Nasty Girl


Skin as dark as chocolate and cold as ice; hair dry and brittle, face haggard and drawn. Lines where there shouldn't, glitter plastered on like a weapon. Her smile is sharp, tongue placed behind her teeth as she attempts to bring forth the beauty that has long died. Her eyelashes are heavy with makeup, lips and nails painted to match.

Her clothes, at least what she wears, cling to a too skinny frame. She used to bask in the spotlight. Legs up to her shoulders and tits larger than life; all eyes came to her. She totters in sky high heels; hands on her hips and a twist that makes her ass dip at all the right moments. They used to drool at her feet, clambering over themselves to get to her side.

She never says no, never denies: she teases and draws them in. A kiss for every man that passed by, a wink for those who wanted a promise. But now she's been around the block a few times and nobody wants that nasty, trashy, girl in their lap.

The new girls shun her away, leaving her lost on the corner. The cars still come, slowing as they past once-twice-thrice, before they speed away. She grabs too hard, she slurs too rough, her eyes are too wild. A tumble in the backseat of the car with her involves more than a little biting and squeezing. She'll claw and moan, wild as a bitch in heat. But nobody wants and old, washed out, freaky girl in their lap anymore.

She tries to change her ways: she washes her hair, she wipes her face free of makeup, and she puts on a bra, and covers head to toe. All that's lefts are hints for the imagination, no longer a slut but a classy street walker. But she can't help herself: she puts her hand on her hip, twists when she walks, and bats her eyelashes whenever they come.

Heads turn, eyes alight, and they come closer but once they catch a hint of her stench they run again. Always wanting the easy way, no respect for herself or what she does. Twenty-first century and it's become more of a business than a quick pick up in the midnight hour. She refuses to accept that, stuck in her old ways so she'll never get far. Not that anyone cares: nobody cares, nobody sees, nobody wants a sleazy, classless girl in their lap.

Get that bitch some pride, they whisper as she saunters by. Smoke filters from their lips and she's reduced to begging from feet away. They don't want her near, tainting their reputation. No one takes pity because everyone knows she's easy. She'll get somewhere, eventually, because there's always that one that doesn't care. A happy meal will do just fine when someone is longing for a cheap lay. Twisted between her old ways, her new ways, someone will want that nasty, trashy, sleazy, freaky, classless girl in their lap.
♠ ♠ ♠
Idea and song are based off the song "Nasty Girl" by Destiny's Child. I was reliving some of my childhood and this idea came to mind.