Babydoll

“Baby,” he tells you thickly. “Baby, you know I love you. You know it.”

And you’re not even really thinking about him. You’re thinking about getting out of these fucking heels and getting a cigarette. You’re wondering whether you paid the gas bill. You’re reminding yourself to call your mom tomorrow, because it’s her birthday.

But you smile and sway just the same. Sure, baby. You know he loves you. As long as he’s got the money. And keeps his fucking hands to himself.

“Baby, come back to my hotel. I’ve got $1000. We could have a real good time.”

Motherfucker.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: