therealprettyboygirl

A Gazelle, A Rat, A Tiger, And Darius

Added 2021-05-01 22:14:36 +0000 UTC

The Lexington Market stop was bustling as usual. There were several schools nearby and the students were out for the day, walking together in dense cliques, stopping to loiter in front of shops and chatter loudly. As a fire truck's siren blared nearby, a mother crossed the street with a baby sleeping in a stroller, undeterred. There were couples, walking hand in hand, one in matching velour track sweatsuits; another sharing food from a styrofoam container; another slumped against one another, high on love and something else.

“Methadone.” Tiger whispered.

“That’s the ‘Methadone Lean’.” Rat agreed, clicking their tongue.

The two arrived at So Beautiful, a beauty supply shop a couple blocks from Lexington market. The windows were protected by wrought iron window bars. Security cameras faced out to the street, tracking passersby. Rat and Tiger entered through the automatic doors, passing a formidable looking security guard as they entered.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” The guard said.

“Good afternoon, handsome!” Tiger replied, pursing her lips.

Rat did not like being grouped in with women, especially the subset known as “ladies”. Their preferred pronouns were “trash/garbage,” and “slut/whore” at work.

Rat frowned and pulled Tiger’s hand, “We’re on a mission. We don’t have time for these people.”

“I have time for a full grown man any day.”

“Tiger, you’re basically married.”

“I don’t see a ring. Besides, I’m just flirting.” Tiger replied, flipping her hair.

They made their way to the back of the store where they kept all the wigs and weaves. Rat had recently run through another synthetic wig. The club was not kind to hair pieces. The typical shelf life for a wig or weave was about a month, between the various headstands and floor writhing Rat enlisted in their stage routines, plus all the aggressive lap dances where customers felt the need to run their fingers through the wig hair. It was a wonder that so few customers realized they were petting plastic, but men were not known for being observant creatures.

“How about this one?” Tiger asked, pointing to a smart looking long bob.

“A lob? It’s cute, but men are simple. They want hair so long it gets caught in your ass crack. A lob might be too complicated for them.”

“I’ve worn a lob and the men couldn’t get enough.” Tiger countered.

“But that’s on the streets. It’s totally different when you’re in the club. It’s like topsy-turvy reality in there and we all operate based on the lowest common denominators.”

“On the streets?!” Tiger gasped, “Who do you think I am? I meet men in civilized spaces like any other biological female!”

Rat rolled their eyes and sighed, “You know what I mean. Like, in what world would I need to put effort into seducing men, other than for dat schmoney?”

“I love the art of seduction,” Tiger replied as she made eye contact with the security guard and bit her lip.

“To each their own.”

“Just be grateful you’re allowed to, this is as far as I can go with most men before I have to worry about winding up dead in a ditch.” Tiger said, nonchalantly.

“Maybe we’ll both end up dead in the same ditch, and then some mortician will have to check and see whose corpse is most destroyed and then they can finally decide once and for all who’s the most oppressed,” Rat scoffed as they examined a bundle of body waves, “Should I just make my own wig?”

“You know you’re never going to get around to it. That bundle will just sit in the bathroom collecting dust, and taking up the space I need for all my hair products.”

Rat did not like this assertion, but they knew it to be true. Handy as they were, there were certain projects they began that would never come to fruition. Rat leaned over the counter, attempting to look at the expensive wigs they kept away from possible shoplifters. Rat knew which wig they would eventually go for, but the idea of purchasing another long, straight, brown wig was so boring. But it was the path of least resistance. Rat needed a wig that was passable enough to be natural; not too colorful so as to initiate an endless number of conversations about how “girls these days” make choice about the way they look that somehow seem to be independent of the male gaze; and long enough that they could look femme, even on a day when they have razor burn. A curly wig would be ideal, but the shelf life of synthetic curls is even more ephemeral than a straight wig. Eventually, Rat needed to break down and blow a few hundred on a human hair wig, but the idea of spending more than $60 on something that would inevitably be dragged across the strip club floor seemed ludicrous.

An elderly Korean shop clerk shuffled over to the back counter. She pointed to the long brown wig Rat was looking at.

“You want this one?” She asked as she tapped an arthritic finger against the mannequin head sporting the unremarkable unit.

“How much is it?” Rat asked.

The woman reached under the nape of the wig and pulled out a tag.

“$75”

Rat scratched their chin thoughtfully.

“Do you have any other ones like that, but cheaper?” Rat asked.

“Don’t be cheap! Your budget is $65. It's a $10 difference. You’re an expensive whore!” Tiger shouted in exasperation.

The elderly shopkeeper took a bite of a sandwich she had on the counter and wiped her mouth as she said, “$10 is not much difference. You pay cash, I won’t charge tax.”

Tiger looked at Rat sideways, judgement clearly visible on her face.

“I don’t like peer pressure.” Rat said.

“I will hand you $10 right now to end this awkwardness.”

Tiger opened her bag and dug around for her wallet, dropping lipstick, a pack of condoms, body lotion, and a thong before Rat stopped her.

“I’ll take it! I’ll take it! I’ll take it! Just keep your bag shut!”

Rat reached into their back pocket to retrieve a wallet attached to their belt loop by a chain.

“Gay.” Tiger chided.

“Gay all day, straight for pay, baby.” Rat recited as they pulled out a bundle of $20’s.

Rat licked their index finger and flipped through four bills and placed them on the counter.

“He act broke, but don’t believe it, ladies and gentlethems,” Tiger scoffed

“Are you getting anything?” Rat asked.

Tiger was already distracted, checking her emails.

The elderly shopkeeper punched the total into an ancient cash register that then printed a tiny faint receipt.

Tiger snatched the receipt from her hands, “Thank you so much!”

“You want a bag?”

“Nah, I’ll just wear it out. Thank you.” Rat said as they put the wig on their head.

The lace was showing, but it didn’t matter. The hair was warm, and that was all Rat cared about.

“Damn ma, you look nice with a little bit of hair.” The security guard said smiling as the two made their way out of the store.

Rat sighed and turned the wig so that it sat on their head at a sideways tilt. How much crazy would it take for men to leave them alone?

Rat and Tiger walked around the block, window shopping the cheap boutiques up Lexington and down Saratoga. They paused in front of a store with a mannequin sporting a skin tight tiger print dress with matching elbow length gloves.

“You should try it.” Rat said, nudging Tiger.

“You’re so literal.” Tiger scoffed, “Plus I’d have to tuck so hard she may get lost forever in these cheeks.”

“A little bulge can be sexy. It could be that fat pussy. Datch fatty boom boom, hit me wit da ting ting.”

“You’re not my type.”

“Oof, homicide.” Rat said, clutching their chest.

“Plus, I doubt my hands would fit into those gloves. One size does not fit all.”

“Valid.”

They continued walking. The sun was setting already. Fall had come and gone so quickly, and now they were in the middle of wintry midday darkness. Rat could see their breath puff in and out in the dim street light. The crowds had thinned significantly.

“It’s getting late.” Tiger remarked.

“We should get out of here before it gets sketchy.”

Tiger snorted, “This is Baltimore, hon, she’s always sketchy.”

“Don’t talk about my city like that, gentrifier.” Rat retorted.

“Ha, as if you’re living within your means. Just because you’re Black and you rent in the hood, doesn’t mean you’re not a gentrifier. You’re out here occupying low income housing that could be used by someone who actually needs it.”

Rat weezed, “Damn, out for blood today.”

“Tigers are nature’s best killers.” Tiger replied flatly.

The light rail stop was empty aside from a man shadow boxing across the tracks. Rat and Tiger stood together, waiting, listening to the man make sound effects as he punched the air. Rat was grateful they had the wig for warmth. The temperature had dipped, and they were losing sensation in their toes. They shuffled from side to side, attempting to regain some blood flow in their extremities. Tiger was on their phone, texting rapidly with the sound on, the clicks of their keystrokes filling the empty space. It was irritating, yet also calming in a way. Sometimes pestering noises keep you company. Sometimes a room feels less lonely when you notice a spider nestled in a web in the corner.

“Darius wants to come over.” Tiger said.

“Cool, it will be good to see him.” Rat said, staring off to where the train was approaching.

***

Tiger had met Darius when she first started working at the Baltimore Museum of Art. Darius was a programming director at the time, and Tiger was an aspiring art handler fresh out of art school in Rhode Island. At the time, Tiger wasn’t even “Tiger”. She had gone by her first chosen name, Gizelle.

“Gizelle. Like a gazelle, except that it’s a real name!” Gizelle had quipped, as she held out her long slender hand.

“Darius,” he said in turn, “It’s my name, and I don’t have a cool story for it.”

He had bent over to kiss her hand.

***

“Like a gentleman!” Gizelle squealed, “He made me feel like such a princess. I think I’m gonna get married.”

“You literally just met him.” Rat retorted.

“But sometimes, you just know.” Gizelle replied dreamily.

She stirred a cup of tea absentmindedly as the two roommates sat at their kitchen table.

“Does he know?”

“Not yet, but I’m like six feet tall, so I mean.” Gizelle replied, shrugging.

“I just don’t want you to fall for some asshole who doesn’t love every inch of you.”

“C’mon, I just met him and now you’re talking about love.” Gizelle countered, “Besides, what if I just wanna fuck? What if all I want is to watch him cream all over my tits?”

Rat began collecting their dirty dinner plates and silverware.

“Are you done with that?” They asked, gesturing to a small plate with a half eaten slice of bread.

“Take it. I don’t have an appetite.”

Gizelle pushed the plate aside. Rat was worried, as they tended to be. Gizelle was an impulsive romantic and when it came to love. When she fell, she fell. Rat envied the steaminess of her emotions. Rat was a lukewarm lover at best. Their partnerships were casual, responsible, and ended without much friction in either direction.

***

Luckily, Darius didn’t mind that Gizelle was trans.

“He’s a bisexual!” Gizelle exclaimed, elated, “I knew he was perfect for me.”

And so began a long, and only somewhat tumultuous courtship between Gizelle, and Darius. The office romance was only somewhat kept from the public eye. While they worked their shifts, the two performed their roles as trainee and superior. They worked on opposite ends of the building. Gizelle had to do the grunt work of greeter and on weekends and managed the ticket desk Monday through Thursday. Darius had an office away from the gallery. It was only during the occasional lunch break that they might run into each other and share a conversation steeped in over acted banality that they would each part from, alive with the adventure of the hidden erotic tension between them.

Most days their shifts ended at six. Darius was always out first. He would walk a block down and wait on the corner of 29th Street for Gizelle to arrive, so that he could walk her home.

“I don’t like the idea of my lady walking alone.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“You are, but I’m an anxious man, and I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.” Darius said, as he looked at her with dark solemn eyes.

Gizelle teared up and placed a hand on his cheek.

“Don’t make me cry here, in front of all of these rich White people.” She sniffed, and pulled his face to hers.

As they shared a public kiss, one of the museum directors turned the corner. Darius pulled away quickly as Gizelle covered her mouth. They exchanged a worried look. Had they been seen? And if they had, was that a bad thing? It was so jolting to go from a moment of tenderness to pretending to be casual acquaintances again.

“Evening, Wallace!” Darius said, waving to their approaching coworker.

“Evening, you two! Stay warm!” Wallace said as he briskly passed.

“Hi,” Gizelle said feebly after Wallace had already gone.

It was as if her body was operating on a delay. She watched Wallace disappear down the street. Darius looked up and down the street, checking to make sure that they were away from anyone they might know.

“Let’s get you home.” He said, smiling sheepishly.

He wrapped an arm over her shoulder. The gesture shook her awake. He felt so good. The weight of his arm wrapped around her made her feel small, and dainty. Normally, it was all that she wanted, but that evening it felt different. She couldn’t quite place the sensation.

***

Darius pulled up in front of her house and turned off the car.

“I’m sorry about that. I just freaked.” Darius said, apologetically, “Lizard brain took over.”

“It’s okay.” Gizelle said automatically.

Darius took her hand and held it tightly.

“It’s not you, it’s HR.”

“Look, I don’t want to get into this right now.”

Gizelle pulled her hand away and began unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Okay. I respect that.” Darius said, looking down, “But call me tonight when you’ve had some time to think. Okay?”

He looked at her, questioningly. It was hard not to look at his pretty brown eyes and say “yes” to anything he wanted, especially when they looked so heavy with remorse. But Gizelle couldn’t convince her lips to form the words.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Darius.” She replied coolly.

She shut the car door before he could respond. Darius sat parked for several minutes, waiting to see if Gizelle would come back out. When she didn’t, he reluctantly started the car, and pulled away. Gizelle had watched from her bedroom, unsure of what she wanted to do.

“What’s wrong?” Rat asked from the doorway.

Gizelle turned around, startled.

“Can’t you knock for once?” Gizelle retorted.

“The door was literally fully open. I’ve been watching you stare out the window for the past ten minutes.”

“Oh,” Gizelle replied, “Well, yeah, that is weird.”

“What happened?” Rat asked.

“Gazelles are too peaceful. All they do is get eaten.”

Gizelle took off her earrings and necklace, and placed them on her vanity.

“But they’re pretty, and graceful. And they’re so fast they don’t get caught too much, I think?”

Rat looked at Gizelle quizzically.

“But that’s all they are: good to look at, and delicious when caught.” Gizelle spat.

She unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it off in a huff.

“Fucking bras. I don’t know why I do this to myself. I don’t even have tits.” Gizelle remarked, grunting.

“Because you’re a ‘biological female’. And female nipples are a sin that we must protect from the eyes of lecherous men.” Rat replied, as if performing a recitation.

“Sounds like a scam to me.” Gizelle retorted, “Anyway, I think I’m over being a gazelle.”

She reached around and unfastened her bra, letting out a resounding sigh as she did.

“Free the trans nipple.” Rat said, jokingly.

“Bras are a torture device.”

“They were actually made by women to liberate the modern woman from having to wear a stay, which is the article of clothing people often confuse for a corset.”

“You’re such a nerd, Rat.”

“Thank you.” Rat pushed an invisible pair of glasses up their nose. “If you’re done being a gazelle, then what do you wanna be?”

“A cold blooded murderer.”

“So like, a crocodile?” Rat asked, bemused.

“Ugh, that’s so masc!” Gizelle replied, gagging.

“There are lady crocodiles.”

“But, I’m not a lady crocodile.”

“Well, as far as reptiles and amphibians go--”

Gizelle stopped them, “Okay, maybe let’s not be that literal.”

“Cobras are hot?” Rat posited.

“Snakes equal dick, and I don’t want to be associated with penis.”

“Fair.”