NSFWdragonhouse
Established
This story is called Dick Swinging: Brit and I had just driven down to Kensington and bought some stuff. We stopped on a side street, Ormes and Indiana, to do it. The plan was simple: get high, hook up, and forget the world for a little while.
I got into her car; mine was parked directly across the street. We started doing our thing in the back, and I was completely naked when the headlights of another car cut through the darkness, pulling up right next to mine. A flicker of paranoia, that old familiar instinct, went off in my head. You don't last long in Kensington without it. I watched, motionless, trying to understand what was happening. A girl got out of the passenger side, quick and jittery. She ran to my car, reached into the open window, grabbed something, and was back in her car in a second. The car’s engine revved.
“Yo, yo, yo, hold up!” I yelled, my voice muffled by the glass. They didn't stop.
“Someone just stole some shit from my car,” I said to Brit, my mind racing. “Hold on.”
There was no time to think. Adrenaline took over. I scrambled out of her car, fully naked, the cold night air hitting my skin. I dove into my Ford Focus and tore off after them. It was only then, as their taillights swerved ahead of me, that the reality of what they’d taken hit me: my mother’s phone. My own had been stolen a few days before, and I was using hers to stay connected. My mom was already on a razor's edge with me, furious about the life I was living. Losing her phone wouldn't just be an inconvenience; it would be another betrayal, another reason for her to believe I was a lost cause. That was not okay.
The chase was a blur of pure, focused rage. We were hitting eighty-plus down narrow side streets, the world outside my windows a smear of brick and flickering streetlights. My little Focus screamed in protest, but I kept my foot pressed to the floor. He was trying to lose me, but I was fueled by something more than just a stolen phone. It was about not failing, not this time.
We flew down C Street and shot towards the intersection at Allegheny. The light was red. He didn't slow down. He tried to burn through the light, a desperate, stupid move. And in that split second, a flash of headlights from the side, a deafening crunch of metal on metal, and his car went spinning around into the middle of the intersection.
He’d just T-boned someone driving down the street.
I remember saying, “Oh yeah! Fucking awesome!” out loud to myself as I slammed on my brakes, my car skidding to a stop. The chase was over. It was 10 PM on a Friday on Allegheny Avenue. The street was alive with traffic and people and I was at the center of a fresh car wreck I’d helped cause. I was pissed.
I threw my door open and jumped out. The other driver stumbled from his mangled car, dazed. Steam hissed from the engine.
“Where’s my phone, pussy?” The words ripped out of me, raw and vicious. “Aww, what happened? Did you fuckin’ total your car, dickhead?” I was just yelling, pouring out all the rage and frustration that had been building for months. This guy had tried to rob me, and the universe had just handed him the consequences on a platter.
I was ass naked, dick swinging in the middle of the boulevard, when I saw him start toward me, gripping some kind of stick. Fight or flight. I ran to my trunk, popped it, and grabbed the first thing I could find—a long, hard plastic ice scraper.
I came back holding it like a weapon. “Here’s what’s going to happen, bitch,” I said, my voice suddenly calm and cold. “Mine is bigger than yours, pussy. So go get my phone, and I’m not gonna fuck you up in the middle of the boulevard right now. GO GET IT.”
The whole confrontation couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds. He must’ve been weighing his options for a second while looking at the crazed, screaming, naked man with a weapon standing in the middle of the road that he’d just robbed, because he looked from the ice scraper to my face? and back again. She yelled from inside the car, “Just give it to him!” He went to grab it. I saw his girl inside, her nose bleeding from where she’d hit the dash. He grabbed the phone from her and threw it into the street toward me. It skittered to a stop and landed near my feet.
A crowd was starting to form now, phones out, recording the spectacle. “Aww, what happened to your girl, bro?” I yelled as I picked up the phone. “Now her face is even more busted than before. That's what I thought. Now go get your car towed and have fun being dope sick.”
I got in my car, pulled a sharp U-turn through the debris, and drove off.
When I got back to Brit, she was still waiting. I explained everything, the words tumbling out, the adrenaline still coursing through me. She didn't believe it until we drove back and saw the guy standing on the sidewalk, watching a tow truck hook up his wrecked car.
“Oh wow, it really happened,” she said.
“Yeah, it happened.”
We went back to our spot to finish what we started. But this time, I locked my doors.
I'm not an angry guy. I have a temper, yeah, but it takes a lot to get me there, and it's short-lived when it does. But if you mess with Brit or my mom, those boundaries drop pretty quickly, especially with my mom. I’m protective of her because she’s protective of me. She’s the one who’s always been there for me, thick and thin, no matter the bullshit that I put her through. It wasn’t really about the phone, it was about doing right by my mom for once. In the end, karma got served to the guy and his girl, and my mom got her phone back.
I got into her car; mine was parked directly across the street. We started doing our thing in the back, and I was completely naked when the headlights of another car cut through the darkness, pulling up right next to mine. A flicker of paranoia, that old familiar instinct, went off in my head. You don't last long in Kensington without it. I watched, motionless, trying to understand what was happening. A girl got out of the passenger side, quick and jittery. She ran to my car, reached into the open window, grabbed something, and was back in her car in a second. The car’s engine revved.
“Yo, yo, yo, hold up!” I yelled, my voice muffled by the glass. They didn't stop.
“Someone just stole some shit from my car,” I said to Brit, my mind racing. “Hold on.”
There was no time to think. Adrenaline took over. I scrambled out of her car, fully naked, the cold night air hitting my skin. I dove into my Ford Focus and tore off after them. It was only then, as their taillights swerved ahead of me, that the reality of what they’d taken hit me: my mother’s phone. My own had been stolen a few days before, and I was using hers to stay connected. My mom was already on a razor's edge with me, furious about the life I was living. Losing her phone wouldn't just be an inconvenience; it would be another betrayal, another reason for her to believe I was a lost cause. That was not okay.
The chase was a blur of pure, focused rage. We were hitting eighty-plus down narrow side streets, the world outside my windows a smear of brick and flickering streetlights. My little Focus screamed in protest, but I kept my foot pressed to the floor. He was trying to lose me, but I was fueled by something more than just a stolen phone. It was about not failing, not this time.
We flew down C Street and shot towards the intersection at Allegheny. The light was red. He didn't slow down. He tried to burn through the light, a desperate, stupid move. And in that split second, a flash of headlights from the side, a deafening crunch of metal on metal, and his car went spinning around into the middle of the intersection.
He’d just T-boned someone driving down the street.
I remember saying, “Oh yeah! Fucking awesome!” out loud to myself as I slammed on my brakes, my car skidding to a stop. The chase was over. It was 10 PM on a Friday on Allegheny Avenue. The street was alive with traffic and people and I was at the center of a fresh car wreck I’d helped cause. I was pissed.
I threw my door open and jumped out. The other driver stumbled from his mangled car, dazed. Steam hissed from the engine.
“Where’s my phone, pussy?” The words ripped out of me, raw and vicious. “Aww, what happened? Did you fuckin’ total your car, dickhead?” I was just yelling, pouring out all the rage and frustration that had been building for months. This guy had tried to rob me, and the universe had just handed him the consequences on a platter.
I was ass naked, dick swinging in the middle of the boulevard, when I saw him start toward me, gripping some kind of stick. Fight or flight. I ran to my trunk, popped it, and grabbed the first thing I could find—a long, hard plastic ice scraper.
I came back holding it like a weapon. “Here’s what’s going to happen, bitch,” I said, my voice suddenly calm and cold. “Mine is bigger than yours, pussy. So go get my phone, and I’m not gonna fuck you up in the middle of the boulevard right now. GO GET IT.”
The whole confrontation couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds. He must’ve been weighing his options for a second while looking at the crazed, screaming, naked man with a weapon standing in the middle of the road that he’d just robbed, because he looked from the ice scraper to my face? and back again. She yelled from inside the car, “Just give it to him!” He went to grab it. I saw his girl inside, her nose bleeding from where she’d hit the dash. He grabbed the phone from her and threw it into the street toward me. It skittered to a stop and landed near my feet.
A crowd was starting to form now, phones out, recording the spectacle. “Aww, what happened to your girl, bro?” I yelled as I picked up the phone. “Now her face is even more busted than before. That's what I thought. Now go get your car towed and have fun being dope sick.”
I got in my car, pulled a sharp U-turn through the debris, and drove off.
When I got back to Brit, she was still waiting. I explained everything, the words tumbling out, the adrenaline still coursing through me. She didn't believe it until we drove back and saw the guy standing on the sidewalk, watching a tow truck hook up his wrecked car.
“Oh wow, it really happened,” she said.
“Yeah, it happened.”
We went back to our spot to finish what we started. But this time, I locked my doors.
I'm not an angry guy. I have a temper, yeah, but it takes a lot to get me there, and it's short-lived when it does. But if you mess with Brit or my mom, those boundaries drop pretty quickly, especially with my mom. I’m protective of her because she’s protective of me. She’s the one who’s always been there for me, thick and thin, no matter the bullshit that I put her through. It wasn’t really about the phone, it was about doing right by my mom for once. In the end, karma got served to the guy and his girl, and my mom got her phone back.
