Tim Identifies a Redbone

Thursday I met Tim, a morbidly obese older white man with gray hair wearing a sage green t-shirt advertising a burger joint.

Me: “Hi there!”

At work I’m folksy and charming. I’m the girl from Oklahoma who decided to move out to the big city, and it’s So Different from that Wholesome Simple Life.

Tim: “Looky here! Are you a redbone?”

I’m kinda blown by the use of the term so casually, but I roll with it.

Me: “Uh, I guess you could say that. Mind if I sit in your lap?”

Tim: “Sure.” I take a difficult seat on the limited amount of leg not obscured by his protruding gut. “I’m here visiting my son. Introduce yourself, boy.”

Boy: “Eugene.” We shake hands “Nice to meet you.”

Eugene is in his 20s, with dark hair, more obviously Latino than his father.

Tim: “Now, how old are you?”

Me: “25, 26 this year.”

For a while I was lying about my age, but I’ve come to realize 25 isn’t a bad age. Most men want to dance with women they won’t have moral quandaries about later.

Tim: “You’re about the same age as Eugene! How old are you again, son?”

Eugene: “I’ll be 25 next month.”

Me: “You’re a baby, Eugene!”

Tim: “I thought you were only 18! You have great skin. Now, we just got here, but come by again in a little while and we’ll go for a dance.”

Normally this means “I hate confrontation and telling people ‘no’ so let me let you down easy,” but sure enough when the twofer special comes around, Tim waves me over.

Tim: “You might just manage to get me hard!” He warns me as he takes a seat in the singles booth. I pop a squat in front of the chair and he warns me again, “it’s pretty small.”

Oh no, day ruined by another tiny dick. I give him the dance, and he’s having fun. Tim whispers into my ear: “If you’re not worried about getting in trouble, you could make a couple hundred extra bucks.”

I thank him for his generosity, but decline this special invitation.

Tim: “I understand! You’re a good girl.”

Of course “good girl” is just code for “not a full service sex worker,” but explaining this to clients is above my pay grade.

He thanks me and tips 20%, which is enough that I can’t complain.

You never really know about people and how they feel about the words they use. I guess in this case, “redbone” was a compliment, but the week before I was talking to a man about wanting to tan and his response was “you’re already pretty tan,” right before he bought 3 VIP sets with a white girl.