Maximum Badonkadonk Ch. 11

(RECAP)

"Am I your simp too, Vicky?"

"No."

"What am I?"

"Somebody better than a prostitute and a thief; somebody who deserves better than a selfish bitch who didn't even graduate high school. A good man better than the disgusting pastor who paid for it. Now you can be with a good girl instead of me."

I was shook to the core watching her back away into the darkness walking to Bentley's car getting inside. It sat there for a moment as I exchanged glances with my rival knowing I'd got more than he ever would unless he was willing to pay for it. I was frozen unable to get up or even move with the images of Vicky sitting on that chair behind Tubman Estates. She was waiting for a john that day we met, went out to eat and fucked.

Demon knew what she was and it angered him because she was a liar. He'd whipped her with his belt against my fence that night.

Bentley pulled off into the night taking Vicky out of my life.

I sat alone in the darkness of the night on those front steps for two hours just looking out at the street. My heart shriveled up along with the inherent goodwill I extended towards most people when meeting them for the first time. The catalyst for this mindset inflamed my thoughts making me clench my fist until it felt like the circulation was cut off.

"Renee Kelly, you're gonna be sorry."

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MAXIMUM BADONKADONK Ch. 11

Featuring: Charity Gilbert-38F-29-39 (19 years old)

Phoebe -34DD-26-38 (28 years old)

Shawnee Thompson a.k.a Ms. WTF?!! (34A-32-??)

Introducing: Esther-46-38-62 1/2 (47 years old)

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It was just after seven in the morning but I'd already run several laps at the local park. I was doing my best to put everything behind me including Vicky Stone. It was already two weeks and I hadn't returned to church and that Youth Council front group run by her cousin Tressie. I just couldn't bring myself to look at her face in the aftermath but didn't wholesale rule out returning to use the inherent freedoms offered from a semi-vigilant mother. Part of my actual reason for running laps was to stall out until my mother went to work. She'd asked about Vicky one time too many.

If I had to be honest, I think I was running this track at the park to get away from my memories of Vicky now serving time on a bench warrant and apparently some misplaced words directed at her judge. I was already running from my cousin Jaquan who'd betrayed me in exchange for his parental rights. I wasn't supposed to feel that way I suppose in retrospect, but he hadn't disclosed this even after being in the know about what I was doing with his esteemed baby mama number two. I kept thinking if I hadn't been staying over there none if this would've happened, but I still would've met Vicky. We would've been free to explore our feelings for one another.

Nothing would've changed about her criminal past; she still would've been a prostitute on the low.

I stopped half skidding to a stop hunched over, hands on knees wheezing from exertion. Droplets of perspiration hit the concrete with these splashes. I straightened my back looking around the park listening to the chirping birds and other ambient chatter. Across the way a couple were running together keeping pace together in perfect synch. Something about that struck at my core as I recalled Vicky's ambush of me in this very park. She hadn't been forthcoming with me and I was angry that she didn't show me the texts and video clips before acting on her feelings. We could've worked through it and given our mutual enemy the middle finger.

We could've been something, but she was too wrapped up in her fucking feelings.

A couple of days later, I went to the clinic to get checked out. I was clean, but my mind felt dirty, nasty for stupidly trusting Vicky. There was no way I could talk to my parents about what I was going through and my father would've verbally dragged me from pillar to post. Mom, well she probably would've gone medieval on my ass in no uncertain terms.

She'd been mentioning my dad for the last few days talking about some garden party at his relative's home. It would be particularly awkward since my dad hadn't socialized me with his part of the family after the divorce, so it was always weird. I was intrinsically an alien thing of curiosity for the distant members and that party would be no different. I was by default, a mamma's boy.

"Bitch." I said to no one in particular and not directed at esteemed baby mama number two in general. No, I was incensed at a man today, a black man in color alone. He was due for a reckoning of sorts as I trudged home to take a shower and get some breakfast.

There was only one person I was aware of with the ability to supply my antagonist with access to Vicky's criminal history. One man stupid enough with his nose open wide enough to put his own career in jeopardy. One really stupid beat cop with nothing but muscle between his ears. I doubted there was even a pea rattling around in his empty cranium. Vicky sent her mug shot to my phone that night thinking to reveal the truth even if I ran her off. Time was running out after a promise had been broken. Despite her rough upbringing and criminal mind, she hadn't realized she was strapped down on a table for dissection mentally speaking.

An uber narcissist with an axe to grind would never keep her end of a hastily agreed upon bargain.

I found myself examining that mugshot over and over again going through a wide range of emotions. I must have gone through several stages of grief repeatedly before I realized the origin of that mug shot. Serendipity had come to balance things out after I was attacked and beaten in front of that salon only to be nearly arrested for it later.

Officer Johnson was going to give me a pound of flesh, hell, I was gonna take a few pounds out of his monkey ass when all was said and done. Weaponizing Vicky's mug shot was going to cost him big as I spent the following days going through his social media. It was enlightening to say the least finding at least three accounts under anagrams, variations of his name. Officer Chris Johnson was a very bad boy indeed.

"Damn, this big Deebo looking nigga get around like motherfucking Tupac." I sat in front of my laptop working intently on a digital dirty bomb of my own.

The cop in question was the definition of a player with a separate account for Carlie, another for the numerous rats he encountered while patrolling the mean streets of our fair city and finally one for the wife and kids. The last being distinctly G-Rated with myriad family outings and video clips of him parenting his small children like some horrible parody of Mr. Rogers in blackface.

Contrasting that with his other more salacious account, it was enough to make you wretch out of moral indignation. His page with Carlie Kelly was more geared toward them being a loving couple with tons of kissing pics and one were he'd found a way to go on an excursion to Vegas. I wondered how he finessed the wife for that one. I got out my phone dialing up a recent coconspirator and self-appointed mentor in all things "Mean Girl" evil.

"SPEAK, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT AT THIS HOUR IN THE MORNING?!"

"Good morning to you too, Charity." She yawned into the phone definitely sleeping in after her manager's job ceased to exist.

"What do you want asshole?"

"Hey we're cool right? I know you're not still mad at me after I found a way to get you out of your dad's shadow, right? Come on Charity; you're supposed to be mentoring me in the ways of the Sith, aren't you?"

"You haven't been coming to "CHURCH" lately but I can tell you who has FYI, nigga. My father just loves the place and he's still up my ass when he's not desperately fawning all over that Tressie person. So, you've delivered nothing and haven't made recompense as we mutually agreed, nigga."

In this moment I remembered Charity's mother being mentioned as some high powered lawyer. The daughter definitely had the lingo down as I cracked my knuckles.

"I'm working on that."

"Work harder; now what do you want?"

"Well now I don't know because you've made it so awkward to ask."

"WHAT-THE FUCK-DO YOU WANT?!!" Her voice cut into me through the phone.

She was bristling at her situation, but unable to shake me off socially because her father was fast becoming a fixture in the church. To make matters worse, both of them were scheduled to be baptized in front of the full congregation during the upcoming service.

"Uhm, can I have a pic?"

"What?"

"A pic, just one pic Charity?" I heard some movement figuring she were lying in bed, now stirring as I danced around the request.

"What kind of pic, nigga?"

"Well Charity, I don't know how to properly put this in the appropriate context."

"YOU BETTER TELL ME OR I'M GONNA HANG UP IN YOUR GODDAMN FACE!"

Charity screamed in my face through the line.

"Titties." I responded in sort of a hushed tone. The line went silent for a few moments making me think she'd hung up.

"You want a pic of my fucking tits; is that what you're asking me?"

"Well it's really not that bad and I'm not gonna be using it to jerk off or nothing; and of course I want you to wear a bra, probably a nice underwire if you have it Charity. Now, I want a good close up with tons of cleavage, cool?"

Charity Gilbert hung up in my face.

Seconds later I got an emoji filled explicative laden dress down via text that ended with Charity demanding I deliver Andre 13.5 to her or else there would be hell to pay. I believed her already dialing up a more malleable replacement for my devious ambitions.

"Good morning." Phoebe answered full of life, eternally good natured.

"Good morning, sorry for calling you so early, but I hoped we could see one another." There was the muted sound of a sprinkler in the background.

"I've been up for hours doing a few things around the house and my gardening, so it's okay. Is this what I think it is; are you making one of those uh "booty calls" huh?" Phoebe was the queen of awkward Will Ferrell type cringe verbally speaking.

"Is that a possibility?"

"Well why ever would you call if you weren't in the mood? I have to be candid of course and admit that I've masturbated a lot lately. We are, talking about getting together, right?"

"Uhm, sure if you can send me a dirty pic." I decided to go with the flow.

"You want a dirty picture to masturbate to; is that right?" My brow furrowed as the cringe fest continued.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked; I just wanted a really nice pic of your beautiful breasts in a nice underwire brassiere. I can't stop thinking about that afternoon Phoebe. I never thought in a million years something like that would happen, especially with a woman like you." I was partially trolling, deciding to engage in the sitcom level awkwardness.

"What kind?"

"Huh?"

"What kind of underwire would you like? I've got about fifty or more in various colors and prints. What is your preference?" I was taken aback suddenly presented with a wealth of riches like I was shopping on amazon.

"Uhm, red?"

"What shade, I've got several and one vintage with a Dalmatian print."

"Cherry red is good; oh, would you happen to have one a size smaller that you could squeeze into Phoebe?" There was silence on the phone making me think I was busted in some fashion. I was worried thinking I would have to make contact with Tressie as a third option.

"Well I bought this nice vintage number online two months ago, but its more magenta than cherry. Besides that, the cleavage is a bit much and hard for me to keep things from uh, bursting out. You wouldn't mind that, would you?"

"Of course not Phoebe." I went with it further.

"Alright I'll send it to you in about ten or twenty minutes; let me go dig it out of my closet."

"Gee thanks, I knew I could count on you."

"No problem; although I want to take it out in trade, if you get my drift?"

"Totally, I'll hit you up later today."

"Have fun and save a little for me okay?" She chuckled nervously almost sounding reticent on the phone. I imagined her looking around like she was afraid someone might overhear.

"You ain't got nothing to worry about; I promise you." We hung up chuckling, both of us were getting what we wanted and I was getting some bonus pussy as well.

As soon as I hung up, a pic came in from Charity depicting her own impressive bust natural as it were, in a staggering demicup brassiere. In the brief time I'd found a replacement she apparently had a change of heart providing me with five good pics that were blistering stuff. My favorite was a pic of her from the chin down sitting upright in her modest bed legs spread apart revealing a matching panty set sheer in the front. Despite all her big talk and bravado, her ego remained her biggest weakness. I texted a response which got my phone ringing in seconds.

"YOU DON'T LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?!!" Charity was livid.

"Are you crazy? Of course I like what I see, but I found somebody to fill that role I needed so your services while appreciated, are not required. Would you like me to delete your little pics Charity?"

Proving my point she was laughing evilly as I was talking cutting me off at the end of my sentence. I could hear "I Wanna Be Down" by Brandy playing in the background as she chortled in disbelief.

"You REALLY DON'T have to be EXTRA; I sent your funky little pics, okay?"

"Sure, I don't want any litigation so I'm gonna delete them okay baby?"

"YOU'RE SO IMMATURE!" Charity yelled earning some loud knocking at her door in response. I heard her scrambling about suddenly switching off the music as her parental warden beat on her bedroom door. I couldn't help myself going in for the kill.

"Hey Charity; sorry but it's beyond my-!!" She hung up in my face again before I could use her trigger words.

I was sure I was going to pay for that shit as I went back to mining Officer Johnson's social media accounts. My phone chirped again with Phoebe's contribution which was visually staggering in its own right although her boobs were artificial in nature. She also texted about hooking up with me around three in the afternoon. My phone rang again with Charity's number a third time. I thought about letting it ring, but figured I had nothing to lose.

"Hello?"

"WHO THE HELL IS THIS?!!" Her father's voice boomed out of my android and I could swear I heard some whimpering in the background.

"Oh hey sir, we met at church a couple of weeks ago; I apologize for not getting your permission to speak with your daughter Charity beforehand, but I assure you it was an emergency."

"WHAT THE HELL YOU SAY?!! WHAT KIND OF EMERGENCY SON?!!" Even I was intimidated by his baritone voice.

"Well Mr. Gilbert, I hate to be open about someone's secret shame, but Charity has expressed reticence, dare I say even fear at the prospect of being baptized. I was simply advising her to come to you in the spirit of the lord, trust you and uh, make these concerns known. I thought maybe you two could find the answer together before the fateful day arrives. Has dear Charity always been afraid of water?" I made sure to use a sexually ambiguous tone.

There was a few minutes of silence afterwards.

"HEY, IS THIS TRUE WHAT I'M HEARING ABOUT YOU CHARITY?!!" His voice was so loud, my ears rung a little bit.

"NO DADDY!! HE'S LYING ON ME!! IT'S NOT TRUE!!" She screamed just as loud, sounding as if she had been sobbing. I also suspected she answered out of fear and likely a bit of ongoing corporal punishment by a ridiculously overprotective father trying in vain to parent her after the fact.

"Hey man you seem like a okay fellow, but Charity is not allowed to talk to boys while she's living here. I ain't trying to discriminate against you or nothing, heck I even got a friend like you at the job!" I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing in his face.

"UNDERSTOOD MR. GILBERT!!" I yelled in a practiced falsetto tone.

"YEAH RIGHT; HEY CHARITY WE GONNA TALK ABOUT THEM FUCKING DRAWERS YOU WEARING AROUND MY HOUSE!! YOU TRYING TO SNEAK ONE OF THEM BOYS UP IN HERE?!!" Before I could hear the answer, the line went dead.

I shrugged it off but thought better of leaving my charge to her fate. I mean, she was supposed to be tutoring me in the ways of young adult evil and I couldn't very well leave Charity at the mercy of her clueless father. I ended up making a reluctant call to preserve the relationship and insure she wouldn't be coming after me in some fashion. I wasn't in the market to add another female antagonist to my life.

"Oh you're finally calling." I was surprised when Tressie picked up almost immediately.

"Yeah but it's not about what you think; I really need your help Tressie; can you help me out right now, or not?" I presented a verbal ultimatum giving her no real wiggle room.

"What do you want me to do?" She sounded worried.

"Go pick up Charity Gilbert and bring her to my house right now."

"EXCUSE ME?!!" The attitude erupted out of her voice reminding me of the sister girl hidden behind all of her personal issues and tangent nymphomania.

"We were talking right now and her dad caught her; She was bitching about how he's wrapped around your finger, so I thought you could get her out of the house. She might be getting her ass whipped at this very moment."

"OH, SHE SAID THAT ABOUT WILLIAM?!" Tressie's tone changed on a dime forgetting her outrage.

"Yeah I don't know what you've got going on but go get that bitch before we end up with some more drama!"

"What do you mean, we?"

"Hey, we're in this together as fellow perverts, right? Can't you do me this one favor?"

"You think he'll let her go with me, without tagging along?"

"Makeup some religious shit; tell him you two were going to work on that baptism this weekend. I don't know, flash him some cleavage or something Tressie! I just want you to interrupt the shit show in that house for an afternoon."

"I'll call you back." She hung up not answering one way or the other.

I resumed my activities finding a bunch of pics with Officer Johnson and Carlie hugged up in their Vegas hotel room. You'd almost think them an engaged couple if you didn't know better. The smug look on this body builder with a badge made me want to toss a brick at it, but I knew my strengths resolving to still throw that proverbial stone and hide my dirty hands. I relaxed for a while lying in bed watching Tron Legacy on a streaming service almost dozing when my phone started ringing.

"Yeah?"

"I'm out front nigga."

Charity sounded ferociously angry with me, but I got up casually walking to my front door peeking through the diamond shaped window inset at the street. She was standing at the side of my house wearing this horrific lumberjack flannel dress. It was pretty much a long sleeved drape covering her figure, a fashion sacrifice traded for some momentary freedom.

I had to hang back a minute chuckling as my phone starting ringing again before I opened my front door walking out onto my porch. The minute our eyes met; Charity started walking towards me with evil intent. I held up a hand, palm facing her which made her halt on a dime.

"HEY, I KNOW YOU MAD, BUT DON'T COME OVER HERE FUCKING WITH ME AT MY DAMN HOUSE!! I SAVED YOUR ASS FROM A WHIPPING AND YOU CAN GO BACK HOME IF YOU THINK OTHERWISE BITCH!!" I just wanted to assert my dominance and control my space, nothing more as one of my younger neighbors appeared on a porch across the street. Charity Gilbert looked like a serious bum in that getup.

"You didn't save me from shit; I got a whipping if that makes you happy." Her pride had taken a heavyweight blow and I'd given her a post-fight sucker punch verbally speaking.

"Where's Tressie?"

"Helping my father out after dropping me over to Mrs. Hady's house for some spiritual counseling."