Oh I knows him. Like I knows the rub of my hand ‘gainst the window and I’m clearing a space on the misted glass for me to see more clearly. And I can see what he is and I see what he aint. And I knows him.
He’s pretty, though. Like a boy can be pretty. And he’s clean and dresses smart and fancy with his shirt and his tie and his hair all slick and combed neat. And seeing him makes me feel funny inside. Like cartwheels or somersaults or slides. And I see him on the street each morning, and he’s enjoying his first smoke of the day, and I walk him by and make a gift to him of a smile. And there’s a thing ‘tween us now, which is something to do with the feeling he has in that first smoke and something to do with the effort I’ve gone to in making myself look nice.
I can feel his eyes on my legs when I pass and I knows him. Shit, I knows him better than he knows me, and maybe better than he knows himself. And I knows where all this is going and he only dreams his kisses on my neck and his hand under my clothes and holding my titties in his hands. And dreams is only wishes and they is always uncertain.
Men is just boys underneath and boys is just easy – easy as pie when you understands ‘em. My momma says as how they is only after one thing, men and boys, and she says it like it’s a bad thing and not like it’s something we can use to our advantage. And he’s pretty like a boy and easy, too.
And it’s all just a game, if you let be so, and there aint no rules to get in the way. You can play it anyways you want to. And so I dresses special, dress with him in mind, and I walks past him when he’s enjoying his first smoke, and I knows what’s what, and I want to lay him down, slow and slow, and unpick the buttons on his shirt, and lick him all over, tasting salt and sting on my tongue. And all that I put into my smile, and he sees it, but he don’t know that he does. And he holds his breath and watches the backs of my legs and he thinks of me when I’m gone.
See how easy it is. And momma’s right when she says they wants only one thing – but that’s ok if you knows. And I got me things that I wants, too. Like the money in his wallet, more money than he has sense to know what to do with it, and his watch that is a weight at his wrist, and his silver cigarette case that must be worth a pretty penny. And his shoes, real leather, and they has a glassy shine to ‘em and they must be worth something, too; and his suit and his tie – and it is made of silk, I think. And if he gets what he wants then I reckon as I should get what I want.
And there’s a room in the hotel up on ninth, and he won’t be the first I have taken there and he won’t be the last. And pretty is one thing, but I knows there has to be something after the pretty.
Patricia Ann McNair 
Oh I knows him. Like I knows the rub of my hand ‘gainst the window and I’m clearing a space on the misted glass for me to see more clearly. And I can see what he is and I see what he aint. And I knows him.
He’s pretty, though. Like a boy can be pretty. And he’s clean and dresses smart and fancy with his shirt and his tie and his hair all slick and combed neat. And seeing him makes me feel funny inside. Like cartwheels or somersaults or slides. And I see him on the street each morning, and he’s enjoying his first smoke of the day, and I walk him by and make a gift to him of a smile. And there’s a thing ‘tween us now, which is something to do with the feeling he has in that first smoke and something to do with the effort I’ve gone to in making myself look nice.
I can feel his eyes on my legs when I pass and I knows him. Shit, I knows him better than he knows me, and maybe better than he knows himself. And I knows where all this is going and he only dreams his kisses on my neck and his hand under my clothes and holding my titties in his hands. And dreams is only wishes and they is always uncertain.
Men is just boys underneath and boys is just easy – easy as pie when you understands ‘em. My momma says as how they is only after one thing, men and boys, and she says it like it’s a bad thing and not like it’s something we can use to our advantage. And he’s pretty like a boy and easy, too.
And it’s all just a game, if you let be so, and there aint no rules to get in the way. You can play it anyways you want to. And so I dresses special, dress with him in mind, and I walks past him when he’s enjoying his first smoke, and I knows what’s what, and I want to lay him down, slow and slow, and unpick the buttons on his shirt, and lick him all over, tasting salt and sting on my tongue. And all that I put into my smile, and he sees it, but he don’t know that he does. And he holds his breath and watches the backs of my legs and he thinks of me when I’m gone.
See how easy it is. And momma’s right when she says they wants only one thing – but that’s ok if you knows. And I got me things that I wants, too. Like the money in his wallet, more money than he has sense to know what to do with it, and his watch that is a weight at his wrist, and his silver cigarette case that must be worth a pretty penny. And his shoes, real leather, and they has a glassy shine to ‘em and they must be worth something, too; and his suit and his tie – and it is made of silk, I think. And if he gets what he wants then I reckon as I should get what I want.
And there’s a room in the hotel up on ninth, and he won’t be the first I have taken there and he won’t be the last. And pretty is one thing, but I knows there has to be something after the pretty.