Nasty Girls (22 page)

“I'm gonna make you feel good tonight,” James said. He climbed in between my legs and penetrated my walls again, causing me to gasp. I picked up the pipe one last time, and took another big hit. James smiled and said, “Didn't I tell you that shit was gonna make you feel really fuckin' good?”

I was high. “Fuck me, baby!” I cried out. I wrapped my legs around James and clawed at his back. He pushed his dick into me hard and fast. I swear, this nigga made it feel like the earth was shaking. We fucked for an hour straight, and after that, a bitch couldn't move. I was done. I no longer cared about Rico getting high in my kitchen. I was high and numb.

I was beginning to worry about people talking, because in the projects, ain't nothing a secret, especially when you're screwing around with your best friend's man. I didn't want any beef, especially with my girls, Jade and Camille. But the dick—ohmygod, the dick. James was pushing that shit deep into me night after night, and had a bitch hooked, or addicted like I was a dope fiend with the needle stuck deep in my arm. And the way he ate pussy, he had me clawing at walls, especially last night when he threw me over his shoulder and told me to touch the ceiling as he hoisted me up in the air and had a bitch howling as he dined between my legs. I ain't gonna lie; James had the biggest dick I ever saw. I mean, Roscoe was good—he's my man and all—but shit, I know it's fucked-up to say, but he ain't home right now, and a sista like myself needed her itch scratch once in a while.

I missed my visit with Roscoe last week. I got caught up in some things. But he still calls me every other night around
eight, and I still accept all of his collect calls. He beefed with me about not coming to visit him last week, but I lied and told him some bullshit excuse and promised I'd visit him around Thanksgiving. I never told him that I lost my job. I was scared to.

I was trying to be careful, because I knew I was playing with fire. But I was lonely at nights, and it felt good waking up to a warm hard body next to me and rolling myself over on some dick and getting me some. I had toys, but they could only take me but so far.

Thanksgiving was right around the corner, and I had nothing planned and nowhere to go. I wanted as much company as I can have.

I glanced at the time and saw that it was fifteen minutes past eight. I knew Roscoe would be calling soon, but that didn't mean I told James to stop, as he had my legs spread and went back and forth from eating out my pussy to my asshole, sticking his tongue in both and causing me to grunt, pant, clutch the sheets, and feeling heaven out this bitch.

“Oooh, don't stop . . . don't stop . . . do that shit . . . yes, yes . . . oh, shit . . . eat that pussy, eat that ass . . . right there, yes . . . RIGHT THERE.”

James had me animated. I gripped his shoulders. I squeezed my breasts. I clutched the sheets and pillows. The nigga had me on cloud nine right now—oh, God.

Suddenly the phone rang, and I knew it was Roscoe. James stopped and lifted his head up from between my dripping thighs.

“It's Roscoe,” I said, breathing heavy. “Ssshhhh. He can't hear anybody in the room with me,” I told him.

“I'll be in the living room,” James said, leaving my bedroom with his bare ass showing.

I picked up after the fifth or sixth ring.

“You have a collect call from . . . Roscoe Richardson . . . if you accept, please—”

“I accept!” I hollered into the receiver, not giving the operator time to finish her speech.

“Hello.”

“Hey, baby,” I said with joy. I propped myself against the headboard, my pussy still throbbing for some more action.

“Shy, what's good? You comin' to see me soon, I hope?” he asked.

“Yeah. I missed you. How you holdin' up?”

“I'm good. My next day in court is December seventh. You gonna be there?”

“I'll try.”

“What you mean, you'll try? I want you there.”

“Why you still in court? I thought you took a plea?”

“Yeah, well, my attorney came up wit' some good news. Remember when I told you that there was a gun? Well, forensic unfolded vital evidence that the nigga I shot had fired off a gun that night. They did some test, and some shit came up positive in his right hand.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, but it's too early to celebrate now. I'm still goin' through motions and shit. And guess what, some nigga picked up the shell casin' from a .380. My lawyer tryin' to investigate deep into this shit. Yo, I think somebody tried to set me up, Shy.”

“What? Why?”

“I don't know. You know how niggas hate on me out there. I make money, and some hardheaded niggas want me out, so they
can move in. But when all the bullshit is done, Shy, I'm gonna find out who . . . That's my word;we gonna see what's up.”

Hearing this brought hope and a smile on my face. Ohmygod, if everything goes good, my baby might be coming home earlier than expected.

“So what is your lawyer sayin'?” I asked.

“He sayin' don't go celebratin' yet. I still might have to do some time for the gun charge and other shit. He sayin' every-thin' is a hunch right now about me being set up, but he got NYPD lookin' hard into it. Word, Shy—my lawyer is worth every fuckin' penny I'm payin' him.”

I smiled.

“So what you doin' right now?” he asked, changing the topic. “Me?”

“No, I'm talkin' to the fuckin' Easter Bunny,” he replied sarcastically.

“Why you gotta get smart?”

“Because, why you asking, ‘Me?' when you're the only one on the phone?”

“Please. Well if you wanna know, I'm naked and I'm lyin' in bed.”

“Naked? What you doin' naked?” Roscoe said, sounding a bit upset.

“Because I knew you were going to call, and I wanted to be naked and maybe have sex with you over the phone,” I lied.

“Oh, word? That's what's up,” he said, sounding so happy.

“I got my legs spread for you, baby,” I said enticingly, reaching my hand down my stomach and in between my thighs.

“Damn, Shy. Yo, I'm missin' you like crazy, love. . . . You don't know.”

“Word, you missin' me, baby . . . you missin' the punanny? You wanna smell the punanny?” I asked seductively.

“Yeah, put your pussy to the phone,” he said, sounding a bit desperate.

I took the cordless and placed it between my thighs, and said out loud, “You hear the punanny callin' you, baby?”

“Yeah, I hear it,” I heard him shout.

I started playing with my pussy, with the phone near my goods. I placed two fingers inside of me and moaned out loud. “Oooh, it's wet for you, baby. It's wet. I got my fingers in my pussy, and it wants you. I want you, baby. . . . Oooh, yes . . . Roscoe . . . yes.”

“Damn, Shy . . . you gonna have a nigga plan an escape, you keep fuckin' around like that!” he said.

I laughed. I placed the phone near my ear and said, “You like that?”

“Oh, shit. Hells, yeah. Damn, you got my hand in my pants jerkin' off to you, Shy.”

“You by yourself?” I asked.

“Nah, not really . . . but niggas don't give a fuck up in here. Shit, it's either this or get at one of these homo-thugs up in here.”

“Oh.”

“And you know I ain't tryin' to swing that way, no matter how many years I get.”

“That's right, baby. Pussy for life.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“I missin' you so fuckin' much, Roscoe,” I proclaimed. I suddenly found myself getting a little emotional.

“Don't worry, Shy. We gonna be good again. I promise. But,
yo, let me get off this jack, I know they about to cut my shit short. But I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Roscoe.”

Our conversation was soon over. And right after, James stepped into the room. It brought me back to reality.

“Roscoe's cool?” he asked.

I didn't say a word. I looked up at him with a few tears trickling from my eyes. My guilt surfaced again. Here I was fucking his boy while he was locked away and expressing his love for me. Oh, God, I was trippin'.

James came swinging his dick back into the bedroom, and sat down next to me. He placed his hand on my thigh and rubbed it gently.

“So where did we leave off?” he said, amused and shit.

I gave him an unpleasant look. Was he serious?

“Please. Not now.” I got up off the bed and reached for my robe.

“What you mean not now? I'm fuckin' hard, and you were ready to go at it a moment ago. But all of a sudden, Roscoe calls and you frontin' on me, Shy. C'mon.”

“James, I got a lot of shit on my mind right now. And besides, ain't you curious to hear about what he had to say?”

“Yeah. What did he tell you, anyway? Y'all were up in here chattin' it up kind of lively.”

“He told me some good news. He said that if shit goes right, they might drop the murder charges. His attorney says that he believes Roscoe was set up, and that the man he murdered, they found out he did actually fire a gun at Roscoe. His attorney is doin' a heavy investigation.”

“Oh, word . . . that's what's up,” James said, nonchalantly.

“I know.”

“That's cool,” James said, getting up from the bed and walking up to me. My eyes never left his. He came up to me and placed his hands against my waist, slowly moving me toward him.

“James,” I said.

“What?” he answered devilishly as he smiled.

“I just talked to Roscoe.”

“And?”

“And I don't feel right about this right now,” I straight up told him.

“You fuckin' serious? You're startin' to feel fuckin' guilty after we done fucked countless of times—you ain't give a fuck about your man then.”

“Neither did you,” I countered smartly.

“C'mon Shy, be fo' real.”

“I am. Please . . . can you leave for the night? I want to be alone,” I proclaimed. I was stunned. I actually told him—and myself—that I wanted to be alone for the night.

He stared at me. And the look on his face frightened me.

“Why the fuck you actin' like a bitch for, Shy? This nigga calls and—”

“James, just one night, please. . . . That's all I'm asking. I just wanna get my head straight. I just wanna be alone for one night.”

“You know what? Fuck it!” He stormed past me, picked up his clothing, and started to get dress. I sighed in relief, thinking that there was going to be trouble. But I was wrong.

James got dressed quickly. He threw on his Timberlands and coat and went for the door. He left without a good-bye. After he left, I felt a tad better. I just couldn't fuck him tonight, after the
conversation I had with Roscoe. It didn't feel right. I wanted this night to belong to Roscoe; it was his night, even though he wasn't here with me physically. I felt him. I wanted to celebrate the small accomplishment that his attorney made over his case. It was a start, and a very good start. Maybe all the charges against Roscoe will be drop, I thought. Shit, you never know. It can happen.

I called up Jade first; I wanted to share with her the news. I called her crib and she picked up, finally.

“Hey, girl,” I hollered, sounding joyous.

“Hey, Shy,” she answered, not seeming to be in the same mood that I was in. Then the thought of her man just now leaving my crib crept into my thoughts, and I felt fucked up. “What's goin' on?” she asked.

“I just talked to Roscoe.” I lowered my enthusiasm a bit, with my conscience eating away at me.

“Oh, yeah. He okay?”

“Yeah. He informed me that they might drop the murder charges against him.”

“You serious? What happened?”

“A bunch of bullshit, that's what happened. He might be coming home sooner, Jade,” I stated.

“I'm so happy for you. But don't get all bent up about this just yet, Shy. . . . You know I'm not tryin' to rain on your parade, but be there for him. It's a start, like you said, but anythin' can go wrong.”

“I know Jade. I know.”

Jade became quiet. I heard her breathing over the phone, and I got curious. So I opened up my big mouth and asked, “What happened between you and James?”

She sighed heavily. “You ain't talk to Camille?” she inquired.

“No. Not recently,” I said.

“Same ol' bullshit, Shy. He a fuckin' asshole, that's what. I'm so done wit' him.”

“Damn.”

“Listen, Shy, I gotta go. I don't mean to cut you short, but I got a lot of shit to do tomorrow morning, and I need some rest.”

“I understand, girl. I'm gonna call you later.”

“Call Camille, Jade. She'll put you on about what went down,” Jade said.

“A'ight.”

After I hung up with her, I called Camille's cell, but there was no answer. I called her apartment next, and I got the same results.

I decided to call it a night. I stared at a framed picture of Roscoe and me while I rested on the bed, and I started writing him a poem.

 

So many things I wish that I could say.

So many things I wished that we could play.

So many words that's stuck deep in my head.

I keep asking myself, how I can express myself

to my man in the most sensitive way.

Say to him, my man is irreplaceable and insatiable,

the two ingredients that make you sensational.

I
t was Monday night, and I was nervous about meeting Casey in a few hours. He'd called earlier to confirm our date, and I told him I'd be there.

I haven't seen or spoken to James since he tried to kick in my door, and that was a few days ago. I tried not to become wary and frightened of my boyfriend, but I couldn't help it. James could become a lunatic when he's upset. He has a really dark and ugly side to him. And it was dangerous. He had a history of violence, and many people in the neighborhood feared him. I've seen the worst in him, and I've seen the best in him.