Dirty Dawg: The Indian Intern Ch. 03


My alarm went off just before sunrise like it had for the last few years blaring loudly into my ear before I mashed the snooze button down returning to sleep for a few seconds before the next alarm sounded from my phone. I accidentally swiped it off the mattress onto the hardwood floor of my bedroom reaching for it, but the bottle of hooch remained upright on the edge of my modest bed. I wasn’t a drinker by any means, but recent events left me with a need to imbibe. I rolled over on my stomach feeling the hangover so much, that it felt like my brain could actually fall out of my head onto the floor beside my phone.

“Shit.” It hurt so bad just trying to regain my phone from the floor without making any sudden moves or sitting upright, but I managed.

I found myself staring up at the ceiling for the hundredth time in the last three days since I been shit canned as part of an elaborate con hatched by my ex-boss and his niece who’d also taken the time to hook up with me in what was turning out to be the thick girl equivalent of the monkey’s paw curse. I was haunted by the image of Laila’s deep olive colored body in tandem with her Uncle Kumar’s evil laughter. The latter part of that vision was a mental construct manufactured by my bruised ego. I had little doubt of some form of celebration on his part at getting the better of me in a struggle I hadn’t known existed until it was over.

“Hello?” My phone’s face lit up with an incoming call which I answered out of sheer boredom; it turned out to be my Aunt Yvonne.

“You coming over tomorrow?!! You coming to the cookout, boy?!!” She yelled into my ear setting all my synapses on napalm fire. I yanked the phone away from my ear as she continued.

“I-I don’t know, Auntie.”

“BOY, YOU STILL LAYING UP ON YOUR ASS, HUH?!! YOU BETTER GET ON UP AND GET AH JOB BEFORE YOU GET PUT OUTTA THAT APARTMENT!! YOU COMING TO THE COOKOUT?!!” My aunt subscribed to the scream until you get what you want school of thought.

“It’s more of a room; I can manage for a while with my savings and unemployment.”

“Yeah, you coming to this cookout and you gonna be talking to your Uncle Billy, boy!!” In truth, I had nothing but love for my uncle, but his choice of women left over from the seventies, left much to be desired. Yvonne was probably my seventh marriage relation after the explosive dissolution of his sixth union. She was this really skinny female in her late forties with these abnormally wide hips which left you wanting when you saw how flat her ass actually was; not that I was looking all that much. My Uncle Billy and myself, shared similar interests female wise for your information. He was the one relative who always seemed to know what to say when the chips were down or when you needed some sage advice.

“You know what Auntie; think I’ll stop by for a few minutes.”

“YOU’D BETTER; DON’T MAKE ME COME GET YOU, BOY!!” Yvonne faux-threatened as I pulled the phone away from my ear a second time.


I begged off the buffoonery, clicking off as the day began in earnest. I knew I had some responsibilities to attend to having already filed for unemployment the day I was canned. Even after hanging up, the stinging betrayal lingered about my person. I tried to go back to bed but sleep eluded me, and I could find nothing to eat in a fully stocked fridge. I sat at my desk surfing on my laptop for some other employment while letting television noise accompany my job search. Laila’s face taunted me nonstop making me realize that I had to find something to purge her from my system.

Mental sleuthing took over my time when I discovered that I could still log into my company email. When I was employed there, my interpersonal situation could best be described as “clean up guy”; the person who made sure all the “T’s and I’s” were where they should be. It made since that Mr. Kumar would forget to lock me out of the system as I found myself reading the in-house log which denoted Laila’s addition and immediate promotion in my former office. There was an accompanying photo of her with her shitty uncle holding what appeared to be a department award and a bouquet of roses. She looked like she’d won a pageant, or something dressed smartly in a tan business suit. I found more photo with the article that made me bristle so much, I thought I’d burst into flame. Another photo revealed her and Mr. Kumar with executive committee, the higher ups I’d never had a chance of meeting all standing around her like doting parents. I noticed a very familiar old fart in the background, the same guy from the stalled elevator.

I wanted to think it was all some coincidence but his hand on her right shoulder told the tale of the screw job that robbed me of my livelihood. I’m sure it was happenstance that he was inside the elevator on that fateful evening, but he’d definitely snitched to Gloria about my salacious activities that night. I felt criminalized like some sort of pervert finding an attachment that led to Laila’s resume. I don’t know why it was escort posted, maybe just to rub my friends still working there faces in the nepotism. Laila’s resume turned out to be two pages of information that revealed her privilege on an international level. There were a veritable who’s who of prime Fortune 500 were she’d either interned or worked before landing in my office. She was highly educated sporting a wealth of extracurricular activity that seemed to be leaning towards running her own company one day. It was a foregone conclusion that slapped me in the face like a tossed brick. We were world’s apart, but I’d had the edge in experience in my location making me her target.

I’d objectified myself in her eyes with the plain faced, yet decadently shaped “intern” zeroing in on my predilection for curvy women the instant we met. Sex had been her method of attack, invasion if you will as I fell hard for the act. That oh so delectable iron fist in a velvet glove had delivered a knockout punch that destroyed my livelihood with deadly accuracy. In short, I’d played myself for a fool obviously falling into a box she had ready for me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been stereotyped and probably wouldn’t be the last with her having me pegged as some sex starved primitive, a thirst zombie. There was no running away from the fact that she’d likely wanted to sample a black guy in some respects. This unfortunately was a recurring element of my work life that had popped up the moment I started working at eighteen. At first it seemed cool screwing around with some of my coworkers, having sex with women I didn’t normally see in my daily life who were usually a little older. But after that “itch” was scratched, things would invariably go off track and get weird. It was a lesson in ethics, I was still learning.

I had to place blame somewhere and the standard bearer for this situation lie in my acute proclivity for curvy women with big to huge derrieres; hell, even ranging into what some would call BBW territory. I scrolled back in my mental Rolodex to my first encounter with one Shelly Finkel, this voluptuous pear shaped Roma girl who worked the corner store in my old neighborhood. My phone rang out of nowhere interrupting my thoughts.

“Hello?” No one said anything for a few seconds before the call was disconnected. I didn’t recognize the number.

I finally passed out again for another couple of hours waking up around midday face palming as I realized that I was supposed to that family gathering. Auntie Yvonne most likely would start carpet bombing me with additional calls if I didn’t show up. I was leery of seeing my uncle after thinking it over as I showered and dressed in a collared shirt and slacks with some nice dress shoes to finish my look. Uncle Billy had chided me early for dressing like everyone else not wanting me to become another hood drone. I’d developed my much more overt mature look getting heckled hard by my friends called an educated lame for the most part. It was all about projecting the look of success and I’d grown into that role with his encouragement. I caught an uber over to the house finding the party in full swing bringing with me a small bouquet of flowers for my aunt and two six packs for my uncle who would undoubtedly be holding court with his friends.

As predicted there was already a full party going on with groups of people congregating around the bungalow styled home that had been in the family since the sixties owned by various family members which was a rarity in our ethnic group. Uncle Billy himself had been given the home decades earlier after marrying my “second auntie, Hettie”, this woman I only remembered because of her massive breasts. Ironically he’d cheated on her with a flat chested woman, her polar opposite with a big, flabby butt that seemed out of place on her thin frame. Uncle Billy never missed a beat citing a few tears later that while he loved Hettie, he couldn’t get past the fact that she challenged him on everything while her flat, deflated looking pancake butt gave him no joy carnally. I was one of the few people who understood where he was coming from having been sexually imprinted at an early age for women of a certain look. Partialism is what it was scientifically referred to in some circles and I worked to manage it over time even dating some women that didn’t fit my particular aesthetic. I didn’t see my uncle right away or Auntie Yvonne passing through the house leaving my gifts on the kitchen table to hit the backyard. There was an unexpected blast from my past waiting in the yard.

There she was larger than life itself standing in my uncle’s backyard talking with some other girls I didn’t recognize, probably associates of hers. Micha Le’ was known to travel with a pack of loud, cackling self-appointed “IT GIRLS” in the hood and I didn’t want any part of that nonsense. It had been a few years since we last met at a mutual acquaintance’s house party. She’d always boasted an incredible hourglass figure, but the years seemed to have added escort bayan a little extra to her frame making the young woman a veritable brick shit house figuratively speaking. Her skin retained its milky pallor along with the freckles which seemed isolated to the center of her narrow, oval shaped face. Her hair whether or not actually real or an elaborate weave, was made up in this intricate braided design on the sides with a wealth off curly bangs over her forehead which flowed into a shoulder length ponytail at the back. I couldn’t understand why she chose the garish candy red hair color which contrasted with her milky complexion. Micha Le’ was dressed in this peach colored, jersey styled tank with some jean print jeggings and open toed wedge sandals that gave her an extra bit of height over her friends. She seemed to notice my eyes on her instantly, facing me with a snarl.

“WHUT YOU LOOKING AT?!!” Micha Le’ bellowed.

“NUH-THIN!!” I yelled back turning my back to her immediately. I felt like I’d paid my bad karma off during the week when I got played and lost my job to an undercover player. I didn’t want to engage in public theatrics with a childhood nemesis, especially when it usually ended up in a scuffle or the tossing of objects at one another. Everyone else in the cramped yard fully expected a show which I was hell bound not going to provide. I walked over to the picnic table preparing myself a plate of food. There was some laughter at our initial exchange which disappeared into the loud musical stylings of Roy Ayer’s “Everybody loves the Sunshine.”

“What you don’t like what you see, or something?”

“Oh don’t mind me; I’m Ray Charles when you’re around.” I retorted still adding things to my plate as she crowded me.

“Oh you got jokes, huh?”

“I’m joking?” I deadpanned.

“I saw you looking at my ass; don’t try to deny it. You’re always staring all hard and shit; like fucking Uncle Fester and shit.” She didn’t seem to care who was listening to our exchange adding another repugnant layer to her already stellar personality.

“And yet, you ventured outside without your burka.” I turned doing my best to ignore her finding a garbage can at the other side of the yard filled with generic cola and various bottles of beer. Micha Le’ looked irritated and confused returning to her circle as I sat with a few cousins at a makeshift table.

“When you two motherfuckers gonna get married?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” I glanced over taking a look at the ass I’d been accused of ogling finding it crotch inspiring simultaneously lamenting who it was attached to in the same moment. Her long, shapely legs truly made it’s large heart shape stand out. From my vantage point, didn’t look like Micha Le’ was wearing any panties.

“STOP LOOKING!!” She yelled out of nowhere, shocking me as I looked up at her face, busted. There was more laughter from the gathered guests while a few older people stared disparagingly. Micha Le’ turned her back again even as I gestured towards her. One of her friends, some chubby sister who looked like Velma from that Scooby Doo cartoon tapped her on the shoulder. I was surprised when she turned around again greeting her with a middle finger that didn’t go over well. Micha Le’ stalked over to my table snatching up a marmalade jar being used as cup full of soda only to pour it over my head ice and all. Some of the ice cubes pooled in my lap as laughter filled the backyard.

“Bitch must pay.” I murmured to myself while the verbal jeers and laughter continued as Micha Le’ returned my obscene gesture rejoining her friends who approved of her actions.

Someone’s toddler was within reach eating an ice cream cone that had been stacked with every flavor humanly possible. I snatched the cone power walking up behind Micha Le’ quickly slamming down on top of her head in a makeshift dunce’s cap. I knew I was dead meat if I stuck around quickly bounding out of there like I was on fire as her friends screamed like enraged harpies while the backyard exploded in uproarious laughter. I cleared the side of the house looking over my shoulder finding Micha Le’ right at my back desperately reaching out trying to snag my shirt. I sped up knowing she wouldn’t be able to match my speed because of the wedge sandals. I made it half a block before glancing back finding her in the process of tumbling across the sidewalk in a disaster of limbs and faux garish red hair. I nearly fell over catching myself, laughing hard at her predicament. She sat there looking pathetic on the verge of tears as I slowly walked back.

“You poured a drink on my head.” I reasoned.

“HELP ME UP FOOL!!” She did look a mess as I kept out of her immediate reach.

“Can’t you help yourself up, huh Micha Le’?”

“Come on man, I think I sprained my ankle or something; don’t leave me down here, honest!! “She pleaded working my humanity. I looked around finding a few pedestrians watching starting to worry the cops weren’t far behind.

“Look, we were both wrong; bayan escort don’t try anything funny Micha Le’.” She just nodded.

“You gonna help me out of not?” The white knight in me bubbled to the top as I bent down picking Micha Le’ up in my arms. The minute I straightened my back out with her aloft in my arms, she made a sudden but aborted motion like she was gonna slap me.

“I-I’ll toss your ass off the curb if you do that shit.” I warned, sternly.

“You put a fucking ice cream cone on top of my head, man.”

“You poured cola on my head and messed up my clothes, too; and for what; because you thought I was staring at your ass?” Her weight was somewhat of a factor as I carried her down the street. Micha Le’ was just plain thick, but in an abundantly healthy way.

“Well, you were staring!”

“Goddamn girl; what you want people to do when you’re walking around with all this back, huh? Nice skintight jeggings by the way, Micha Le’!”

“I can wear whatever I want!!”

“Well, then don’t try to police people’s fucking eyeballs; fair?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning her head in a huff, inadvertently hitting me with her ponytail. Her perfume was nice, she smelled nice as my gaze drifted downward finding an exposed nipple. It was pecan colored with a small areola and erect. She followed my eye line, quickly covering the exposed tit with her hand.

“Damn; you in need or something, nigga?”

“Why you gotta be like that when I’m carrying your big ass down the fucking street? You could’ve just ignored the shit and said hello, but you decided to play that “Sista Gurl” shit with me instead, and now you got me carrying your thick ass down the street and still got the nerve to complain! You were chasing me and you face planted because you were wearing some fucking wedge sandals, Micha Le’!!” I had a mind to set her down on the curb. My uncle had always taught me that no good deed goes unpunished when dealing with a woman, and her comments were bearing this out.

“So you get to look at my titty?!”

“You are so negative.” The way she talked struck me as boorish.

“You were looking!”

“Yeah, I was looking; you want an endorsement or something?!! And while we’re talking about it; why aren’t you wearing any underwear, huh?!!” I knew from my own personal history that Micha Le’ got around. She’d always been the center of attention growing up because of her looks or skin tone with it all going to her head when her body started to assert itself as nature evolved her.

“I’m wearing underwear!”

“Didn’t look like it from where I was sitting; everybody saw that shit, not just me, either.”

“I live across the street; it’s all about being comfortable, motherfucker.” Micha Le’ explained flavoring it with blue language.

“Well, your comfortable is about to embarrass both of us because you know everybody gonna clown us back at Uncle Billy’s when I walk in carrying your ass!!” Her light brown eyes widened at the realization.

“Take me across the street to my place.”

“No, take your embarrassment like a big girl.”

“Come on man, take me across the street; I got a room in the back of my cousin’s place. I don’t wanna deal with all that laughing and shit!! PLEASE-JUST DO IT, OKAY?!!” Micha Le’ s freckled face started to flush crimson at the thought of further public embarrassment.

“Well, okay; but you are kind of heavy. Maybe you should lay off the hot pockets, though.”

“Fuck you.”

She looked away with a slight smirk on her narrow, oval shaped face as I crossed over to the other side of the street finding the two flat where she rented a living space from her relative, an older woman who functioned as a surrogate mother after Micha Le’ lost her parents to street violence. Contrary to belief, she’d inherited her skin tone from her father with her mother being extremely dark gifting her daughter genetically with her figure. She directed me down the side of the house to a small backyard made so by a two car garage. I grumbled having to carry Micha Le’ up the three steps of her back porch. The door was unlocked with me managing to just make it to her bedroom, half dropping her on the small bed pushed up against the wall.

“Ow, careful man; you trying to drop me on the floor or something?!!”

“Whatever; have a nice life, home girl.” I turned to walk out but she grabbed my forearm.

“What, you can’t even get some ice for my ankle or nothing?!!” Micha Le’ complained.

“Shit!” I walked out of the small, narrow room down a corridor to her bathroom finding a medium sized towel hanging on a rack behind the door with a pair of skimpy red panties. Red seemed to be her favorite color of choice as I walked further towards the front of the house finding her kitchen. This room seemed even smaller with a proliferation of product on its small table and filled counter tops as I opened the old fifties era refrigerator.

“HURRY IT UP WITH THAT ICE!!” Micha Le’ yelled from her room sounding more afraid that I was checking the place out than out of any pain. I filled the towel with some ice returning to her bedside. She allowed me to slip her shoes off without complaint or snarky comment, wincing as I applied the makeshift ice pack.

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