Chronicles of Dijon (another short story)

This is another short story inspired by the work of Naiomi Pitre. Please read her story first, "The Chronicles of Dion: Never Going To Let You Go," at: http://www.myspace.com/bbinbatonrouge , then come back here. You might also want to read my previous short story, "My Love Is Not On the Game," posted on my blog 21 November, 2006, as this is a continuation of that story.
Back? Good.
Due to no demand whatsoever, Dijon is back!
Never Going to Let You Be a Ho
by Joseph in the Bracknell

That butch ass Brenda thinks she has my number. She thinks she's gotten one over on me...makin moves on my T-girl, right under my nose. When I think about the fact that my hard-earned money probably has landed in her dyke ass pockets, my forehead gets hot. I always gave Neenaneenaneena dosh to get her French plait tightened by that supposed lesbian fool. I swear, if I find out that bitch took my money and my T-girl, it's gonna be on for real. Two thinks you don't play with: a bloke's money and a bloke's heart.
It's been a month, a week, and five days since the Sunday that Neenaneenaneena decided to roll up out of our flat with all of her bags. One month, one week,and five days of staring at her picture. One month, one week, and five days of wondering where she was spending her time and who she was spending it with. Not like I didn't know.
On Monday through Friday, Neena runs her mother and father's 99 Pence shop, from 9AM to 7PM. She stops by the Starbucks Coffee Shop on Edgeware Road, to grab her usual Mocha Latte, right before opening up the shop. Usually, she will bring a packed lunch from home and eat in. Every once in a while, a delivery boy will bring her some pizza or a Chinese take-away, but only during the few days after pay day. I know that Neena makes some killer Coronation chicken sandwiches and I bet that's what she has in her carrier bag. Out of habit, I also know that she is probably carrying a Diet Tango in the bag as well. She used to always insist that Diet Tango was the only diet fizzy drink that didn't leave a nasty aftertaste on her tongue. We used to buy those cans by the cases, just to make sure that she was always stocked up. My T-girl can put down some Diet Tango.
During the week, Neena wraps up her evenings by walking back to the Underground station. By the time I pass by her parent's home, in the affluent borough of Knightsbridge, I'm just in time to make out her huddled form turning the corner, with her house key held defensively in hand. I'm sure to pull away and down the block before she gets close enough to recognize the car, and she usually looks so drained and worn out from the commute that she hardly notices her surroundings. The poor thing has to dress as a boy, because her father doesn't approve of her dressing as a woman.
It's the weekends that do my head in the most. By Friday night, Neena is ready to go out on the town with her tarty girlfriends. She heads to her local hair stylist, the infamous Brenda, to get her French plait touched up. At least, that is what I am supposed to assume that she is doing, on Friday nights, when she heads to the salon. Anyone who has rocked a French plait before knows that it don't take weekly visits to maintain your Barnet. That is one of the main benefits of having a French plait in the first place – low maintenance! Tell me why she has to stop by Heavenly Hair every Friday night? Her girls come and pick her up from the shop around 8 or 9PM, and she heads out with them. They head to whatever club one of her chav friends suggests, and I try to suss out a quiet spot in the corner, to go unnoticed as I observe. She hasn't done anything in public to embarrass me yet, like dance with some foul arse geezer, or get drunk and act a damn fool. She knows better. She needs to keep herself straight until I find a way to get us back together for good.
I had my hours changed to the weekend shift at Halfords, so that I would have more time to clock my T-girl. I let Harry know that I would start back working a regular rota soon. I only needed a few weeks to get her schedule down pact. Now, I can start working the dayshift during the week again, so that I can figure out what Neena is up to at the weekends. I have only been able to catch up with her after 7, on Saturdays and Sundays, once I get off work, and the only way I have been able to do that is because it is so easy to find her. Her predictable tail is running back to Heavenly Hair.
You really have got to tell me why a T-girl who sports a French plait needs to see her stylist three damn times a week? Brenda is supposed to be this butchy dyke, according to her, but she was the one I saw Neena's lips plastered to the night before she decided to leave me. Dyke, my arse! Brenda is about as gay as I am. What a perfect ploy to confuse a bloke and find a way to get next to his T-girl, without him suspecting a thing. Sure, she wears more leather than any woman in her right mind would wear. That ain't foolin' nobody, though. I know what's up, and that shit ain't cool.
Neenaneenaneena is an Urdu name that means, "up yours, twatface". She is my cheeky little thing. I have always cherished and loved my T-girl. I have always made sure that she was comfortable and happy. We had a misunderstanding, and she took it way overboard. She left me alone. I know that she just needs a little time to realize that we should be together again, and then she will be receptive to coming back home. I can tell that working in that store is killing her, especially not being able to dress femme. When she is with me, she doesn't have to work and I encourage her to be as femme as possible.
Finally, the day has come for me to make my move. I need to know once and for all if she is seeing that bitch, Brenda. If she is, there is no reason for me to keep torturing myself, wondering when she will come to her senses about us. If she is sleeping with that dyke, then it is over. She was nowhere near the caliber of woman that I had mistaken her for. While I would be into a threesome with a lipstick lesbian, I ain't into no dyke, who's trying to be more of a geezer than I am.
Neena probably made the mistake of thinking that I had forgotten about her and had given up on our relationship. You would think she would know me by now. She hadn't heard a word from me since the day she left me that stupid letter, telling me that she didn't want anything to do with me anymore. I let her cool down and get her head round things. But now, I figure that I can finally end her suffering and bring her on home.
It's Friday night, so I make my way to Heavenly Hair and park out front. Some big, buxom, light-skinned sister makes her way out of the salon and towards my car, once I've been sitting here for a good ten minutes, waiting for Neena to arrive. Her large hands look like stuffed sausages as she pounds rudely on my freshly washed, drivers-side window.
"Hey, sista,alrightt?" I address her through clenched teeth. I hate when someone disrespects my ride.

"Are you Dijon?" She smacks her gum like a cow chewing cud. I flinch as a drop of spittle flies from her mouth and lands on my steering wheel. For a moment, I turn away from her and stare at it. I try to calm myself down before speaking, but I suppose she takes that as a sign that it is her turn to speak again.

"If you're Dijon, on your bike, sunshine. If you're here to start trouble with Nee, you'd best be on your way. We don't want no mess around here, tonight!" The woman, dressed in tight black leggings and an oversized v-necked tee shirt that is displaying far too much cleavage, rolls her neck and pops her gums. I could smack her in the mouth, she's so chavy.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I try to maintain my dignity and respect, since the lady seems to be in her forties or fifties, at least a decade older than me.

"All I know is that Dijon ain't welcome 'round here, and if you're im…" She lets her voice trail off. She stands, her hands resting on either hip, staring me in the eyes like she really wants some.

"I'm sorry…" I wave my hand at her and roll my window up. She exaggerates a shocked gasp, her balloon-like lips poking out, like a little fat kid who wants cake. Pivoting on feet that have the nerve to be stuffed into some tilted to the side, open-toed sandals, the woman stomps back into the salon.

I sigh and glance back down the street to see Neena making her way here. I have to admit, her head is tight. It should be, with all these damn visits she is making. Her French plait looks smooth, fresh, and oiled. I want to feel the silky braid in my hands as I pull it, stretching her neck back, while I take her sweet arse from behind. Neena loved it when you played rough with her while you loved on her. I hope she doesn't think that I have forgotten. I haven't forgotten the way that her bum smells like the same cheap incense that her father sells at the counter, in his store. Mmmm… Patchouli Rose. It's always been my favorite.

"Neena!" I call out when she gets close enough to my vehicle. I roll the window back down. She looks puzzled, at first, to hear her name being called out, but once she spots my ride, her eyes grow big. She looks from side to side, as if scoping her escape routes. I open my car door and stand. I give her my sweetest, disarming smile. "C'mere, girl."

Hesitantly, Neena walks towards my car. I knew she would. I know, right at that moment, that she will be back with me straight away. Any woman who comes to you when you call her wants something from you. The way she had stormed out of my life, she should have run the other way when she saw me. She could have very easily popped into the salon and gotten away from me. But no, here she is, walking over to me with this sexy little smirk on her fragile, pixie-like face.

"Dijon?"

"Who else it gon' be?" I grin, bending down to grab her up in a large bear hug. She squeals and giggles, and it warms my soul. God, how long has it been since I have heard that genuine laughter from my T-girl's lips? One month, one week, and five days.

"What are you doing here?" She breathes heavily, trying to catch her breath from my embrace. I finally let her back down to the pavement. I can feel judgmentalntal stares, boring into me, and when I turned towards the salon window, I see seven or eight pairs of wondering eyes peering at us. I don't care. Let them look. I hope Brenda sees me grabbing my T-girl and claiming her for mine once again.

"Coming to see you. It's been too long. Let's go grab something to eat." I can't keep the wide, shit-eating grin off my face. I'm talking to Neena face to face again. She is right here in front of me, dressed as a woman, and she actually looks happy to see me. I always knew it would happen, but I didn't think it would be this easy.

"Oh…" Her expression transforms so quickly, I almost miss it. She looks sad and confused. Neena glances cautiously back at the salon and transfers her weight from one foot to the other. I wait for her to answer. "I can't, really, Dijon. I kind of had plans."

I stare at her. My smile disappears. "Why, Neena? Something so important you can't rearrange your plans for me?" I feel my hands balling up into fists and can do nothing to stop them.

"Dijon, see, you always have to be all about you. You, you, you! Can't you even think, for one minute, that the world may not revolve around you, for once? I have my own life!" She huffs, blowing air upwards and lifting a lock up off her forehead. "See what I mean? You just can't leave well enough alone."

"What?!" I explode. I haven't met back up with Neena for two minutes yet, and she is already fussing at me about God-Knows-What. I tighten my fists and take two steps toward her.

"What are you going to do? Hit me again? Do you want to rape me again, too?" She cries out, tears falling from her large doe eyes. "I couldn't see clients for over a week, my arse was so sore."

My whole body flexes, and my fists are no longer fists. I feel my testicles shrinking up into my body. It is as if time has stopped, and the planet has been put on pause. I look into her soft brown eyes and wonder if it could be true. She cries freely now, looking up at me and waiting for a reaction.

"Neena… are you…?" I stammer.

"Yes. I am. I'm on the game." She nods, still not taking her eyes off mine.

"Why… why hadn't you told me anything?" I gulp.

"I told you when I left you – I don't want anything to do with you. You didn't give me a choice in this matter, and I'm not giving you one either. This is my body, and my body alone. I will use it however I please. If you try to force your way into my life, I will press charges on you for forced rape, and I will make your life a living hell." She pushes the words out with menace, and her eyebrows furrow with hate.

"Neena…!" I gasp, stepping backward and running smack into my car door. "I'll pay for your final gender reassignment surgery. Once you have a vagina, you can have my baby. That will bring us closer together."

"Stay away from me, Dijon. I'm warning you. You stay away from me!" Now she turns and runs towards the salon door. I bolt after her, catching her by her waist and turning her towards me. She pounds her fists against my broad chest, screaming obscenities. The dyke, Brenda, storms out of the salon and dares to grab me, and try to pull me away from Neena. Her skinny body tugs at me like she is really about to do something.

"Let her go, Dijon, she's a working girl You're going to damage the merchandise!" She says with her usual, butch deep voice. T-girl prostitutes are in demand, with their penises still intact.

"Bitch, if you know what's good, you'll let me the fuck go!" I yell out, right before throwing up an elbow and catching her under the chin. I hear her bottom teeth connect with her top ones, and she falls down to the pavement, holding her mouth. She is bleeding, so she must have bitten down on her tongue. Not my fault.

I pull on Neena harder than I should have and rush her towards my car. A crowd is making their way out of Heavenly Hair, and I have to think fast. Neena struggles against me, but I use one arm to open the driver's side door and shove her inside. She kicks at me and curses me, telling me to let her go. I feel her foot slam into the side of my thigh, and I know there will be a bruise there in the morning.

"Quit it, Nee!" I bellow, and slap her across the face. I shock myself, because I hadn't planned on any of this going this way tonight. I just wanted to take her to a nice restaurant and talk about her moving back in, completing her transition surgery, and having a baby.

The crowd gathered around Brenda on the sidewalk, asking if she was okay. Some of the women start towards me and the car. I shove Neena until she is halfway between both seats. She cries out, yelping in pain.

"The gear shift, Dijon! Damn it!"

I look over in a panic and see that the gear shift is buried into her side as she tries to make it into the passenger's seat. Before she can get there and try to make a break for it out of that door, I push my way in, slam the door shut, and start the engine. She screams and begs for me to let her go. I'm squishing her. I gun the engine and catch a case of deja vu as I peel out of the car park, leaving a lot of gaping faces in my dust.

I have Neena and I want her to carry my child. That seems to be all that matters now. If I let her go, she will try to keep from having my baby. She had said as much. If I return back to Heavenly Hair, no doubt Brenda would have the Old Bill there to meet me. Finally, Neena flops into the seat and turns towards me with exasperated, bloodshot eyes. I make my way onto the motorway and maintain seventy miles per hour so that she won't even think about jumping.

"What are you doing, Dijon?" She pleads. "You need to let me go ho!"

"Never." I state with finality. "I'll never let you go ho."