Teenage Dirtbag Style Novels & Stories

Indeed a pathetic sight of a little wannabe gangster gang with males over 40 thinking they were still the cool gang. Dirty jeans with a washed-out look and some holes. T-shirts and or an old, well-used leather jacket. They would have represented all teenagers’ worst nightmare, the « dads that think their cool» gang from the early 80s. But they walked with confidence; they knew no one would ever touch them; they owned this place; they held these people. Something here was not right.

It almost pissed me off more that he didn’t try to talk to me. The first pair of shorts I grabbed were the skimpiest ones I owned. That wasn’t done on purpose. I think it will work out in my favor. Maybe if I can make some of the guys look, that will piss Maddox off. My T-shirt had racoons on it and said, “Stay Trashy”. Honestly, one of my favorites.

Do I really dress like an ancient teenager from the 90s? Whatever. It's too late, I'm already here. Plus, I'm donning this pair of white sneakers to emit this kinda sporty teenager vibe. Thisss definitely makes me look like a 19 year old, right? I even set my hair into a high ponytail with a side fringe framing my face, a style I've always worn during my teen years. Lastly, I carry Abby's 19.99 bucks (before discount) sling bag that makes me put a mental note to buy a cheap bag later on so she won't have another excuse to take my handbag again. Ever again. No more bag exchange.

“You haven’t texted him back, have you?” I shake my head. “What am I supposed to say? Todd is the biggest dick I know, which is ironic considering his dick wasn’t actually all that big in real life, and now I’m here, back home with Mommy and Daddy, not sure what to do with my life. Though sitting here, eating my weight in junk food and watching trashy reality TV seems like a good way to go out.”

I looked at the unzipped bag strangely. After putting the cameras on, I changed my clothes into ragged and dirty ones just like these kids' clothes. I also smeared my face with charcoal that I got from the bag and hid myself at the most back to make sure that I won't be noticed as I am the tallest among them. The road was bumpy, and the ride made one butt's ache. I gritted my teeth to endure the ride. If I can endure the beating, I might as well endure the beating on my ass.

His abs are visible beneath an unbuttoned flannel, and his jeans, like the first, are hanging low, deliberately, enticingly low like it's an invitation to look. The third guy is different. He has a beard, that is neatly trimmed but thick enough to make him look older than the other two. He’s leaning back in a leather chair, and has one leg draped lazily over the other, his chest is bare, and showing the tattoos running up his torso and across one collarbone. There’s something dangerous in his expression, something that feels more like a dare than an invitation. His jeans are unzipped again like the others, just enough to make the message clear.

she gasped, her face screwed up in disgust. He grinned down at her, his crooked teeth gleaming in the dim streetlights. He was wearing baggy ripped blue jeans and a grey T-shirt that moulded to his hard, lean muscles. His head was shaved and tattoos showed on every visible part of his body, including a grinning skull plastered across his face. Most of his tats were emblazoned with gang images. He reached out to grab her again and she threw up a hand to push him away.

Lee only grunts. “Fun fact … I don’t care.” His tone is dry like sandpaper. “Let’s just hear what they want and get out of here. I am SO not in the mood for shit.” “And nothing good ever happens in parking garages,” he throws as an afterthought. The words slice through me like a warning bell. He slouches with his hands stuffed into the sagging pockets of his baggy jeans — like that of a teen skater boy, only two sizes too large.

The stylist even raises a brow at mom and then gives me a look of sympathy, I return the look with a look of, “I’m used to it” “who the hell is that?” asks my mom, as she takes in the scene in front of her. “a black boy, ma’am, its not the first time we’ve seen him around here” Looking out the window I expect to see an actual dark boy, but what I see is a guy covered in piles of dirt, even his skin looks ragged, and don’t get me started on the way his clothes are looking. “they should escort him out already, and stop creating a scene” mother says, her perfectly shaped brows going up in the process. That one’s thing about mom, you, could tell what she feels by the way her brows move, her brow

I sat up immediately and did a very quick retouch before he saw me. He was dressed in a pair of dark ripped jeans and a baggy shirt that could fit over three bodies. I loved his style. I had never seen him dress in a baggy outfit but this was really appealing to the eyes. Though it was a fashion that was set apart for only the dark skinned students in Willow High, I was sure that if he wore this to school, he was going to start a trend. His hair was left to fall over his forehead and it gave him a fierce look. One that made her want to drop her panty.