one shots

feminist

"You get one lil' girlfriend and think you know everything about women, huh?" her nasally voice rang out.

"All I'm sayin' is that if a girl wants to act like a hoe, she should be treated like one too," I shrugged.
"Says the guy dating a so-called hoe named Jasmine," she rolled her eyes.
"Jasmine isn't a--"

"Jasmine has dated the entire basketball team. According to your definition, she's a hoe, so what separates her from all the other hoes?" she smirked.

Mindy was one of them feminist bitches, annoying as hell and always ready to read into a situation more than need be.

and her friends acted like her little minions too, adlibbing and backing up every single fucking thing she said.

"Mhm. What separates her, Jason?" they all spoke at once.
"Can y'all fucking chill out?" my friend, Eli, chimed in.
"It's a simple question," Mindy shrugged.
"The thing that separates Jasmine from other hoes is the fact that she's realized that, that hoe shit isn't cute," I finally responded.
"Well, no one seemed to say anything when you jumped from the girls' basketball team to the volleyball team to the dance team to the cheerleading squad back to the basketball team without so much as a relationship. . . and where are you now? Dating someone on the tennis team," she nodded.

"Oop. Got 'im," one of her minions snickered.
"It's different for guys," I muttered.
"Yeah," Eli cosigned, making me feel a little better.
"You know what's different? Guys don't get raped for what they wear and what they don't wear," she retorted, her eyes turning cold as she stared at Elijah and I.

"Well, if you walk around in mini skirts all day, you should expect that kind of attention," Eli shrugged.
"And if you wear your fucking hair all braided up and out there like that all day, you should expect someone to touch it and pull it, right?" her eyebrows raised briefly before she reached to tug on his one of the braids that hung in his face.

"Ms. Carmichael, please sit down," our English teacher spoke.
"Please," Eli mean mugged her.
She mirrored his expression, sliding into the desk dead in front of him, diagonal to me.

"You don't want anybody touching you, harassing you, shaming you for what you do with your own body or how you express yourself. So, why would you do that to anybody else?" she asked.

Eli rolled his eyes and kissed his teeth because he knew he didn't have a counter-argument.

"So, what you're saying is that you would be okay with your daughter dressing like some h--"

"My daughter can do whatever she likes with her body as soon as she's an adult. If she wants to be sexually liberated then so be it. That's none of my business," she shook her head.
"So you don't care if your daughter's a hoe?" I asked.
"As long as she's smart and safe about it, I could care less. Why do you boys care so much about your non-existent daughters and their non-existent sex lives? That's creepy as hell, honestly," her face scrunched up at us.

"Your daughter can be a hoe all she wants, but mine'll know better. I just don't want her to be--"

"If you constantly police your children, especially your daughters, they'll only slip further away from you. Strict parents make sneaky kids," she pointed out.
"Man, whatever," Eli kissed his teeth.

"So, what are y'all gonna do about your hoe ass sons?" she asked.
"Give him some condoms and tell him to be careful," I answered.
"You're not gonna' teach him that no means no? Or that just because a girl comes off a certain way doesn't mean that they always go that certain way? Or not to harrass girls who have no interest in them? Or how to take rejection? Or--"