La Familia 2 (4 page)

Eliza was falling asleep in my arms. I had the cab still waiting outside in the cold with my stuff in the back seat. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and not a penny to my name. I was hungry, cold, frustrated, and agitated all at once.

Fuck it,
I thought. It was late and I knocked a few times on the door. I prayed this turned out well for me. If it didn't, I didn't know what I was going to do. My old apartment had already been rented out. I hadn't spoken to Sammy in months; my old crew, EBV girls, was in disarray. Tina was dead. She was stabbed in a club fight right after Eliza was born, and Meme and La-La were both incarcerated upstate on drug charges. They each had to do five years. The only one left was Crystal, but she was doing her own thing and hanging out with some heavy hitters in the game. She was also fuckin' with this notorious gangster named, Trice.

The Edenwald Blood Vixens, we were a dying breed.

I continued knocking, until I heard someone on the other end of the door shout out sharply, “Who is it?”

“Erica, it's me, Mouse.” I was meek and praying.

The door opened and Erica stood in front of me wearing some boy shorts and a T-shirt. She had long, cascading cornrows and was swathed with tattoos on her curvy figure. She was hardcore, grew up rough like the rest of us, but she was a friend to me, someone I grew up with.

Erica smiled and greeted me. “Oh shit, bitch, Mouse, what's up. Damn, it's 'bout time you come by and check a bitch. I've been home for almost four months now.”

I was glad to see her smile and elated to see me. I looked like a pathetic lost puppy in front of her. I tried to keep my sanity and composure. I truly needed her help. I needed someplace to stay, and if I had to beg, then so be it. I couldn't be proud.

“Hey, Erica,” I replied with a frail smile.

“Oh shit, is this ya daughter, Mouse? Look at her. She's sleeping and she's so cute,” Erica said.

“She's exhausted. It's been a really long day for us both.”

“Damn, Mouse, you lookin' crazy. You okay?”

“Erica, I need help. I hate to ask, but I need a place to stay temporarily. I just got kicked out of the shelter.” I had to be frank; it wasn't the time to be nostalgic or beat around the bush.

“Mouse, you ain't even gotta ask. I got you, you know that,” Erica said with no hesitation in her tone.

She stepped to the side and allowed me and my daughter inside. She lived with her elderly grandmother who was in her mid-eighties and becoming senile. She came home after doing time and was fortunate to have someplace to stay; some of us weren't that lucky in life.

It was somewhat cozy inside the dingy and small three-bedroom apartment, nothing fancy, antique and tattered-looking furniture, worn-out carpet, narrow, long hallway leading to the three bedrooms, family pictures plastered all over the wall, and one small color television sitting on top of the broken wide-back forty-inch TV. The place was the epitome of a ghetto apartment. It reminded me of home.

I looked at the time and it was after midnight. I just wanted to put my head to a pillow and close my eyes and sleep for days. Erica had her two kids with her: Tracy, who was six, and Timothy, he was four. I put Eliza in the bedroom with them. They had bunk beds and Eliza slept with Tracy on the bottom. Erica's grandmother occupied the second bedroom, and the third bedroom was Erica's, but she already had company: some shirtless young buck male and it was obvious she was fucking him.

“You cool to sleep on the couch, Mouse?” she asked me.

Like I had a choice. If it was soft, warm and cozy, it was perfect for me. “Yeah, I'm good,” I said.

Erica removed a blanket and a pillow, and made a place for me on her couch in the living room near the window. I happened to look outside just in time to see the gypsy cab drive off with my shit in the back. I could have asked Erica for the money, but I felt I was reaching. I had already asked her to take me and my daughter into her home. I sulked; the last that I owned, it was gone. Some of the stuff was sentimental to me and I could never get back.

I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I was so crushed that I felt my insides twisting up like pretzel. I lost everything, but I couldn't lose myself. I had a daughter depending on me. I sat on the couch with Erica keeping me company for a moment. Even though she had some dick waiting for her in the bedroom, she took time out to talk to me. I guessed she saw the stress on my face and was worried about me.

She rolled up a blunt and we smoked for a moment, chatting it up and reminiscing about the good old days. And then, after a few pulls later, we talked about our current situations. I told Erica about my circumstances, getting pregnant by Rico, the fame I almost had at the tip of my fingers, my pop's trifling ways, the crew, and so on.

“Yo, I heard you and Sammy ain't fuckin' wit' each anymore. That's crazy. Ya both were tight like that,” she mentioned.

“Long story, we fell out over some dick,” I said.

“I heard, fuckin' wit' that nigga Rico. He always been a trifling-ass nigga,” she said.

Yeah, I learned that about him the hard way. But he was my past. I didn't want to talk about him, or Sammy and I falling out. Erica went on to tell me about her situation. She came home adjusting to the change, talked about her baby fathers—one was locked up, the other nigga was on the run from the feds—and then she mentioned the nigga she had in her bedroom.

“He a'ight and shit, provides when he can, and looks out for my kids when I need to work,” she said.

I was happy for her. It must be nice to have a decent man in your life and someone to hold you down. I didn't have that. Thought I had that with Rico, but that turned out to be hell.

“Anyway, we can continue talkin' in the morning, I know ya tired and shit. But I got you, Mouse. You know you family,” Erica said affably.

I smiled.

She went into the bedroom to be with her nigga. I lay across the couch and put my head to the pillow. I cried for a moment before I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

“Girl, use what you got to get what you want,” Kawanda said to me. “I do it all the time. Selling this phat, sweet pussy pays my bills and you see a bitch ain't ever broke.”

I listened to what she was telling me, and she was telling me a lot about stripping and tricking. It was a lot of money in the game, especially tricking; men were willing to pay handsomely for sex with a beautiful and curvy woman, but I still held on to my morals. I just couldn't go there like that. It was my pussy and to give it out so freely to make a dollar, it bothered me greatly. I was making good money just dancing. I wasn't banking heavily like the girls who turned tricks in the backrooms, but I was surviving, making my decent ends.

Kawanda had encouraged me to do a few out-of-club parties for groups of men: private parties, birthday parties, bachelors' parties, sex parties, and so on. I would be paid an upfront fee, and whatever I made there, it was mines to take home. She explained that there was good money in doing these parties, so I decided to give it a try.

I took a strong pull from the burning blunt between my lips, allowing the weed to influence me, and then I looked at my reflection in the outsized bathroom mirror, being in the presidential suite at the swanky Marriot hotel in Times Square. I was getting dressed and preparing myself to entertain a hotel room full of hungry men. I wasn't the only girl entertaining; three other girls, including Kawanda, were already scantily clad, perfumed up, high off haze, and maybe tipsy while in the extravagant room dancing and flirting with over a dozen mixed muthafuckas. I was the last to get dressed.

Kawanda and I had shared a cab from the Bronx to the city; we split the fifty dollar fare and strutted through the grand atrium pulling our rolling luggage behind us. I left Danny with my elderly neighbor, paying her twenty-five dollars a night to babysit my son. I figured this gig was going to be an all-nighter for me. Kawanda boasted that these niggas paid well and loved black girls. I was hyped.

As I got dressed, I could hear hip hop music blaring from the room and men shouting and yelling all kinds of obscenities to the dancers, hooting and hollering like a pack of wolves. They were having a grand old time with the girls. I got dressed in something truly sexy and eye-catching: a VIP minidress featuring a halter neckline with string ties and a silver weave for a glittery effect. Underneath the see-though outfit I wore a bright G-string and my dark nipples showing. I wore my bright red, six-inch stilettos with my platinum wig and my body glistening with glitter. I didn't have to borrow any of my friends' outfits anymore; over the weeks I had acquired my own stuff and my own taste.

I stepped out into the party with my flirtatious smile and long strut. The minute I entered the room, the lustful eyes and smiles were glued to me. Now, these Wall Street and white-collar businessmen had something new to ogle over and play with. There was a sprinkle of black men in the place, but it was these white crackers who were drooling a great deal with their hard, white dicks protruding from their tight slacks and khakis, and yearning to get them a piece of some blackberry.

I wasn't in the room no more than a minute, when two bushy-haired white males came rushing my way with fistfuls of money. They were wide-eyed at my beauty and my scrumptious figure. These white boys, they had money to burn, far more than niggas at the club were spending. I saw only twenties and fifty dollar bills in these crackers' hands and they were willing to spend it all on some black pussy.

The night got started in great fun, and then it got really kinky. Everyone was drinking and smoking, getting tipsy with the hip hop music blaring. The girls were all over these white boys like wallpaper on wall. Kawanda, looking almost buck-naked in a teeny-weeny string monokini with microcups and string thong back, was damn near fucking this white boy on the couch. He touched and groped her body everywhere as she ground against his crotch and tongue kissed him. Next thing I saw, he was pulling out his dick and she was jerking him off right there in front of everyone. He tilted his head back from the blissful pleasure and moaned. Just like that, it was turning into that type of party.

I was giving this chunky, pale-looking white boy a sensual lap dance as he stuffed one big face dead president after another down my G-string. I had my tender chocolate nipples mush in his face and felt his erection poking me intensely. I worked the room like magic, jumping from one customer to another, enjoying the big tips and flirting heavily to make my money. From my peripheral vision, I noticed Kawanda pull her customer up from the chair by having his dick in her hand. She was butt-ass naked with her heels in her hands and leading the man into a private bedroom where he could enjoy her a lot more. The girls were constantly in and out of bedrooms in the suite, fucking and sucking these white boys for a high price and they were coming back out with a fistful of money and a smile larger than anything.

An hour went by, and I was still just dancing, having them touch me anywhere they wanted to, maybe suck on my nipples and let them feel between my thighs, and touch this pussy, but the real money was having sex. I was offered the chance for a private session with a few white boys, but I would gently turn down the offer. I wasn't ready to prostitute myself like that. When I took a break to go into the bathroom, Kawanda boasted about making $1,500 already. I made close to $400, but at my rate, it was snail money compare to my coworkers sexing these white boys down.

The next hour, I found myself dancing for this cutie with blue eyes and what looked like a promising physique behind his stylish attire. He resembled Brad Pitt. He tipped me nicely and touched me so dotingly that I found myself getting wet and aroused. He was dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, sporting his gold Rolex and diamond ring. He looked smart and well established. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he was extremely attracted to me.

“I love black woman,” he whispered in my ear with his hand on my tit.

I felt his bulge and he seemed to be packing some nice in his pants. He cupped my tits as I ground my pussy against his bulging crotch. Since I started dancing for him, he already placed $500 in my G-string and was willing to pay me a lot more.

“You're beautiful,” he said to me, smiling.

“Thank you.”

“What is your name, if you don't mind me asking?” He was such a gentleman.

Of course I couldn't give him my government name, and I gave him my stripper name. “My name is Bambi.” Now I really don't know why I came up with the name Bambi, it sounded like a reasonable stripper name to me, and it was the only suitable name that I could come up with since so many other names were already taken. And it didn't hurt that I was a huge fan of the movie when I was young.

“I like that, Bambi. You definitely look like a Bambi,” he said.

He played me close like liquor on a drunk man's breath as I ground on his lap and pressed my lovely breasts against his chest. His cologne was so alluring. The fragrance pleased my nostrils and made me feel high. He was the finest-looking white boy in the room and I had his undivided attention.

“And what's your name?” I asked him.

“Travis.”

“Nice name.”

“Thank my mother.”

“I need to thank her for a lot more things than just your name,” I flirted, feeling his bulging erection move between my thighs.

He chuckled.

He fondled me. He kissed my nipples softly and I reached down and felt his dick swelling more and more in his pants. He looked at me and I looked at him. And then the inevitable happened. “How much for you?” he asked.

Damn. I sighed and didn't respond.

“I mean, I don't want to offend you, but I really like you and I'll pay whatever you charge. I have money,” he stated.

I continued dancing on him, and didn't know what to say. I guessed he took my silence for a no, but he wasn't giving up. “I'll give three thousand to have sex with you.”

Shit!
$3,000 could help me in so many ways right now. Usually any girl would jump at the offer, but I was shocked at it. He was so hard between my legs that I thought his dick was going to rip through his pants and penetrate me. It felt so big.

“Bambi, you're the only woman I'm attracted to in here and you're about to have me burst like a balloon because I want you so badly. How about five thousand for your time?” He upped the offer and I couldn't resist it. I damn sure needed the money. With the $900 I already made plus his five grand, it was going to be a very good night.

I took a deep breath and huffed out, “C'mon, let's have some fun,” before I changed my mind. But I wasn't going to change my mind. It was good money. I stood up and took him by the hand and led him to one of the unoccupied bedrooms in the suite.

The party was still going strong, and I became the final girl at the party who was about to suck and fuck a man for money. I was about to contradict myself, but for $5,000, who wouldn't? I escorted him toward the bigger room down the hallway, and as I was about to enter the bedroom, the door swung open and Kawanda walked out still naked counting her money. A shirtless and big-bellied forty-year-old white man exited behind her looking like he had the best pussy ever. She had sexually pleased her umpteenth trick for the night and was still going strong. Her pussy had to be sore and her mouth had to somewhat numb, but she was a money-hungry girl.

When she saw me about to turn a trick, she smiled and winked at me. “You go, girl, get that money, and he a cutie. I ain't mad at you,” she said.

I didn't respond to her remark. I hurried inside the room. I felt embarrassed that she saw me go into the room with someone. Travis walked into the room and I closed the door behind him. This was it. The bedroom boasted floor-to-ceiling windows, a plasma TV, a king-sized bed, an overstuffed sofa, lovely furnishings, and a few other luxurious amenities.

Travis stood in the center of the bedroom and smiled at me. His deep blue eyes displayed his eagerness to have me. I locked the door to make sure we weren't interrupted and strutted toward him in my sexy stilettos.

“You are truly beautiful,” he said. “I can't wait to have you.”

“I can't wait to feel you inside of me,” I replied, touching him gently and fondling his crotch area.

I could tell he wanted to kiss me, but I didn't go there with him. He couldn't have everything from me; I had to save something for myself. He pulled me into his strong, masculine arms and held me close. I never been with a white boy before and was glad that he would be my first. He was too fine. He started to foreplay with me by undressing me slowly and admiring every inch of me. He lowered his lips to my nipples and tenderly took them into his mouth and sucked on them so pleasingly with his lips and tongue. I couldn't help but to moan from the wetness of his mouth sampling my flesh.

As he sucked my hard nipples with me in his grasp, my hands guided their way to his crotch area and I effortlessly unzipped his pants. I reached inside his trousers, searching for that magnificent piece of meat I felt poking between my legs when I was giving him a sensual lap dance. I didn't have to search with my hands too long. His dick seemed to gravitate toward my touch; and when I palmed it in my manicured fist I could feel his size growing so big between my fingers. Travis had to adjust himself at times to accommodate the raging erection that he couldn't control. He deflated the myth about white boys having small dicks. Travis was packing, and he was packing nicely.

I pulled his lengthy, big dick out of his zipper and stroked him lovingly. He moaned as my hand gladly glided back and forth against him, jerking him off satisfactorily. We were entangled in each other's bliss. He pulled me closer and showered my neck with kisses and the moistness between my legs was a strong signal of the passion and intense fucking that was about to transpire.

Things got hot and heavy. For $5,000, I was his bitch all night long. He finally pulled himself away from my black essence and started to undress, but before he continued any further in taking off his clothes, he uttered, “Oh, I didn't forget.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a $10,000 stack of bills. It wasn't the first time I seen money like that. When I used to hustle for Rico, I was stacking probably more then he was. But when a bitch is broke, it becomes impressive to see again. He peeled off nothing but hundred dollar bills and handed over the $5,000 that he owed me. I beamed. Now it was time to get this party started.

I got butt-ass naked for him, but kept my stilettos on. He couldn't help but stare at my body, my beauty, my poise, and enchanting curves. But the surprise came my way when Travis completely undressed and his body was phenomenal. His tan flesh ripped with lean, cut muscles, the six-pack on his stomach looked sculpted, his strapping chest looked like it could be on the cover of
Men's Fitness,
and between his legs was the nicest big dick I ever saw. It was already eight inches flaccid, and when it got erect, gotdamn, I was in for a workout.

I was ready to drop on my knees and suck his dick, but he didn't want that. He just wanted to feel the inside of me.

“You have a condom?” I asked.

If he didn't, it was easy to get one from the girls. But fortunately he did. He pulled out a Magnum condom from his pants pocket on the floor. He tore it open, rolled the latex back on his thick, long size, and was ready for me. He curved me over the bed and spread my legs in a downward V with my pussy exposed. He positioned himself behind me. I couldn't believe I was selling my pussy, but money talks. He shoved his cock inside of me with force, stabbing my womb with his weapon of flesh. I gripped the sheets and moaned. His flesh filled me completely. As he fucked me from the back, he reached around and underneath me and rubbed my clit furiously and shoved his fingers in my pussy. It was intense pleasure.