RED PARALLEL

Chapter 46: Put That On My Curriculum

That was not what he was expecting. They were older than him, flaccid, weird, wearing too much makeup, loose pussies. Besides, he was prohibited to use condoms, like what the fuck. It was so gross, to feel his dick rubbing someone's old and who knew, dirty pussy. But they'd pay him. So if he could fuck while thinking of a real hot girl, he'd manage it. And that's what he did. That was his new job. To fuck any kind of woman and get some nice cash to buy his caps. And kicks. And mp3 players. Yes. Since he couldn't buy a giant stereo yet, that would do. On Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, he'd have free nights. No fucking old ladies. With nothing else to do, Traviz would enjoy his 'I ain't sleeping at night 'cause I just can't' time. And maybe try some old moves.

He thought about giving up. Dance was in the past.

The thought lasted less than an hour, though. Soon, he was kicking his feet on the ground, feeling some nice beats and just trying not to embarrass himself. Because what if he had forgotten what he had learned? So he would lock doors, close windows, and turn off the lights. And trip on his feet, in pitch dark. And embarrass himself. But since there was no crowd watching and the song was still playing, he would not bother himself, and get up. The hidden dancing nights were so ridiculous and short, though. Gretta decided he was ready for a few changes. Again. He was being gradually promoted. Like, okay. He dropped the sound and got dressed.

There were two new shits. First: he'd receive some kind of gift. Gift? Not exactly. It was like a nice and relieving and deserving bonus. During the week he'd fuck ugly women and make money. On weekends Traviz would have the privilege to pick his own girls. Choose the hottest and grab her for the weekend. All for himself. For free. That was a blessing. Okay, on the first weeks Gretta had chosen them herself, but he didn't complain. From blondes to brunettes to blacks, they were all very hot. He didn't like the too skinny ones, though. Skinny girls lacked flesh, and that was just a crime. How would he grab them, really? After two months, he was allowed to pick the ones of his taste. What a blast.

Second. On a random day, Traviz would go out with some gangstas and a few other boys. One of them was Chuester - some skinny reggae dude -, and they quickly became friends, maybe because they used to make jokes about the splashy and ridiculous sound of flaccid pussies, or maybe because they both danced. Chuester had entered in Traviz's room by mistake - they both had realized their room's locker was identical; Chuester said Gretta had access to all rooms, so there was no point in trying to lock them - and after half an hour of mutual aggression, Chuester was talking about his dream to enter in Levion.

"Ya know, Imma just save some cash and get my ass outta here," he said. "I hate this shit. Imma buy a condo near Levion and that's it. Nationals, just wait for me. What about you, wigga?"

"Dunno." Traviz was trying to process Chuester's clear determination. He had never thought about saving money and living by himself. He was kind of comfortable at Gretta's, but... Going to Levion?

"You're going to Levion, too? You're eighteen, right? Next year we can apply. I can't wait for it. Hope I don't die by then."

They would jump on the SUVs and go somewhere usually pretty far. Sometimes it'd take hours. All the gangstas would be loaded with their guns and stuff. The boys would carry a simple version of a pistol. Well, it could be simple, but Traviz always felt like it weighed more than a hundred pounds in his pocket, not to mention that he was afraid to pull the trigger accidentally and shoot his dick. Like, not cool.

Murdering Dobermans was easier. Why? Well...

"You two stay in the car and if any strange nigga walks out, drop them," Cobe ordered. The gangstas entered a huge deposit. The scenario was boring as hell: a desert place, full of abandoned containers.