Tales from da Hood (6 page)

I stand up against the wall nodding my head to the music and checking out the ladies. There are some bad-ass bitches in Richmond and I'm imagining myself fucking every ho in the joint. I look behind me and see Lil Mo talking to Cynthia. I know Cynthia from Colors; she's the bartender there on Wednesday nights. Cynthia is gorgeous. Asian, black, and Creole, about five feet five with big wide hips and a badunka butt. With her copper-toned complexion and light brown slanted bedroom eyes, that bitch is so muhfucking bad that I tricked with her ass one night. I thought she was fem, but she carried her shit straight butch, but I ain't know it until
we got to the hotel room. Cyn ass ate me out, sucked my toes, licked my asshole, my armpits, my navel, that bitch even ate the wax out of my ears. She licked and sucked every fucking crack and crevice on my body. I was feeling so good that when the bitch told me to turn around and put my ass in the air, I did it. I had forgotten who the fuck I was, until I felt a flabby dick at the entrance of my ass. I jumped up and yelled, “What the fuck you doing?”

The DJ been throwing down so far, then his 'Bama ass plays that goddamn “Push It Real Good” again. I can't understand what the fuck is up with that shit. Then he announces, “I have a special request from Lil Mo.” I turn around and see Lil Mo's ass heading toward me. She comes up to me singing, “Ooooh, baby, baby be, baby baby be, get up on this.” Before I know it, her leg is in the air and around my waist, and her arms are hung around my neck. She wants me to get up on it, and so fuck it, I do. I start grinding back on her ass. People are looking and shit 'cause everybody know Lil Mo is Turk's girl. But sheeett, I'm saying to myself, if Lil Mo is his bitch, then it's that nigga's responsibility to keep his ho in check.

For the rest of the night, we kick it. Every time I turn around her ass is at me. I think, I'ma hit that tonight.

When the club party is over, I walk back down to McDonald's to call Yellow Cab to scoop me up. Before the cab arrives, Lil Mo pulls up with this chick name Tasha riding with her. She offers me a ride home and for the second time in one day, I accept. Tasha lives in HoneyBrook Apartments, and Lil Mo lives in Lakefield Mews. She says she'll take Tasha home first, then drop me off. That shit doesn't make sense to me since they live closer to each other. But I know what time it is, so I ain't ask no questions. On the way home, they gossip bout niggas in the club. Who's fucking who, who's snitching, who got evicted, who's getting high, which projects
is beefing against the other. They know all the baby mommas baby daddies drama. They all up in everybody's business. I sit in the back-seat tripping. Lil Mo keeps looking at me through the rearview mirror, smiling and tracing her lips with her tongue.

As soon as Tasha gets out, Lil Mo drives out of the complex, turns around, looks at me, and says, “You know what I want.” She pulls over and parks on a dark deserted road. She turns off the truck and removes the key from the ignition. She gets out of the driver seat, walks to the back door, opens it, and climbs in back with me. She shuts the door behind her, straddles me, and sticks her tongue dead down my throat. She tongues me hard. I never tongue-kissed anybody except Cookie.

Then she starts sucking on my neck and humping up and down on me. I feel good, so I start humping back. She pulls my jersey over my head, then removes my white tee and starts sucking on my chest. I throw her off of me, pull up her dress, and realize she isn't wearing any panties. I stick my middle finger in her pussy, and she starts squirming around, fucking it. Then I remove my finger and slide my tongue in her pussy. It's dark and I can't see, so I reach up front and turn on the interior lights, 'cause I need to see what the fuck I am eating. Man, her pussy is pretty and pink. Looks like that has never been tapped into. I eat her out for 'bout fifteen minutes straight without raising my head. When she's about to come, she tells me to get on top of her, she wants me to hump her. I don't have my strap with me, so I get on top of her and we are straight fucking like two bitches. We kiss and grind and suck each other's necks. I can't remember the last time I felt that good. It's different from when I'm with Nessa; I am feeling some shit I ain't never felt before— passion. We both start coming at the same time, our bodies shaking and jerking in unison. I hold on to her tight. I never want to let go of the MoJo.

IT'S
FOUR
A
.
M
.
on Sunday, and I tell Lil Mo to drop me off in front of Oakwood Cemetery. I'm feeling good but need to get high to calm my ass down 'cause, for real, Lil Mo had a nigga on cloud nine. I walk through the cut, looking for La-La's night-prowling ass. It's so quiet round the way that you can hear a pin drop. I ain't see the nigga, so I go and knock on his door.

“Yo, who is it?” he yells.

“It's Demetria, man,” I yell back, as I look around to make sure niggas ain't outside, waiting to catch a nigga out. I can hear him fucking around with the door and shit. Seems like the nigga is nervous or something 'cause it takes his ass a minute to open up.

“Fuck you want, nigga?” he asks me with bass in his voice. Its four in the morning and the nigga opens the door with a bowl of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes in his hand.

“Man, let me get a hit,” I say as I walk past him, reaching into my back pocket for my ace of spade.

“Shorty, you need to pay your tab. How the fuck you think you gon’ keep booking shit off me and don't pay up?”

“Man, you know I'm good for it, why you tripping?” I ask him like I have an open line of credit.

La-La walks back into the kitchen and sits down to finish his bowl of cereal. I look around the apartment and notice that there isn't shit in the living room except a big-screen television with a Rent-A-Center sticker attached to the side and a couple card-table folding chairs. In the kitchen is a glass table with four chairs—the type of chairs with the black-and-gold-specked seats that everybody in the fucking pj's seemed to have. They ain't got no curtains at the kitchen or living room windows. La-La continues eating his Frosted Flakes, paying my ass no attention as I stand over him with money in my pocket and credit on my mind.

“Man, I got to take a leak, can I use your bathroom?'’ I ask while twitching my legs together 'cause I had to pee bad as shit.

La-La nods his head. “Yeah.”

I run upstairs and shut the door behind me. There isn't shit in the bathroom except the sink, bathtub, and toilet. They ain't have no shower curtain up, no rugs on the floor, or no soap in the god-damn soap dish. By this time, I'm pissed with my cousin for letting that nigga live up in her house and they ain't have nothing in it. I finished pissing and was about to stand up when that nigga came bursting through the door.
Bam!
he kicked that mutherfucker in with his foot.

“Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask, and cover myself with my hands.

“Any nigga who knocks at this door without my permission is bound to get whatever the fuck I got waiting for 'em. Why the fuck you think it was all right to knock at my shit?” He stands at the door staring at me with rage in his eyes. I don't notice the burner in his hand until he put the mutherfucker up to my head.

“Raise up off the muh-fucking toilet, nickga!” he orders as he presses the black 9mm directly at my temple.

“All right, dawg, I'm moving,” I say as I stand up and start to pull up my black-and-red Joe Cool boxers.

“Nah, nickga, leave them bitch-ass boxers and shorts at yo knees and get the fuck in the bedroom.”

I step out of the bathroom, holding my shorts with my hands, while my boxers are still at my knees. La-La walks beside me, never moving the gun from my dome.

“Man, what up?” I ask as I make my way to the bedroom with the black lacquer bedroom set. We pass by the children's room, and I notice they ain't have no beds, just two pissed-up mattresses on the floor.

“You owe, nigga. Pay up now or I'ma smoke your ass right here, right now!” he yells.

I reach in my back pocket, my hands trembling and shaking like a pipehead phening for crack. I start counting. “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one-twenty.”

The nigga snatches the money from my hands and says, “Nigga, this ain't enough to keep you breathing.” He throws the money on the bed.

“But you ain't count all of it,” I say, when I know damn well it ain't enough to close out my tab. La-La is tripping, but I know it ain't about the money. The nigga is flexing on me 'cause I caught his ass out last night. He's trying to prove to me that he's still a real nigga 'cause I found out that he likes hitting faggots.

“You got a choice. You can either suck my dick or let me fuck you. You got one minute to decide,” he says while kicking off his flip-flops and dropping his shorts to the floor with his available hand, while the other is still holding the gun to my head. My eyes grow big. I can't believe this is happening. I'm thinking, if only I had taken my cokehead ass home, I wouldn't be here right now dealing with these ultimatums this nigga giving me.

Suddenly, my heart starts beating fast:
thump thump, thump thump, thump thump.
I could see it pumping from beneath my shirt. Then I start sweating; I can feel the perspiration settling on my forehead. Then I think, Let's see, I was born a woman so if I let him hit, it wouldn't be too bad, but if I suck that nigga's dick, I might never be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

“All right, time's up,” La says, holding his dick in his hand.

“Let's fuck,” I say, as if it didn't faze me, 'cause I'm planning on fighting the nigga once we get in position.

“Nah, I changed my mind, you don't get to choose. You gon’ suck my mutherfucking dick, nickga,” he says with a sinister laugh, swinging his dick from side to side like it is his muh-fucking most
prized possession. “And if you make one wrong move I'ma blast yo bitch ass. Drop to yo knees now, nickga.” He moves the nine from my temple and points it between my eyes.

I drop to my knees, but I ain't sucking; his dick is just resting there.

“Man, where is Melody and the kids, 'spose they walk in on us?” I pull my head back and try a scare tactic so he'll let me go.

“Melody is wit’ yo momma at the Purple Pit and the kids is with they country-ass daddy in Charles City. So, nickga, shut the fuck up. I know what you tryna do but it ain't gone work.”

Bam!
The nigga hits me across the head with the gun, not hard enough to knock me out, but hard enough to motivate my ass. I wrap my sweaty hands around his dick and start sucking slowly; the nigga is fucking my mouth like he is in some pussy. After about three minutes, the nigga pulls out of my mouth and looks down at me.

“I'm getting ready to come,” he says and looks at me like I know what time it is. I try to rise up but he knocks me back down. “Suck my nut, bitch, or I'ma split yo muh-fucking head open!” La-La then forces his dick back into my mouth. This time he holds on to the back of my head with his left hand. He pumps and pumps until he busses off.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he announces. “Oh yeah, nickga, yeah, I like this shit, ooh yeah, ooh yeah, don't stop, keep sucking, nickga.”

I want to jump up and fight the nigga, but La is stronger than me, and I know there is no win. The big muh-fucker is cock diesel; he's 6 feet 5 inches, 240 pounds, and cut up like a mutherfucker. The nigga jerks off in my mouth and then tells me to get the fuck out of his house. I run to the bathroom. I'm humiliated, violated, and some mo shit. I shut the door behind me.

He yells, “Yeah, bitch, wash your mouth out.”

I sit on the toilet for a minute trying to compose myself, 'cause I am hurt like a muh-fucker. I'm already thinking of ways I'm gon’ get back at that nigga. I stand up and open the medicine cabinet to see if Melody keeps toothpaste or Listerine since I don't see shit lying around. I'm throwing shit out of the cabinet, which looks like it ain't never been cleaned or wiped out. That's when I come across a ring with the initial K on it. It's a diamond cluster, and one of the diamonds is missing from it. There was only one nigga in the hood that wore a ring like it, and that was my lil bro, KaQuanza.

I wonder, what the fuck is Quanza's ring doing in Melody and La's crib. Come to think of it, La-La's night-prowling ass is the only nigga that would be in the cut at four in the morning. And that nigga gambles every fucking day. Mat-o-fact, I saw that nigga at Food Circus with one of them dudes from Fairmont the same day Quanza died. Yeah, everybody knows them niggas from Fairmont love gambling. I wonder if La ass was out there with them, too. Man, I know this nigga ain't the one who pulled the trigger on my baby bro.

I sit on the toilet then stand up again, sit on the toilet, then stand up again. My mind is racing. It's going a hundred miles an hour. I start pacing back and forth in the confined quarters of the bathroom. My heart starts beating fast again and sweat pours down my face. I start thinking about all the crazy shit me and Quanza used to do when we was little, like playing “knock on people's door and run.” I think about how we used to make signs like we was homeless and stand in front of the Daily Planet Homeless Shelter on Canal Street holding signs that read hungry orphans, can you please spare a dime? just to collect money so we could go to the Kiddy Disco at the Ebony Island Club. Then I think about the time we used Uncle Lee's driver's license to get Quanza's ass in Club Tropicana, and how that nigga got pissy drunk 'cause his ass was a forty-five-year-old man that night and was able to buy liquor. I'm vexed. I
think to myself, This nigga done killed my brother and made me suck his dick!

Man, I lose it. I swing open the bathroom door and run downstairs. La-La is sitting back at the table finishing off the box of cereal, his burner on the table beside him. I slam the ring down in front of him. He looks up from the bowl, still eating and wearing nothing but his boxers and says, “And what, nickga?”

“So it was you, dawg?” I'm not crying. I can't cry. Besides, the teardrop tattoo underneath my left eye takes care of my pain for me.

“Fuck it look like? You a smart girl, figure it out,” he says, reaching for his burner. He ain't fast enough. I grab the gun and stick it in his face. I back up to the refrigerator and I'm about to blast that nigga when Melody comes through the front door.