From the Streets to the Sheets (6 page)

Poochie held out his hand, and Forty slapped it. An official sign of tag-teaming. Pushing my ankles over my head until my knees pounded my shoulders, he almost cut off my oxygen when he climbed his big ass over me and held me in position from the other side. “I got this, dawg. But you gone have to hold her down for Ray-Ray and them.”

Tears threatened to fall, but I refused to cry. Running a train on me or not, I wasn’t gonna give them dirty niggahs too much of my energy. So I sat there—like I had a choice—and took that shit like a pro. Five of them switched up, battle-ramming my pussy like they’d never had ass before. All of them spilled their cum in the cup.

A loaded gun to my head was how the gang bang ended.

“Had enough?” 12 asked with a big, doofy-ass grin on his face. “Sit up.”

I looked into the nozzle of the same Desert Eagle that’d had my back for years. “Why, 12?”

“Told ya, Sweets. Ya man sang like a bird.”

“You gonna believe that niggah over me? After he was fuckin’ your wifey?”

12 laughed. “Nah. I’m gonna believe the tape that the hidden cameras produced. The same cameras that had night vision.”

I’d fallen for many things, but never the okeydoke. He was tryin’ to pull my card—make me tell on myself. I shook my head. “Wasn’t me, 12. We go way back, you can trust me.”

12 held the cup of cum out to me. “You always tryin’ to play a niggah. I know what I saw, Sweets. And it was you. Point blank.”

Tears fell now. “No it wasn’t.”

He cocked his burner. “You got two options. Drink this cup of cum or join ya boy Whisky.”

I pushed the cup away, squeezed my eyelids closed.

I’d die tonight. Because the last time I checked, when it came down to the taste of cum, ain’t nuthin’ sweet about it.

GRIMIER

Euftis Emory

Damn!
All the women I had on constant rotation had already made other plans. Seven numbers deep on my “to fuck” list and I was horny as hell without a pool for Monster to swim in. I was left with one other option: my alternate call list. Women who were still being evaluated until I could determine whether to push them out the door or bang them on the floor.

It was Friday night, and I damn sure wasn’t going to be stuck at home playing with myself. Real playaz don’t get down like that. Don’t have to when there’s a side chick waiting to be slid to the front. For me, that was Rasheeda. When all else failed, whenever I needed a hit at the last minute, I could always depend on her.

Rasheeda had been promoted to the top of the alternate list, but hadn’t graduated yet because she’d gotten on my last fuckin’ nerve. Her ghetto ass had gotten a PR job, and she’d tried to put the B in bourgeoisie because her paycheck was legit and mine was legitimately counterfeit, until I’d flipped that ass over and leveled the field and made her take every inch of my swerve. But the real reason I kept her around was because she gave good head.

Hitting her up on the home number, I hung up after three rings. She’ll see my name on her caller ID and get back to me later, I thought, powering up my computer and logging onto
www.aroundthenati.com
. There had to be something going on in the city. If I couldn’t get some ass from one of my girls, I had to find something to distract my mind from sex.

Before I ran up on something, my cell rang. Rasheeda’s name flashed on the screen and her phat ass flickered in my mind. “What up?” I answered.

“You! I just got in from work and saw that you called. What’s goin’ on wit you?”

“Nothing much. Just wondering if you were interested in a brotha this evening.”

“You know I am!” she replied, excited. “I would love to tickle you again!”

I frowned. That was another reason I hadn’t moved her ass into rotation. She played too damn much. Instead of just giving me the pussy, she was always trying to tickle me. Acted like that shit was foreplay. Don’t get me wrong, a little sex play here and there is nice. But tickling me off and on until I rolled around on the floor screaming like a bitch was downright irritating.

“I got something you can tickle . . . with your tongue.”

“But you’re so cute! I love to see you laugh,” she said as I sighed heavily.

“I know another way you can make me smile . . .”

She giggled softly. “I bet you do. Tell me what you have in mind.”

“I was thinking . . . you . . . in something form-fitting. A couple of drinks and your fireplace.”

“Ummmmm, I can do that,” she purred.

“And no tickling! Just you and me, one-on-one, rolling around on the floor.”

“I can’t promise that. But you’re going to get the pussy, baby. Don’t worry.”

I was in my ride in an instant.

Turning onto Gilbert Avenue, I skirted scenic Eden Park as I headed toward Hyatt Park, where Rasheeda lived. I clicked on my CD player and jumping to track four I grooved to Reem Raw’s cut “A Day in the Life.” Not only was it a gully driving song, the lyrics were appropriate for me.

“Hell yea!” I banged my fist on the wheel, and bumped to the rest of the track as I passed the Greenwich, a Rasta bar and poetry club. Rolling up on one of Cinci’s better ho strolls, a woman standing in front of Rent-A-Center snatched my attention. Big titties stuffed in a T-shirt and a phat ass tucked in teeny jean-shorts made me slam on my breaks. I swerved my car, then parked in front of her.

Scanning her, my HUD (heads-up display) opened up the database of information that I’d learned from Tariq Nasheed’s book
The Art of Mackin’.
My onboard systems then queried the database.

Tailoring my demeanor and speech pattern appropriately for the type of woman she was, I engaged her. “What up?” I asked, staring hungrily at her body, then her smooth, brown face framed in Egyptian braids.

Soft eyes gleamed as she quickly scanned me and my car. A big smile spread across her face as she pushed herself from the wall.

“What’s . . . up! Come here!” I demanded.

She looked back at me nervously and hesitantly walked over to the passenger side of the car. Leaning forward, she stood back a little, checking me out as if I was the po-po or a killer who’d snatch her.

“What up?” I asked again, trying to determine if she was just out looking for trouble or if she was ’bout it.

“Nothin’,” she finally answered, smiling.

“Wanna get into somethin’?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Get in.”

She hopped into the car, and I did a U-turn and headed back toward downtown. I was determined to take her—and that ass—home.

“I’m E.”

“I’m Kianna. Where we goin’?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“To my place. Unless you want to go somewhere—”

“You
better
take me somewhere,” she stated seriously, cutting me off.

I laughed. “Oh, so it’s like that!”

“Yea, it’s like that!” She gave me a “what the fuck do you think” expression. “So now what?” she asked, frontin like she didn’t know from the door.

“Let me see what you’re working with.” I reached over, lifted up her T-shirt, and squeezed her titties. They had to be at least a D cup.

I unzipped my pants and stuck her hand between my legs. She rubbed Monster hungrily and then unleashed him. “Damn. How far we goin’ again?” she asked in a rushed whisper like she couldn’t wait to get there.

“The West End.”

“They got some stank crack hoes down there.” She switched up quick, looking like she had a piece of rotten fruit in her mouth. “Do you fuck wit any of them?” she asked, again looking at me suspiciously.

“I don’t fuck around in that hood.”

“Good. ’Cause they are some ugly, stank hoes. We look much better up here,” she remarked, lifting her chin haughtily.

Inwardly, I laughed. A universal concept was at work. Everyone needs someone else to look down upon. Whites look down on Blacks. Japanese look down on Koreans. Straights look down on gays. Saved folks look down on sinners. And the hoes on Gilbert Avenue looked down on the hoes on the West End. “Can’t we all just get along?” I thought sarcastically.

“Ya ain’t from ’round hure,” I said, imitating my Memphis relatives. “I know a southern, cornbread-fed sista when I see one. Where you from?”

“A-Town.”

“Hotlanta. I knew it! They don’t make ’em like you around here.”

“Thanks. You’re okay, E. You know that?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re not trying to lecture me.”

“Lecture you about what? Selling your ass? Baby, I can’t talk about what I’m tryin’ to be about.”

“Well most times when I do this the guy wanna start lecturing me. They tell me I’m too pretty to be hoeing. But that don’t stop them from taking me somewhere so I can suck their dick or finding something to bend me over so they can bang. One old guy even asked me to go to church with him
. . . after
he fucked me.”

“Wanted you to go to church with him? After the nut, huh?” I said, laughing.

“Yes! Can you believe it?”

“Now
that’s
some funny shit. I despise hypocrites. Like I said, I definitely wanna hit it. So I’m not about to trip on ya, baby.”

I escorted Kianna to my home office and opened the door.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, standing in the middle of the room.

“I want to get some pictures of you. Then you can suck my dick,” I told her as I picked up my digital camera from my desk. Walking over to her, I handed her a twenty-dollar bill. She took it without protest, so I sat on my couch and began shooting pictures of her. Slowly, she started stripping, pausing between garments to give me plenty of photo opportunities. Turning her ass toward me, she slid her hands into her shorts and peeled them off enticingly.

“Damn!” I moaned at her wonderful roundness. She smiled, stepped out of her shorts, and did a little booty clap. Leaning back against the couch, I unzipped my pants and unleashed the beast.

Watching me, Kianna got on all fours and crawled along the floor until she was between my legs. She inhaled Monster, taking long, slow, sloppy drags along the length of my shaft, making him swell to his full length and width. It was heavenly. I allowed her to suck it for about five minutes, all the while staring at her huge ass as her head bounced up and down on me.

“You know what,” I began. “I need to hit that.”

Loudly slurping her drool off my dick, she pulled Monster out of her mouth, then looked at me mischievously. “You wanna hit this?”

“Yea, I think I wanna hit it. You gonna charge me more?”

“No,” she answered, spinning on her knees and crawling to the middle of the floor. On all fours, she laid her head on the carpet and reached back, spreading her ample ass with both hands. Her perfectly round ass and open wet slit beckoned me to tap her. “You can have it. You don’t have to give me more money. You’re an ass man. So you probably want it like this.”

“Oh, got-damn,” I sighed. “Hold up, baby. Keep it right there. Let . . . me . . . go get a condom . . .”

                  •                  •                  •

After doing the nasty, I took my new friend back to where I found her on Gilbert Avenue. “My car is parked over at Kroger. Would you drop me off there?” Kianna asked.

“No problem,” I said as I drove up Gilbert the additional block and dropped her off at her car in the Kroger parking lot.

Kianna got out of my car and then hesitated, leaning down and sticking her head back into the vehicle. “Save this number in your phone . . . 241–0813.”

Pulling out the cell, I dutifully saved the number she recited. “What’s up?” I asked.

“That’s my mama’s number. Call me sometime,” she said as I cocked my head and raised my left eyebrow. “Not to fuck . . . I mean . . . we can fuck . . . but on a . . . personal . . . tip . . . not . . . professional. Call me if you wanna kick it. Or if you just want to chill. I can cook dinner and we could watch movies. I get bored and lonely sometimes sitting at the house watching Mama all day.”

“Oh . . . so . . . now . . . it’s like that!” I remarked sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yea . . . now . . . it’s like that!” Kianna replied, imitating me, smiling even broader.

                  •                  •                  •

I got to Rasheeda’s apartment complex a little after midnight. After fishing for my cell phone under my car seat I checked my call log to ensure that she hadn’t called. She hadn’t. “Good,” I said aloud. I didn’t have to think of an excuse as to why I didn’t return her call.

Some of the chicks on rotation had finally hit me back, so I called my voice mail to listen to my messages. As soon as I got past the automated voice mail message my phone beeped once loudly . . . very loudly . . . in my ear. “Fuck!” I exclaimed as I quickly moved the phone away from my ear. Two seconds later, the phone beeped loudly again and then promptly went dead. “Goddamn Sprint!” I cursed. Only Sprint would make a phone that gave you a low-battery warning right before the battery went dead.

“’Bout time you got here,” Rasheeda said in a sleepy voice as the loud buzzer buzzed.

She opened the door with a thin blanket wrapped around her and stared at me with a blank expression on her face. Her bone-straight hair was wound in a tight wrap, and her beautiful, juicy lips were poked out, making me want to rub my dick on them. Scanning her body, I tried to see what kinda sexy panties she had on but the damn cover was cock-blocking. My eyes traveled south to her legs. I smiled. She had oiled up all that good dark chocolate for me.

Turning her back to me, Rasheeda walked into the apartment and disappeared around the corner. “Lock the door, Euftis.” Her words wafted around the corner.

Stepping into the dimly lit apartment, I took off my shoes and held tight to the gym bag I’d brought along. Walking into the living room, a twinge of guilt assaulted me. She’d illuminated the room with scented candles and a romantic, crackling fireplace. A bottle of Pinot Grigio was on the table, and Rasheeda had uncovered her package. Her goodies peeked through a tight black lace teddy.

I felt so damned guilty. Rasheeda had gone out of her way to get ready for me, and I’d just finished fucking a ho. Even worse, she was gonna suck my dick after it’d been all up in Kianna. I’d done some dirty shit in my life, but this was grimier by far.

Rasheeda sat on the couch, then rolled onto her stomach, showing me that thick, oiled, dark chocolate ass. Tossing the bag, I unbuttoned my Rocawear jean shorts and let them fall to the floor, then pulled off my matching shirt. She smiled, flipped onto her back, and spun around with her feet facing me. Her little maneuver caused the bottom of her teddy to unsnap between her legs, revealing her thick bush. “Oops,” she exclaimed, spreading her legs, causing her lower lips to open.

Falling down on top of her, I squeezed her tight in a bear hug. Her body was hot. She burned with that special inner heat that women are blessed with every month. I held her tighter, relishing her body’s warmth. “You’re ovulating,” I said, filing the date away in my mind so that I could add it to my Horny Girl Calendar. I tried to keep track of my hos’ cycles to know when their hormones inspired them to fuck.

She reared back against the couch, staring at me wide-eyed. “How do you know this stuff?” she asked me in awe, confirming what I already knew.

“You learn a thing or two about people if you spend enough time around them,” I said, then fell to my knees before her. Pulling her ass forward until her crack was level with the edge of the couch, I snuggled my face with her thick bush and buried my lips into her moistness, slowly licking circles inside her slit.