From the Streets to the Sheets (20 page)

“Ayeesha, you sure you’re okay? You need some time off? You need to go home?” he asked.

“No, I’ll be fine,” I said, leaving his office.

I was spooked. Had I been fuckin’ a spirit? A ghost? I didn’t know what to think. I made my way back to my desk trying to come up with a logical explanation for all this shit. The crazy dreams, the wild sex, and the fuckin’ horses!

“Ayeesha, you okay?” Carol asked.

I nodded. I was starting to get a headache. I went into my purse looking for something to take for my sudden headache. That’s when I pulled out the note Raheem had written me on Thursday:

Meet me at the Sheraton Hotel, room 825, during your lunch.

I freaked straight out, falling out of my chair, hitting my head on the desk, and making a loud thud as I landed on the floor.

When I woke up again I was in my boo’s arms. My coworker Carol must have called him to come get me because Tears was looking down at me with big eyes. He had taken me home and put me in our bed. At first I thought everything had been one crazy dream, until I saw the gun in Tears’s hand. He gripped me by my neck and pushed the note Raheem had written me up in my face.

“Bitch,” he said with the barrel pressed to my forehead. “You met a motherfucker in room 825 at the Sheraton Hotel? Ain’t no way you can fuckin’ explain this shit!”

I opened my mouth to tell him it had only been a dream, but then I heard the trigger click, and just like Tears had promised, my life was over.

LIFE OF SIN

Joy

“What’s your pleasure?” I purred into the phone. Being the sex kitten that I am, I knew I had the dog on the other end of the phone with his tail standing straight up.

“Shit, you. You my pleasure, ma,” Papi said with his heavy Cuban accent.

It was 12:01
A.M.
Even before answering the phone I’d known it was Papi calling. He made sure that he was always the first man to call me upon the dawn of a new day.

He loved being my first.

“You know I hate sloppy seconds,” he always says.

“I’m your pleasure, huh?” I asked. I wanted to hear him say it again. Well, actually, I wanted him to think that I wanted to hear him say it again.

“Umm, you,
puta.
You’re my pleasure, you fuckin’
puta.
”

“I’m your
puta,
Papi. I’m your cunt,” I said, sticking my index finger in my mouth and sucking on it. I knew damn well he couldn’t see me, but he could hear my wet tongue slurping on it. The visual alone had his hands yankin’ off on his
chilito
by now.

“What do you want to do to me, Papi? What do you want to do to this cunt of yours? Fuck it, huh? Is that what you want to do? Come on.
Oooh,
come on, Papi and just fuck it. Fuck it good for me, huh.”

By now I had a smile a mile long on my face. I could hear Papi beating that stick like it was Rodney King and he was Five-O. It had been less than one minute and this nigga was ’bout to bust. This was a record-breaking time for me. I must say that I felt proud. But it was too premature to celebrate. So just to make sure that his call to me would be worth it, I decided to go hard in the paint.

“I feel you inside me. I feel you inside me, Papi,” I said, finding myself picking up on his accent. It was a force of habit. After only hearing Papi say a few words to me, I found myself replying to him with a slight accent myself. He never took it as though I was trying to imitate or make fun of him, though. As a matter of fact, it made him even more excited. I think he probably pictured a nice, coconut-complected, clammy Boriqua, with her hair sweated out, sprawled across her bed, him plunging his dick inside her pussy and bustin’ a nut deep up inside of her hole instead of inside his fist.

“You feel it? You feel that shit,
puta
?” he moaned, breathing heavily into my ear.

“You’re hurting me, Papi. Not so hard.”

“Shut the fuck up and take this shit like a real
puta
!”

“Oh, Papi!” I let out a screech that sounded as though it was on the verge of pleasure and pain.

“Yeah, that’s right. See, it hurts so good, don’t it?”

“Yes, yes, yes. It hurts so good, but I can take it. I can take all of it. Give it to me, Papi. Give it to me harder!” I began damn near yelling at the top of my lungs.

“Oh shit,” he yelled. I could hear the thumping of him jacking off. “Oh yeah.” He got louder. I knew it was time.

“Oh, Papi, I want you to pull out and nut all over me. I want your babies all over me. I want to rub it in like lotion, Papi. Come on, Papi. Now! Now! Now!”

“Oh shit,” I heard him yell. I then heard a large thump, the phone dropping. Because of the distance Papi was now away from the phone, his muffled tone informed me that he was cumming. Over and over he screamed it. “I’m cummin’. I’m cummin’. Oh, you fuckin’ cunt, look what you made me do!”

“Here, listen to this,” I said in a whisper as I took the phone off my ear and put it next to Sam’s, who was sitting right there next to me in the bed, butt naked, and working on a crossword puzzle. I watched Sam’s eyes light up at the drama going down on the other end of the line. The laughter that wanted to burst out of Sam’s mouth had to be contained, and I quickly placed my hand over those gorgeous lips.

Sam looked at me with sparkling gray eyes, bright and full of life, listening in amusement at how I had just made Papi nut all over himself with my bomb-ass phone sex skills.

I’d sometimes let Sam listen in on the calls I received on my 900 “What’s Your Pleasure” line. Anyone else’s lover might have gotten jealous sitting there listening to their mate verbally fuck someone on the phone. But Sam knew that every last one of those men who called me up for my phone sex service was named Bill; Water Bill, Gas Bill, Light Bill, Phone Bill, Cable Bill, etc. . . . No man could do for me what Sam did for me, so they were no threat to our relationship.

I removed the phone from Sam’s ear and placed it back on mine.

“Papi, oh, Papi.” I panted lightly, as if I had just cum myself. “See what you do to me? Why do you do this to me all the time?”

“Whew-wee,” he said, as if he was trembling from the aftershock of his earthshaking explosion. “It’s not what I do to you, Mami. It’s what you do to me.”

“And you know you like it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I love it.” We both laughed in each other’s ear.

“Same time next time, Papi?”

“Same time next time, my little
puta.
”

“Adios,” I said, ending the call.

Upon hanging up the phone I looked over at Sam, who looked over at me. Sam slowly took the crossword puzzle and the pen and laid them aside. Then, like a fiery wild little panther, Sam arched on all fours and slowly crawled toward me. My clit immediately began to swell and throb like it was a dick. It got to the point where I stuck my hand down the black lace panties I was wearing and grabbed hold of my crotch, just double-checking that God hadn’t played some cruel trick on me and grew me a dick out of nowhere. I rubbed my sensitive, moist knob as Sam kneeled on all fours over me. I leaned back on the stack of three soft head pillows and allowed my hand to play with my wet patch.

“I like finger food,” Sam informed me. “Let me taste.”

I smiled, catching the hint Sam was throwing, and removed my hand from my panties. One by one I slowly let Sam suck my juices off my fingers as I crooned my hips at just the thought of Sam doing to my pussy what was being done to my fingers.

“Ummm,” Sam said, inhaling my entire middle finger then spitting it out and heading straight for my croonin’ jungle.

Sam slowly slid my panties down my long, slender legs, the color of a tootsie roll, sniffing the crotch before tossing them onto the floor. “Smells like a rose,” Sam said, before diving headfirst into my pool of chocolate thoughts.

“Oh fuck,” I said as Sam licked at my clit like the momma kitten would lick a baby. I couldn’t help but grab Sam by the hair and start humping.

“Ummm,” Sam hummed on my clit, making me spread my legs like I was pushing a baby out.

I held my legs open by my ankles. I was open wide, signaling Sam that I was ready to be finger-fucked. Not a moment too soon, Sam plunged one finger in after the next, dipping all in and out of my Kool-Aid, trying to figure out the flavor.

“Come here,” I said to Sam.

I could feel Sam’s middle finger inside of me while at the same time I felt Sam’s body lay upon mine. Sam brushed my bangs to the side to join the rest of the strands of my dusty brown shoulder-length hair. She then looked into my dark brown china-shaped eyes, inherited by my half-Chinese, half-black father.

“God, I love you so fuckin’ much,” I said with tears in my eyes as I pumped up and down on Sam’s fingers. I was crying because it felt so good. I was crying because I really did love Sam. It felt good to be made to feel so damn good. It felt good to be in love.

“I love you too, baby,” Sam replied with such deep sincerity. That’s when I decided that I wanted to fuck Sam too. So I took my middle finger, maneuvered it through the soft hairs leading to Sam’s jungle, and entered my finger in one thrust.

As if Sam was trying to upstage me, I felt two fingers massaging the inside of my walls, in search of that G-spot, while a thumb pressed against my clit, providing the ultimate sensation.

“Oh, Sam,” I said, lifting my head up and shoving my tongue down Sam’s throat while we plunged our fingers in and out of each other’s pussy as we smacked our bodies up against one another. “My sexy Samantha.”

Samantha was my foxy little project chick. With her soft gray eyes, smooth, vanilla-wafer Cover Girl skin, a short cut, showing off her curly loops, tinted with gold-rush blond hair, and standing at only about four feet nine inches, she looked like a short double for that Eva chick from
America’s Next Top Model.

“Move your hand,” Sam said, pulling her fingers out of me. “Open your lips,” she ordered me, referring to my pussy lips. I took my thumbs, placing one on each lip, and moved the skin back so that my throbbing clit was exposed like a dog’s dick when he’s in heat. Sam did the same with hers as she brought her pelvis down against mine tightly and our clits pressed together. I closed my eyes at the feeling of pure ecstasy. The feeling of being like one with Sam was amazing. I felt like we were connected as she began sliding her clit up and down mine. “Hold on to me tight,” she ordered me.

I placed my hands around Sam’s size-four waist and pulled her tight against me as we fucked the shit out of each other’s clits, banging coochies like it was arma-ghetto up in that bitch.

“Fuck me, Sam. That’s right, fuck me,” I said, sticking my tongue out for her to suck on it. She took the bait and began to suck on my tongue as she started to whine.

“Uh, oh, uh, oh,” she cried, the uhs and ohs growing louder and louder. “Cum with me. Cum with me, baby.”

“Fuck that clit. Fuck that clit. Nut on it, damn, nut on it,” I begged Sam as I felt our juices brewing down below.

Sam’s clit felt so warm, so soft, and so precious as it pleased itself against mine. I planted my fingers deep in her ass checks as she rose up and arched her back. Tightly, I pulled her against me as we humped and grinded. Sam’s head was thrown back. All I could see was her perfectly arched neck and her brown titties, nipples hard and beautiful. She was mine. Any nigga, any dyke bitch, would kill to be getting a piece of a pussy so sweet. But it was mine, all mine. After all, I had made it what it was. Before me, Sam had allowed dick after dick to try to fill that emptiness she had inside of her. It was an emptiness that only pussy could fill—my pussy, and my gentle fingers and caressing lips. All her life she had been waiting on me, a woman, she just didn’t know it, or just didn’t want to admit it. But now the obvious was being displayed as I brought her to the climax of her life.

“I am nutting on you,” Sam assured me. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming on you now.”

Just those words sent me berserk as both our bodies trembled as we glazed one another with our special sugary coatings.

“Oh yes,” Samantha said as her petite body collapsed on mine, her chest moving up and down from breathing so heavily.

“Umm, you came a lot,” I said as I reached between Sam’s legs and felt her sticky cream. It was so warm and smooth, just like her. Slowly she began grinding on my hand, just to get one last nut off before retiring to the shower.

Watching her shiny, sweaty ass walk away to the bathroom only made me want to get one more in myself. So I was forced to replay in my head the last few minutes of fucking Sam, and masturbate to the vision, pleasing myself in less than a minute. Sam just had that affect on me.

If I hadn’t discovered by the time I was thirteen that I preferred to play hide-and-go-get-it with little girls over little boys, after taking one look at my sexy Samantha I would have definitely lost my appetite for dick and taken on a new craving for pussy. But lucky for me, I never had to even entertain the thought of fuckin’ around with a bunch of hood niggas only to discover that no-sized dick is worth putting up with them and their bullshit. All it took was growing up with Naomi Kensington—aka, my moms—and living the life she subjected me to, to know that I preferred pussy over dick any day.

“Honey,” I heard Sam call from the shower. “Come join me. Wash my back.”

I loved washing Sam’s back, from her shoulders to the small of her waist. I loved it. With me standing a little under a foot taller than her, towering over her made me feel so protective of her, like she was mine, really mine, unable to function without me. I know damn sure I’m unable to function without her. I love me some Sam, and not just because she was my first and only piece of ass, the woman I learned how to please a woman with, the woman I learned how it felt to be pleased with. It was because she was there when I was sixteen, out on the streets and needing that mother figure, any mother figure, to show me love.

Being five years older than me, Sam was twenty-one when I was sixteen, and she was living with some thug-ass nigga named Detail who didn’t do nothing but beat her and fuck her, and usually in that order. He would clock on her over any little thing. If the toast was too brown, if the bed wasn’t made right or she missed a spot when she dusted, he’d get all up in that ass. He demanded perfection. That’s how he got the name Detail.

He was meticulous about everything. His car had to be wiped down just right. The bed had to be made to his standard, tight like a hospital bed. Towels had to be hung in a tri-fold manner. I mean, nothing got past that fucker’s eyes. He was a real stickler for detail, to the point where, if you ask me, it was a sickness.

One day I came in from hoopin’ at the court in the projects where we lived, and before I could even open the apartment door I heard the thumps of his fists hitting her. I don’t remember a whole lot after that. But I do know that on that day Sam and I fucked that nigga up. That was the last time he ever put his hands on her. He was out of her life for good. From that day on there was this eternal bond between Sam and me. I just remember us holding each other. I was crying so hard that I was trembling. There was blood all over Sam. I just held her, held her for what seemed like forever.

“Did you hear me?” Sam called again from the shower. “Honey?”

“I’m coming,” I called as I sat up in the bed. Before I could put a foot on the floor, though, my 900 line rang. “Damn,” I said under my breath. “I can’t, Sam. That’s my line.”

I knew she was disappointed. I was disappointed. Oh well, there were bills that needed to be paid and that ringing phone meant that there was money to be made. So pushing pussy to the back of my mind, Sam’s pussy, I sat up and answered the call. “What’s your pleasure?”