From the Streets to the Sheets (8 page)

“This part right here is my shit!” I yelled out when the second verse began. I swung my hips, dropped to the floor, and got low, then sprung up, passing his crotch. I became wet and longed to fondle myself—or better yet, his nice hard dick. Instead I pretended as if the sexiness of the nightlife didn’t shake my libido up too much.

My plump breasts pressed against his chest and he grabbed my hand while I fantasized about him. When he pulled me toward the edge of the crowd like he knew me, I followed him.

“What I gotta do to get you to take my number?” he asked.

“Who said I
want
your number? I have someone at home,” I replied. “I never said I was available, thank you. Just to be clear, I’m taken,” I added as my attention-starved pussy throbbed.

“Why you acting so rude to a brother?”

“I’m not. Your opinion is yours, and mine is mine.”

“Look, I don’t want to hold you up—I just wanted to holla atchu. Maybe talk with you later. Is that a crime?”

I tried to ignore the fact that my panties were soaking wet in the crotch. I told him my cell number and he pulled out his and punched it in. I nodded when I felt my phone vibrating in my purse.

“Now I got your number,” I said like I really hadn’t wanted it.

He laughed. “You know you really wanna call me, so just use the number and stop fronting.”

I thought he was going to keep on pressing me, but he walked away and disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes later I realized I could no longer curb that craving I had. I sped home and pleased myself in my typical way, thinking about him the whole time.

                  •                  •                  •

The next morning I was bored. I scrolled through my received-calls log, found the number I was looking for, then pressed SEND. He didn’t answer, and I called back two more times. Each time I hung up after a few rings. I saw no point in leaving a message when I hadn’t even gotten his name at the club. Besides, he had my number too. I’d already kissed Smooth’s ass for years. I didn’t want no new nigga to get any ideas.

But something told me to try again anyway, and this time he answered.

“Yo, what’s up? I knew you would call,” he said.

“Shit, I didn’t know I called you. Maybe I hit the wrong button. Sorry, ’bout that.”

“Girl, stop lying. You hit up the right person, all right. The number showed up on my caller ID several times. No one makes a mistake that much. You gonna tell me your name now?”

“Like I said, calling you was an accident. I made a mistake. My name is not
perfect,
it’s
Yani.
”

“Well, I’m Life. I see you got some sass in your blood, Yani.”

“Maybe. And what if I do?” I answered.

After a few awkward moments we laughed and joked for hours.

Soon, every time Smooth let me down, I began calling Life for my nightly fix. Life stimulated my mind and body with his dreams. He worked at a record shop, but was trying to negotiate and lease his beats to major rap labels, while shopping record deals for independent artists at the same time. Life was passionate about his craft, and I definitely was feeling that.

“So why do they call you Life? I thought you were a straight thug when I met you. Is Life your real name?” I asked.

“Nah, but life is what I’m all about. My biggest fear is becoming a statistic out here ’cause someone else is playing street games that don’t got nothing to do with me. I used to be in the drug game, but I left hustling a long time ago. I reevaluated a lot of shit after I lost my little brother to a senseless act of violence. That’s when I changed my name to Life. Through me, he lives—he still has life. Yo, my biggest wish is to put my bid in in the music game and have a queen standing right beside me when I make those millions. Shit is pointless if I ain’t got a wife and some kids to love. My dreams and goals are what keep my nose to the grind and help me stay on point. Ya feel me, Yani?”

My heart fluttered. Life was so down-to-earth that I felt like I’d known him for ten years. He was about much more than Smooth. It finally hit me that Smooth had no dreams, except chasing dollars and poisoning our people. Smooth had a selfish, shallow streak that didn’t bother me when I was younger. But as I grew older, that shit grew stale.

Life had goals and ambition. He never cut me off like Smooth often did when he had to leave to handle his business on the block. Hell, Life even helped me admit that I dabbled in poetry. When I did admit it, he asked me to read him some of my work. I dug in my closet and pulled out an overstuffed binder that Smooth Willie knew existed, but had never cared to inquire about.

“Read somethin’ to me, Ma. Got anything wit hotness for me?” Life asked.

“I do but I changed my mind about reading it. You’ll laugh at what I’ve got to say.”

“Ain’t nothing funny to me about you having an artistic side. As you know, I’m an artist myself. Stop acting shy and let me check you out. Now go ahead and do what you do.”

“Okay,” I said. “I do have something new.” I inhaled, then began my poem.

“That was the truth! You really should consider doing somethin’ with that. Ever thought of putting out a book of poetry? You got my shit standing up and everything!”

After a while, I began caring less if Smooth called or showed up at the crib. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. Fuck him. I yearned to pick up the phone and hear the new voice that made me remember who I was and what made me tick. Life made me feel alive . . .

One Saturday, Life asked me if he could bring some music over to my place for me to hear. I agreed although Smooth warned me never to bring a nigga out the street and into my crib. He
said
it was for my safety. Maybe so, maybe not. Before I knew it, I’d rattled off my home address, and it didn’t take Life long to show up with a small bunch of roses. When he handed them to me, I felt weak from his sweetness.

After I put the flowers in a vase, I listened to at least four cuts on Life’s CD. I was amazed that his beats were banging—he had mad skills that convinced me he could rise to the top. A slow beat came on and Life broke the ice and asked me to dance.

“Yo, we never got a slow dance in the club that night. How about it right now?” Life said, walking up to me. As we swayed from side to side, I couldn’t believe that Life was so tender and romantic.

“Yani, your curly afro smells so good. It’s nice to see a natural sista’s beauty.” He rubbed his full lips against my right cheek, but didn’t kiss it. He made my body sway from side to side. I felt his hot breath on my neck, then his lips press against my smooth skin. That was what I was talking about. Life was like that!

I breathed deeply and said, “You smell good too, Life—really delicious. I like it.” His cologne clung to my nostrils and made me wet. I exhaled, then suddenly felt a gigantic bulge in his pants. Thankfully, a fast tempo hook began to play again.

“I’ve got an idea. Let’s play a game,” Life suggested.

“What kind of game?”

“Let’s just say I have a heck of an imagination. Go put on something sexy for me, Ma.”

“Like what? Tricks are for kids,” I joked.

“Keep your day job, ’cause you ain’t no comedian!” Life joked in return. “Now just go put on something sexy. Hurry yo fine ass up,” he demanded.

“Oh, now I’m supposed to tip over with happiness just to clap my ass for you?”

“Girl, you are crazy. Pretend we’re in a strip club so I can worship that fine ass. Don’t make it seem like you ain’t down! I peeped you dancing wild at the club.”

I headed toward the basement and grabbed a thong off of the top of the dryer. To my surprise, Life was breaking through my resolve. By the time I returned to the living room wearing my thong, a hypnotic beat was pumping. Life’s eyes were glued to me as he studied me from head to toe. I walked across the room, then moved toward the center of it. I faced him and began to dance, moving with steady, light gestures. I flashed Life a warm, radiant smile as I worked my hips and moved my arms in fluid motions. I got lost in the hip-hop beat and savored each note as the thong’s fabric rubbed between my phat ass cheeks.

My sensuality warmed me up, I was hyped. I let go and really shook my ass and didn’t care how crazy I looked doing it! Out of spite to get back at Smooth Willie, I popped my coochie like I was an experienced stripper. I felt like a sensuous woman again. Life confirmed that I still was desirable, even if Smooth had stopped treating me that way.

“You’re a good dancer, Yani. A real damned good dancer!” Life commented.

I moved closer to him, stopping a few inches away.

“I know,” I answered, while slowly gyrating my hips in his face. Life leaned forward and pressed his soft lips just above my pussy.

“Work it for Daddy!” he yelled. Then he removed a dollar from his wad of money and stuck it on the side of my thong. I placed my hands on my knees, turned around, arched my back, and rubbed my ass on top of him.

“Got-damn, girl! You got some big, fat ’n juicy pussy lips. I bet you taste sweeter than honey. You one of a kind, fo’ sure!” Life mumbled as I continued to shake my ass.

He reached out and pulled my thong to the side and gently played with my anus until my pussy was wet and slick. Feeling Life’s thumb moving around my erogenous zone made chills run up my spine. As I listened to his music I closed my eyes and imagined him spitting between my ass cheeks, relaxing my sphincter muscles, then letting his tool experience my deep asshole. When Life stopped playing with my ass, my thong string snapped back into place. I shook myself from my fantasy when he began to stuff more dollars in my little thong string.

“Hey! I got enough bills around my waist to make me a money belt! I like this game!” I said, flashing a big smile.

Life’s eyes were glossy, as if he had been hypnotized into a trance-like state. I slowly stroked my fingers under his chin, then fondled my bare breasts in front of him. As Life stuffed more dollars in my thong, I stood upright again, then used both hands to open my pussy to show him what I was working with.

“Do something for me, baby,” Life asked. “Reach down, stick two fingers inside of that pussy, and suck them juices from your pretty fingertips. Lemme see you do that.”

I did what Life asked of me. I felt like a movie star. Before I knew it he pulled his tool out and began stroking it openly.

“Look at what I got for you,” he said, working his dick up into a nice thick, long pole.

“Put that thing ’way. That’s not a good idea,” I told him. The sight of Life’s sexy dick made me feel like Jell-O inside.

“You can’t even look at my dick. You’re nervous as hell. You think there’s something wrong with a man stroking his shit?”

“No—I never said that. There’s nothing wrong with . . . well. Never mind, Life.”

“Before you say no to something, you should at least see what you’re turning down,” he said, stroking it gently.

I finally took a really good look at Life’s dick and my mouth began to water like I smelled good food burnin’ at a soul-food spot!

“I’m in a committed relationship. I told you that from day one,” I said weakly.

“Yani, the man you got ain’t living up to the meaning of a man. He has you hanging your head down and holding back on what you wanna do. If you were satisfied in every way, you wouldn’t be writing poetry about me, wondering how I work my dick, or shaking yo ass in my face. So you tryna tell me you half-naked but I’m feeling sparks up in this motherfucker alone?”

I didn’t answer.

“Girl, what you really want right now is a thug nigga like me to hit it like I’m gonna break you in half! From the way you’ve explained things here and there, the situation you’re in is fucked up. I know you need to get fucked, licked, and sucked right—it’s been written all over your face since the night I saw you in the club. If you need time, I got time. But don’t you think it’s about time you just let go, for you? I ain’t that nigga that’s got you stressin’. If you want this dick, get ready to sit down on it and enjoy it,” Life said, tearing open a condom.

I was nearly salivating at the thought of sitting down on his massive dick. But just when I was about to take him up on his offer, something snapped me out of the fuckin’ mood. The phone rang.