Cocaine, Cucks, and Concubines
“Kat this is Stacy, Stacy, Kat.”
A pair of enormous tits attached to a petite frame angle towards me. I drag my eyes away from her chest and look up- cake face, blue eyes and pigtails jammed under a Stussy hat. Her nose is perfectly straight, the tip of it turns slightly upwards. I wretch inwardly.
“KAT! ME-OWWWW” she giggles as she reaches out her hand for a limp wrist handshake. I take her hand and crunch it as hard as I can. My teeth clench into a smile as I watch her wince slightly. Serves you the fuck right.
Stacy tits-on-a-stick is the boss’s girlfriend and she’s a perfect Aryan specimen. The boss is John and he’s a tall, rich Korean dude who owns 3 hole in the wall dispensaries which are really fronts for his coke dealing business. He’s handsome too. I hate Stacy because she’s with my would be boyfriend- If white girls didn’t dominate the LA market for wealthy, good looking, Korean fuckboys. She's his trophy and he's her ATM.
I glance over at my date, Brian, sitting next to me and suddenly I feel embarrassed. He works for John— either at the storefront, managing under the table deals, or whatever the else John tells him to do. I mean, Brian is OKAY. He’s cute, he has some money but he’s not the boss. He’s just the foot soldier. Stacy gets Wagyu and I get New York strip. Brian is staring at Stacy too— all gooey eyed and drooling. I take a swig of my soju and grab the mirror in front of me. Wooooosh, Woooooosh, Two lines disappear up my nose and I feel a sudden head rush, followed by a glow-y warmth that starts at my scalp. I’m pretty sure I smile but I’m not sure because my face is fucking numb.
I pass the mirror to Stacy and lean back on Brian. Suddenly I feel more optimistic. Maybe Brian isn’t so bad. I mean he drives a G wagon, he bought me a YSL purse, AND he gives me free drugs. Maybe one day Brian will fuck John over like Brutus did Cesar and take over the coke empire. Maybe this is a necessary stepping stone in order for— my thoughts are interrupted when John calls Brian into the kitchen and Brian scurries over like a gimp. I sit up and look around for more coke- I need to keep the glow-y feeling because the reality of the situation is too depressing.
“Pssssstttt, Kitty Kat…” watery blue eyes twinkle at me. Stacy holds up the baggy I’m looking for and the corners of her lips turn up mischievously. Damn, she looks fucking hot. I realize I have this weird feeling in my stomach now and it’s not because I hate her for dating successful Asian men. For sure it’s the coke and alcohol but suddenly I want to grab her face and taste her lip gloss. I watch her pour rocks out on the mirror and chop it up with a black AMEX. I pout. I want one. More specifically— I want one that my boyfriend pays for. Jealousy washes over me again but fuck she’s still hot. I imagine pushing her back and running my tongue all over her bitch face. She passes me the mirror and I vacuum another line. I feel fucking fantastic and now I’m bathing in confidence. Brian who? I’m fixated on Stacy.
I line up 2 more shots and pass one to her. We clink glasses and just as I’m about to pour mine down my throat she stops me and squeals, “Ohhh idea! BODYSHOTS!” My fucking God there is a God. I squeal back innocently, “OHEMGEE. You’re so much fun babe!” I gently push her back. “I’ll do you first! Heheeeee!” She falls back effortlessly and I hover over her with my shot. I on purpose slosh soju all over her chest. “Oopsiessss!” She giggles and bites her lip. Is that the… yeezus christ it is. She’s giving me fuck me eyes. I know this because it’s the same suggestive look I throw guys all the time when I want to look like a fucking snack. Without stopping to think I’m straddling her, bent down, tits pressed against hers. “SO aggressivvveeeee” she whines from under me. I pop right back up and roll the fuck off. I’m so confused. Was that a warning? Everything gets quiet and I try not to look embarrassed. My face feels hot and I look around for a reflective surface. I bet my face is all splotchy from the alcohol. That and the embarrassment of getting blue balled by black card bitch tits. My eyes stop at the guys now silent in the kitchen. John and Brian are motionless, looking like two asian thug life puppy dogs, all drooling on the floor with half boners peeking out from their Diesel jeans. Stacy pops up and eyes them. “Oh haiiii boyssss! Don’t mind us, we’re keeping each other busy.” She looks over and a watery eye winks at me. I’m so confused from all this stop and go bullshit. I realize then how guys must feel when they’re trying to take a sloppy bitch home from the club and suddenly I feel empathetic. But not for long because pigtails attack my face and now I’m making out with her. She wants an audience, she’s doing it for the ‘gram. But whatever because her lip gloss tastes good and we’re done playing games. I grab her pigtails and yank her head back. My tongue is shoved down her throat and we sit there making out for awhile. Then I put my hands all up under her shirt. They’re squishy and natural feeling. Man she has those gummy bear implants- the ones that bored housewives get with their husband’s oil money. I feel her hand slide under my shirt and she squeezes my silicones tits. I imagine how rock hard they must feel compared to hers and I’m self conscious. But wait, my boobs are starting to hurt. Jesus Christ she squeezes hard. And what the fuck her hands are fucking rough. I open my eyes a little bit and nearly choke on her tongue. John is kneeling over us and he has a hand up each of our shirts. His eyes are wild, jaw locked and clenched. I stop all startled and look around. Brian is standing in the kitchen and I drunkenly try and wave him over. But he doesn’t move. He just stands there. Rough hands are still massaging my boobs and Stacy is buried in my neck. Stacy. Suddenly I understand. Brian can’t join in because he’s not allowed to touch the boss’s girlfriend. But the boss gets to touch me. Because I’m with the foot soldier. My date is the cuck. And I’m the concubine.
Before I know it I’m tits down on Stacy, one hand wrapped around her neck the other down her pants. John is ecstatic. He thinks I’m being a freak, but really I just want to hate choke and finger bang a bitch. I hate Stacy, I want to be her, and I want to fuck her all at the same time. Stacy gargles, John cackles, and Brian is probably sobbing in the corner using his tears as lube. No one stops me but the glow-y feeling is fading and I stop myself. I fucking hate cocaine highs because the first line is the best and then you spend the rest of the night chasing. I get up to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror. The person staring back looks manic.
I splash water on my splotchy face and look down on the counter. Stacy’s lip gloss jeers at me. I unscrew the cap and pat some on my lips. It tastes like white privilege and bubblegum. Then I pick up my YSL purse, and walk out of the apartment without looking back.