Shorty Gotta Be Grown

by T. C. Littles

  Rae Sremmurd and Nicki Minaj’s song “Throw Sum Mo” blasted through the speakers of someone’s truck. An oldie by now, it was still right on time. The ladies went crazy but not as crazy as Pete. He started tossing bills like he was a true boss, and in true hood-rat fashion, they all started twerking to see who could get the most of his attention.

  I couldn’t help but cheer my homeboy on. Instead of joining him, the flock of chicks, and a few of the guys who’d surrounded them for the free show, I sat back, giving Pete his room to shine. Although he was a hustler who always kept a bankroll in his pocket, females didn’t usually give him any play because his brain wasn’t put together correctly and he’d only last for two minutes, per his own admission. None of that mattered with dollar bills getting tossed in the air. The ten I lost in the Madden game to him was the first to fly.

  “‘I’m throwin’ all this money. I’ma fuck around and buy her,’” Pete Rock sang along to Slim Jimmy’s verse.

  I puffed on the spliff, then looked down at my phone. Porsha was blowing me up by text, but I chose not to even open them. I’d get at her ass after I checked out of the hotel room I wasted my money on. Had I known I wasn’t going to get some hours in to wear her out, I would’ve brought her back to the trap or maybe copped a cheap motel room down on the boulevard instead. I’d spent $200 plus dropped a $100 deposit for twenty minutes of stroke and a couple of nuts.

  “Well, well, well, look who’s over here acting stingy with his cash.” Jamika walked up on the porch, talking smart. “Why aren’t you over there with your boy getting wild? Mack’s murder got you twisted?”

  “Naw, that dude wasn’t on my team, so I’m straight. I like to do my thang with the ladies solo-dolo. The real question is, why aren’t you over there trying to make a few extra dollars? We all know how you get down,” I cut into her. There wasn’t any reason to pay her respect if she didn’t pay herself any.

  “Being that you know how I get down, why haven’t you pushed back up on me? I’d be willing to do my thang with you solo-dolo,” she cut right back into me.

  When I didn’t answer fast enough, she used her finger to make a trail down from my chest to my manhood, then tapped on it gently. It was time-out for throwing innuendos. Jamika was trying to drop her panties quick, fast, and in a hurry.

  “What’s up, Street? You already know what tip I’m on. I’ve been trying to see what your work is all about, but you be shading a bitch.”

  Already worked up from banging Porsha’s virgin walls a short time ago, I didn’t need to flick Jamika’s clit for my dick to get hard. I was like an adolescent boy in heat. My manhood was jumping to explode.

  “Fuck it. That’s on you if you wanna be sore for the next nigga, ’cause I fa’ damn sho’ ain’t about to wife you.” I kept it real with her about my intentions. “You gonna suck, fuck, and then be gone. Are you good with that?”

  “I wouldn’t be over here if I weren’t,” she nonchalantly replied, shrugging her shoulders.

  Picking up my cup of liquor, I led Jamika between the trap house and the vacant house next door. I wasn’t about to take her in the spot with money, guns, and product all around, stashed or not. Not only was shorty known around town as a jump-off, but Jamika’s reputation also included whispers of her being a setup girl. A few cats from around the way had come up either tied up, randomly targeted, or robbed for their riches. The last nigga she fucked around with got his chain snatched off his neck right after she grabbed the Cartier frames off the bridge of his nose. I was none of those lames, though. I didn’t give two fucks about bodying a bitch. The loaded pistol on my hip wasn’t for decoration.

  As soon as we got between the houses, I ordered her to her knees. The garbage cans were blocking us from being seen by everyone, but it was dark out here anyway. She didn’t waste a second proving to me she’d rightfully earned her reputation as a ho. She unzipped my pants, and my hard dick was down her throat and hitting her tonsils before I could finish my joint. She was slurping on a nigga so sloppily that I almost passed out. Resting my head on the brick wall while grabbing hers, I held her still and damn near choked her with all the inches I was feeding her.

  Although I had not called Jamika in spite of me throwing her name and probable willingness up in Porsha’s face, I was glad she’d shown up in rare form. The petty nigga in me wanted to take a picture of her doin’ her thang and send it to li’l P’s phone. I was feeling myself. First, I’d gotten into some virgin pussy, and now I was getting some head from an all-American. Jamika didn’t even flinch behind the aftertaste of Porsha’s cum. She wasn’t gagging, pulling back, or the least bit intimidated by my force.

  “You want some ball action, baby?” Jamika questioned, tickling my sac with her fingertips, then running her tongue up and down my shaft.

  Before I could answer, she had them in her mouth and was humming. She was gonna end up suckin’ the dollars outta my pockets with her skilled ass. Jamika had me shaking. I was anxious to shoot a few babies down her throat.

  “Let me feel it inside of me, Street. Pretty please,” she begged. “I wanna cum too.”

  Mind spent, I pulled my cock out of her mouth and slid a rubber over it. As anxious as I was to shoot my semen down her throat, I took Jamika up on her offer. “A’ight, fuck it. You want it? You’ve got it. Brace ya’self against the wall and hike ya skirt up.”

  “Oh, hell yeah. Give it to me, daddy,” she freakily moaned, holding her juicy cheeks apart.

  “Take this meat with ya thirsty ass.” I rammed it into her rough and raw since she wanted it that way.

  She gasped loudly. I knew she was exaggerating because her pussy was wide, sloppy, and wasn’t fitting my manhood like a glove. I might’ve been coming down too harshly on her since I’d just come out of some virgin-tight pussy, but my dick kept slipping out and softening up.

  “A’ight, drop back to ya knees so you can swallow this nut.”

  She smacked her lips, then got her mouth real juicy before swallowing my dick whole again. I damn near choked her when I braced the wall and stuffed myself as far down her throat as I would go. I was trying to stroke Jamika’s esophagus. When it was all said and done, it took me a few seconds to regain my composure. I had to look down to make sure the skin was still there. I peeled her off $100 before I zipped and buckled my pants up.

  “So, what’chu got up when the block starts drying up?” I questioned, plotting on taking Jamika back to the hotel room so she could put me to sleep with her mouth and mouth only.

  First counting out the money with the light from her phone, she then responded as sarcastically as she could, “Um, from the tally of these bills in my hand, ’bout to shoot a move with my girls to the Zone. I’m on a moneymaking mission, and this here ain’t enough money. Them niggas over there gettin’ it like I thought you were.”

  I chuckled, always amazed at how tough chicks acted when they were arguing with men. “Hey, ya better watch ya mouth with ya cum-thirsty ass. Real talk. If you keep talkin’ cocky, not knowing ya place with a nigga, I’ma snatch them bills I just blessed you with back out of ya hand and shove this dick back down ya throat. Whatever suck and fuck get-rich plan you’ve got mapped out within your li’l mind, I suggest you not plot me on that muthafucka again. Get at me when you know how to act.”

  With that being said, I pushed Jamika to the side and left her between the houses with her jaw dropped while I looked to the sky for a full moon. For these hoes to be out here talkin’ reckless like they were, both Jamika and Porsha, it must’ve been a full moon.

  “Yo, Pete. I’m ’bout to shoot a move back to the telly. I’ll get at you in the a.m. Hold it down.”

  CHAPTER 17

  TRINITY

  “Hooty-hoo.” The incoming drug call from outside disturbed me from doing a little bit of dirty work.

  Since I had not been able to find any incriminating messages between my husband and his ex-mistress, I backed out of all the applications I was snooping through and slid h
is phone back into his pants pocket before answering the drug call. Had I found what I was looking for, though, the custo would’ve been a witness to me catching a body. Cal and I had not gone to sleep on good terms, and I was still in my feelings, ready to rev back up with him once he rose to hustle.

  By the time I reached the window, the custo was whistling up and calling out again.

  “Yo, it’s early as fuck. Give me a sec to wipe the crust out of my eyes,” I snapped, uncaring of the twenty-dollar bill he was waving up at me.

  “S . . . sorry, Trin,” he stuttered, knowing I’d clown in less than two seconds. “I tried last night, b . . . but Porsha said no credit. I’ve been hustling all night. Please.”

  I backed down, not having a reason to trip on him anyway. “You good, I got you. Hold on a sec.”

  Calvin was snoring when I walked out of the room and downstairs to the trap. Had I not wanted some solo time to smoke and sort my thoughts out, I would’ve thumped him in his head and made him rise to serve the custo. I usually didn’t care about slanging. But this morning, the morning after fist fighting with his ex-mistress and her sidekick, and then him all throughout the night, my body was aching. The pain started setting in as I treaded down the stairs to the trap. Before grabbing a baggie to serve the custo, I found Calvin’s stash of Norcos and popped one. I wasn’t about to be slowed down.

  “Sorry again, Trinity,” he apologized again as soon as I swung open the door.

  “It’s cool. Do ya thang.” I served him.

  Porsha was right for not giving him credit last night. I’d never been too fond of freebies, not even if I was on the receiving end. Because free shit always comes with strings.

  Back upstairs, I walked into the kitchen and saw that the milk was out on the counter, along with a container of Benzie’s oatmeal. My kids had been up in the wee hours of the morning without me even knowing. To myself, I thanked Porsha for being a good daughter to me. I didn’t know what I would’ve done without her for the past year. I never thought I’d have one child, let alone two, and Porsha was making it a breeze. She cared after Benzie like she birthed him, kinda like how I was the one who looked after my siblings as their protector. I looked at her knowing the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.

  Anyway, if it weren’t for her getting up with Benzie in the middle of the night for feedings, he’d probably have been trained by now to live off air and his imagination. I was gonna miss her when she broke up outta here to whatever apartment I knew Calvin was gonna hook her up with. I hoped I’d miss Benzie, too, from being over at his big sissy’s house so much.

  Putting the milk into the fridge and the oatmeal back into the cabinet, I pulled out a gallon of orange juice along with a bottle of wine. I was about to make a morning mimosa to help shake my hangover. I had a hustle to manage.

  On the porch, I lit up and started my private wake-and-bake session. Whether it was the Norco or the sips of mimosa I’d been taking from the kitchen to my seat, I was becoming numb to the aches and pains. One thing was for sure if nothing else: if I was feeling the way I was feeling, Cal’s li’l groupie and her flunky had to be feeling ten times worse. My woes were because I was out of shape. Not because I got my ass kicked. It was God’s job to show mercy on muthafuckas, not mine. I’d smashed both of them. And just in case they came back lookin’ to get at me for revenge, I was going to get my ass in the gym and tone it up.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  Answering before my phone woke anyone up, I wasn’t in the mood to talk with my sister but didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t about to hang up in her face. “Hey, Trish.”

  “Good morning to you too, your dryness. I didn’t sleep with you last night.” She caught on to me not being thrilled to hear her voice.

  “I know. We haven’t had to do that shit since we were kids in that cursed-ass house you better not be calling me about.” I was blunt with my little sister.

  See, within my clan of sisters, nothing was a secret, and all news traveled fast. Tanya was probably texting Trish our conversation word for word as she and I were having it. Naw, naw, that ain’t like Tanya. She was probably recording the call so she wouldn’t get any of my slick remarks misconstrued during translation. She’d always been the sister with the big mouth.

  Out of our sibling clan, Trish and I were the most similar. We might as well have shared our mother’s womb at the same time. My first day home from the hospital as a newborn was the exact same day Trish was conceived. My father had not given two fucks about giving my mother a six-week vacation from sex to heal. She popped me out, brought me home, and was on her back against her will but willingly. Ruby ended up telling me, Tanya, and Trish about that night once we were old enough to understand. Being the oldest, she was the quietest of us all. Ruby went through her own bid of hell all alone until Tanya came along. That was why the two of them were the closest.

  “Ahhh! Oh my God! Between you and Tanya, I don’t know which one of y’all works my nerves the most,” Trish complained.

  “Well, since I didn’t call you, I’ma put my money on Tanya being the winner of the one who works your nerves the most. Don’t put her shit on me.”

  “I can’t with you.” Trish was laughing. “You’re not gonna let your baby sister catch a break, huh?”

  “Yes, I am, baby sister.” My response was loaded with sarcasm. “I’m gonna give you a break and tell you that I’m not paying the taxes on that house for our mother before you ask me to and get cursed out behind doing so.”

  “Ha-ha! Girl, bye! I’m not worried about you.” She blew my threat off, laughed hysterically, and then started going off in Spanish.

  Trish was slanging Spanish slang words at me like Cal and I slanged dope: effortlessly. Ever since she started dating this Mexican cat, living la vida loca with him and his family, she’d become fluent in the language.

  I heard puta about two or three times behind my name and Tanya’s, which I knew meant “bitch.” Trish had called me that before. And egoista, that meant “selfish,” and Trish was calling me that too. Funny thing was, though, in my opinion, I was the least selfish of all my siblings. But whatever.

  “La-la-la, boom, pop, ta-muthafuckin’-da,” I mocked her, not being able to argue with her fairly. “You’re wasting your time, because I don’t know what you’re saying, girl.”

  Taking a deep breath like she was getting her bearings, Trish responded with emotion. “Look, all jokes aside, what I’m saying is that you’re not right for leaving the rest of us hanging. We’ve always stuck together. We’ve always held each other down and watched out for one another. You know how this goes, Trinity. It’s fucked up that you’re breaking the code. You’re breaking our pact.”

  The conversation between Trish and me took another turn, an emotional one. I didn’t show many people that side of me.

  * * *

  The more puffs I took and the more mimosa I sipped, the clearer my head became. I’d drunk damn near a whole liquor store last night. It was starting to make sense why Calvin was so upset at me for fighting those women instead of going outside. It was fucked up to feel like this, but I was relieved the bullets struck Mack and not my man. I might play the coldhearted role, but I’d probably fall apart if I had to bury Calvin. I’ma make sure to throw some cash and gift cards to Mack’s baby momma to help where it might.

  Once my mind is right, I’ll count up all the money Porsha made last night. Drunk or not, I’d heard Porsha tell Calvin that she’d sold out. Plus, that a young nigga came through and dropped hella chicken. I woke up with money on my mind, wanting to know how much. The quicker we could stack, the quicker my husband could get the peace he needed from this dope game.

  I wasn’t saying I loved living and trapping at the same time, all the time, but I’d gotten used to it and good at it. I’d excelled within my element. And although I was gonna move to where the grass was green and flowers bloomed year ’round, I couldn’t imagine my ghetto ass uprooting myself from this house and this ho
od. I loved sitting on the porch and smoking a fat blunt without being worried about my neighbors or the police fuckin’ with me. I appreciated the li’l things of the hood, like getting a beer for Calvin at nine in the morning using food stamps. And unlike a few of my homegirls I grew up with who were only fuckin’ trap stars for enough cash to get some money to move up outta the slums, I made a trap king wife me so I could live like a queen in the hood.

  When I was backed against a wall to give all of this up, it’d seem like I was giving a piece of myself up, too. Yet and still, wherever Calvin and our family ended up, I fa’ damn sure wouldn’t be making playdates with Beckys and Billys for Benzie to play with. The thought of conforming made me sick, and not wanting to fall into another crabby mood because of Calvin, I took a big gulp of my mimosa and a few harder hits of my blunt.

  Nobody is perfect. I’ve got my skeletons. So I’ve gotta quit trying to judge my man. That was what I kept telling myself.

  * * *

  I was like the banker of our trapping operation. It was my job to count up and keep track of every dollar and dime that came into this house, as well as find stash spots for it. I had our wealth hidden in heating and cooling vents, electrical sockets, duct work, various holes in the wall that I’d patched over, and even within some of the nonworking pipes within the basement. I had to get creative with so many people running in and out of our spot. To be honest, I prided myself on being crafty, witty, and outsmarting even the most intellectual muthafucka. If a cocky muthafucka ran up in here, they’d be dead and up in these walls with our riches. I swore to that word if no else did. I might give up living in the hood. But I won’t give up what I’ve made in the hood.