“Lookin’ good, pretty Miss Vedie.…mmmhmm….” No matter if I’m dressed like a dude or a lady, Joey always stares at me as if I’m a juicy bowl of strawberry shortcake—he licks his lips and I know he wants to take himself a nice big bite of a flavor he can’t get at home. Then he slaps a hand hard against my thigh, and creepy-slow, it climbs my leg. It’s headed for my ass cheek, or my name ain’t Vedie Wilson.
“Hands outta the cookie jar, Joey, my man.” I don’t appreciate it when any dude gropes me without asking for permission first. But the sad truth is I ain’t never gonna like Joey’s hands on me. While he gawks, I pull a shimmery hairband out of my bag and wrap it around my head to hold the damp dreads off my face. “Got yo’self a sweet tooth, looks like, Joey. You’d be wise to get your ass home to your sweet wife, not that you asked me for no words of wisdom.”
“Not gonna even think about going home ‘til I had me some fun,” Joey replies, jamming his hand in his pocket—probably to keep it from curving ‘round my ass.
When I bend down to rinse the sweat off my face he stays quiet and don’t goose me. Maybe this time he heard what I told him about gettin’ his butt home to Miz Joey. But more likely he’s checking out my butt.
“Baybeee… uh huh…. mmmhmm… nice ass you got there in them sweet little shorts….”
I sigh real loud, “I got some shit to do here, big dawg, so’s if that’s all you wanted…” The only way to get this guy to take a hike is to tell him point blank that he’s gotta head on out. “Catch ya on da flip side, ‘kay?”
He leans in so close I can feel his scratchy beard brushing on my neck and I shiver in the bad way. He takes a deep sniff—I guess he likes the smell of sweaty dude—and then finally bails. Right now, I sorely wish the tiki hut restaurant I work at had one of them one-person anything goes restrooms—for a dude, a lady, or whoever you feel like at the moment—but at least now I’m finally alone in the men’s room.
I pull out my makeup bag and quickly powder my nose so’s it don’t shine, and glide a deep shade of maroon over my lips, but I take the time to be an artist with my eyeliner and mascara ‘cause I figure eyes oughta say somethin’. When I look good enough that I’d wanna do me, I figure I’m looking good enough for public viewing. My new perfume smells like the freedom I got down here on Placida Island—coconuts and wildflowers and the ocean and honey— I spray it all over my neck and chest.
As I saunter outta the men’s room, I don’t miss that it’s kinda funny how I went in here looking all-dude but comin’ out, you could mistake me for a lady. Ha! More like a red-hot, sexy mama—smooth and silky everywhere ‘cept for the four-day beard.