance with a shadow of indifference.
About 5’9” compact with a nice figure loaded with curves. Way too much makeup
obviously applied to make her look a lot older than she really was, a white low cut
half-shirt displaying a flat stomach and so much sun tanned skin and cleavage, that showed
no visible tan lines, that it never would have been allowed where I’d gone to school but
this is the inner city. Showing skin was less dangerous than a switchblade or a handgun.
The colored bra beneath was easily visible as it snugly held her C-D cup breasts. Her light
brunette hair was long and well cared for, curly, possibly permed, showing auburn
highlights. Long tanned legs, once again with no signs of tanning lines, ended at her acid
washed cutoffs. She walked as if she were a hood. With a gang ghetto accent only an idiot
would have mistaken for authentic she says, “These your wheels?”
Opening gambit. Make sure I have the goods. After all it could belong to a friend
and then she’d make her move on him instead. I looked up with a half smile.
“I don’t see anybody else they’d belong to, do you?” I ask the last two words
pointedly.
“No,” her voice tries to sound sexy for a moment melting the “bad girl” accent.
“So,” she pauses speaking with her eyes and a shift of her hips, “you want some?”
She was now inches from my face staring into my eyes as if to add punctutation on
the off chance I don’t understand what she’s asking.
“Want some,” I repeated. “From you? Okay, what you got?”
She quickly sets her books on the sidewalk, steps closer, and grabs my hand
shoving it up her shirt pausing just long enough to slip her bra off one breast. Then she
runs my hand in a circular motion over it while moaning lightly. Then she licks her lips,
drops herself into my lap, and whsipers into my ear with hot breath, “Get the idea?”
I take my hand back slowly sliding it down her stomach. Let her know I’m not
gay. Then I fix her with an incredulous look.
“How old are you? Thirteen? Maybe fourteen?”
She smiles. After all, when I copped the feel it was rather clear I was interested.
“How old do I feel?”
Every word on one track, only one goal in mind.
“So what did you have in mind?” I ask unrattled but with my best facade of
cluelessness.
“Well,” she reclined on the back of my car. “You could take me for a ride in this
hot car of yours back to your place. Then, I could take you for a ride.