Misty smiled with satisfaction; her freaky murmurings were driving him over the edge. Brick was seconds away from spurting.
“Ahhh!” he bellowed as a fountain of hot, white lust shot into the palm of his hand.
Misty smiled proudly. She deserved a pat on the back for being such a creative bitch. She knew exactly what to do and say to dissolve Brick’s anger. Keeping him dependent on her to indulge his fantasies was one of the many ploys she used to get him to peddle his flesh several nights a week.
Brick allowed himself to be pimped out, but he made it clear that he wasn’t pleased with the situation. He griped and complained endlessly about having to sling dick for a living. All his bitching irked Misty to no end. They were living good—so he needed to save his breath—accept his fate and live his life as a happy ho.
Brick made a guttural cry; he rose into a half-hunch as he squirted out the last drops of semen. A pool of cum overflowed from his cupped hand. Misty shot Brick a reproachful glance. The abundance of the load was proof that he wasn’t turning enough tricks. He wasn’t working to his full potential.
Misty sucked her teeth and glared at Brick. The tables had turned. Brick no longer had an attitude, but she was one angry-ass bitch.
Wearing an apologetic smile, Brick rushed to the bathroom to wash up.
CHAPTER 7
As warm water washed away the glob of incriminating evidence from his hand, Brick stared intently in the mirror. He caught a glimpse of Misty’s picture hanging on the wall behind him. The image was beautiful and erotic. Her long hair was trailing down her back. There was another picture beside it; Misty cupping her small breasts. There were pictures of Misty in every room of the apartment. Her beauty was captured and blown up to poster size. She’d mounted her image on every available space, every wall.
He gazed into the mirror, shifted and zoomed in on his awful image. He cringed at the jagged, face-deforming scar. Suddenly, a fast-moving collage of elementary school photographs traveled across his mind, taking him back to times when he looked normal. He nodded and smiled broadly, warmed by the remembrances of his youthful, undamaged face. He’d been a handsome little guy.
Then, a sneaky, invisible finger hit the fast-forward button on the tape of his life. He heard the sounds, saw the swift images as the imaginary tape swiftly raced to the night that changed his life. Brick flinched when he heard the clunk inside his head that indicated the mental tape had stopped moving, forcing him to flash on a memory that was so cruel, so jarring, it wiped the reminiscent smile from his face.
Sparks of anger glinted in the eyes that stared back from the mirror. He touched the ugly, raised formation of skin. The sparks in his eyes flickered to raging flames. Brick pounded the ceramictiled sink and suppressed the urge to scream.
His face had been crudely carved when he was only thirteen years old. Bitter tears wet his eyelashes. Brick used to envision numerous ways to torture the man who’d disfigured him. Unfortunately, he would never get the chance to exact revenge; the mufucka who cut him was already dead. Rivaling drug dealers put two bullets in his head. And that was a goddamn, fucked-up shame.
Misty brought the news when he was locked up in the boys’ detention center for selling drugs. He’d taken that fall for Misty. He’d always covered her ass.
“Frankie got shot down like a dog in the street. You shoulda seen it, Brick. He took a bullet in the arm—probably only grazed, but he was crying and crawling around, trying to squeeze between parked cars, but those killas wasn’t finished with his ass.
“They came up on Frankie like characters in a gangsta flick. One dude pressed his pistol against Frankie’s forehead. Snot was running out Frankie’s nose while he was praying, out loud. Then the other dude placed a barrel on the back of Frankie’s head. Ya boy, Frankie, started boo hooing, real loud, like a fuckin’ bitch. He was pleading for his life. Talked some shit about his mother was on SSI and how she depended on him.
“Yo, the killas was like…pow! pow! Put a bullet in the front and the back of his head at the same time. Frankie hit the ground; boom! He ended up with four holes in his head.”
Misty had excitedly relayed the news with the expectation that Brick would experience an immense measure of joy—a feeling of euphoria, now that justice had been served. But, Brick slumped into a depression and hardly spoke for the duration of Misty’s hour-long visit. No one would have ever imagined the jolt of disappointment followed by a feeling of utter despair that Brick felt upon learning that Frankie, his torturer, the man who’d disfigured his face, would not die the slow, torturous death he’d planned for the sadistic child molester.
“Frankie the Freak,” Brick mumbled as he tried to stop himself from free-falling all the way down memory lane. He braced the sink, trying to stop himself, but he couldn’t break the fall. His mind travel exported him back to when the molestation had started.
Frankie counted the money that Brick had given him. With a cigarette clenched between his teeth, smoke swirling upward, Frankie cocked his head to the side. “You came up short, again, Lil’ Playa.” His voice held a solemn warning.
“I know—” Brick gave Frankie an uneasy smile and then looked down at his sneakers. “I’ma make up that money with my next package.”
“Who said you gon’ get another package? Why should I keep on letting you fuck up my money?”
Brick didn’t have an answer for that question, so he shrugged, which turned out to be the wrong answer.
Frankie snorted. “Oh, it’s like that? You all nonchalant and don’t give a fuck about my money?”
“Nah, I meant to say, I’m sorry and it won’t happen…”
“Too late!” Frankie said, cutting off the last word of Brick’s apology. Anger flashed in his eyes. “You took something from me, so it’s only fair that I should take something from you. Ain’t that right, Lil’ Playa?”
Brick nodded uncertainly.
“Aiight, then, come on downstairs.” Frankie nudged his chin toward the door that led to the basement. “We need some privacy to settle this debt.”
Brick’s eyes darted in alarm and settled on the sliding bolt on the front door that Frankie had locked in place after Brick had entered.
Frankie yanked him by the arm. “Lil’ nigga, I’ll break your mufuckin’ neck if you try to unlock that door. Do you think I’m gon’ let you run out of here, without paying your debt?” He smacked Brick upside the head. “Bring your ass on!” Sending a prayer to the man above that Misty would realize that it was time to take some kind of action, Brick inched toward the basement door that Frankie now held open.
Certain that he was about to be badly maimed or even killed, Brick trembled as his captor led him down the stairs to a dimly lit, unfinished basement.
At the bottom of the stairs, Brick took just a few steps. Hoping for an opportunity to make a run for it, he didn’t want to venture too far from the stairs. He stood near the hot water heater, with his hands in his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Aiight, lemme see what you got.” Frankie took a deep puff of the cigarette.
“I ain’t got nothing. I swear, Frankie; I gave you all the money I had. Me and Misty can get the rest of the money for you, by tomorrow. For real!”
Frankie tossed the burning cigarette butt on the concrete floor and ground it out with the sole of his boot. “I know you ain’t got no money,” he growled in disgust. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to play around with you. Now, like I said, you took something from me and I’m gon’ take something from you.”
Brick had no idea what he had that could be of value. If this was a movie, this would be the scene where blood was spilled. His blood. “Frankie, please…”
“Shut the fuck up!” Frankie demanded. “Pull down your pants.” Frankie gestured impatiently.
Positive he’d misunderstood the command, Brick scowled and said, “Huh?”
“Pull your pants down, man; I ain’t got time to play with you.”
B
rick was greeted with a terrifying image of Frankie demanding him to bend over so he could viciously whip his bare ass with a razor strap, a wet ironing cord, or a rusty hanger. He was used to normal ass-whoopings. At home, his foster father had been delivering a leather strap to his ass ever since he was six years old.
But Frankie looked like he had something extra in mind. “Why you want me to take down my pants?” Brick stammered.
Frankie’s voice boomed like thunder. “Nigga, pull your pants down, so I can suck that young dick!” Frankie’s face was a twisted mask of fury.
Brick stared at him, his mouth wide open. Speechless.
Bam! Frankie punched him in the chest, knocked him across the room. Brick fell up against a washing machine.
“Come on, mufucka, throw up your hands! You wanna fight me over your manhood? Come on, let’s do it.” Tauntingly, he beckoned Brick to try to take him on. Grinning with confidence, Frankie started dancing around like he was Mike Tyson or Muhammad Ali.
In the schoolyard, Brick was the undefeated champ, but there was no way he could go toe-to-toe with a twenty-five-year-old grown man, who flexed boulder-sized muscles that he’d started sculpting while serving time in jail.
But, he could sneak him! Brick threw a wild sucker punch which, unfortunately, did not connect. Laughing cruelly, Frankie hit Brick with a gut shot. Clutching his stomach, Brick gasped and heaved. Frankie waited patiently for Brick to catch his breath.
“Lemme help you out, Lil’ Playa,” Frankie said, after Brick stopped gasping. He unbuckled the belt around Brick’s waist.
Terrified and in disbelief, Brick stood numb with fear while Frankie unzipped his pants. Where the hell was Misty, he wondered. It was her greedy ass who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. She was outside, hiding in the bushes, supposedly on alert to take some type of action if Brick was in Frankie’s house for more than fifteen minutes. Didn’t she realize he’d been in there with Frankie for about a half-hour? Why didn’t she throw a rock at the window or go knock on a neighbor’s door and try to get some adult help?
Brick sighed resignedly as he felt his pants fall past his knees. Knowing Misty, she was out there peeking inside her shopping bag, admiring her new pair of Gucci sneakers—the reason they had come up short. Yeah, Misty was out there gazing at her new sneakers and had lost all track of time, Brick sadly concluded.
Impatient, Frankie stuck his big hand inside the opening of Brick’s boxer drawers. “Goddamn, mufucka!” Frankie chortled gleefully. “You ain’t even hard yet, and your young ass dick is hanging long. You hung like a damn horse,” he praised. “After I swallow your white sap, I’ll probably be able to bench press about three hundred pounds or more.”
Huh? Brick almost said out loud, but not wanting to rile Frankie into dispensing more body blows, he wisely contained the curious murmur. With his dick hanging free, a confused Brick watched Frankie meander over to a wicker clothesbasket. He pulled out a yellow bandanna.
He’s gonna strangle me and chop my dick off after he sucks it!
“You don’t need to see nothing.” Frankie’s voice was a low growl as he blindfolded Brick.
“See, everybody don’t know about this trick. I learned it while I was in prison,” Frankie revealed, slowly lowering his body. “Drinking the white sap from a young dude gives a man extra energy. White sap is more potent than eating raw eggs; it’s a real power boost.”
Being deprived of sight and Frankie’s warm breath breezing through his pubic hair was sending Brick into a state of trauma. His body shook uncontrollably. “Calm down, Lil’ Playa,” Frankie said and then ran a moist tongue up Brick’s semi-soft shaft. The next sensation was Frankie’s puckered lips pulling on the head of his dick, teasing it into an erection. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Frankie murmured when he brought Brick to a full erection. “I ain’t no faggot or nothing, so don’t get it twisted. I suck dick to build muscles and get more strength.”
No matter how he rationalized it, what Frankie was doing wasn’t right. Brick strained and groaned, tried to command his penis into going soft, but his dick betrayed him. Becoming an agreeable offering, his phallus hardened and lengthened inside Frankie’s mouth. Moments later, a rush of unexpected excitement caused Brick’s arms to flail. At first he gripped the sides of the washing machine, and then, without meaning to, he cupped Frankie’s head. His body was going crazy on him. He couldn’t make it stop. His back, his legs, his groin, thrust forward, assisting in pushing his dick deeper inside Frankie’s moist mouth.
Frankie removed the bandanna after he swallowed Brick’s cum. “Umph,” he grunted as he licked his lips. “I ain’t never sucked off no white sap from a juvenile before.” Frankie furrowed his thick brows. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen,” Brick mumbled, feeling deeply ashamed.
“Thirteen! Hot damn, that’s what’s up! I feel strong as a damn ox already!” Wearing a fierce expression, Frankie bobbed and weaved, jabbing the air if he were in the ring with a difficult opponent. Looking over his shoulder as he continued to shadow-box, Frankie told Brick, “Aiight, Lil’ Playa, fix your clothes and take your ass home. I’m ’bout to go out and collect some money. I’m gon’ fuck some shit up if niggas be playin’ with my cheddar. I ain’t for that shit tonight.”
Brick quickly obeyed, zipping up his pants, and tightly buckling his belt. He felt unclean. Unconsciously, he smoothed down his hair, as if a neat appearance would make him presentable and perhaps undo the sordid deed.
“So, uh, the next time you come up short, you know what it’s hitting for,” Frankie warned. “You gon’ have to look out for me, health-wise, you know what I mean?”
Brick nodded but promised he would never come up short again. It didn’t matter that getting head from Frankie gave him a rush like nothing he’d ever felt before—what he’d allowed Frankie to do was unnatural and nasty. It was a shameful secret, and he vowed to take that secret to his grave.
CHAPTER 8
But, the secret had been revealed. Misty had been peering through a dusty basement window; she’d witnessed the obscene act with disgust and fascination.
When Brick came outside, she ridiculed him. Disregarding the humiliation that shone in his wounded eyes, unconcerned that he’d endured Frankie’s wrath to protect her, Misty maliciously hit him with one low blow after another. “How long you been freakin’ with Frankie? I can’t believe you been a homo all this time!” she shouted, gleeful that she’d uncovered a shameful secret.
“I’m not a homo. Frankie made me do it!” Brick shouted.
“It didn’t look that way to me. Your eyes were squeezed up all tight, gripping his head, grinding all on his face. I guess it’s over for me and you. You go with Frankie now. Looks like you done fell in love with Frankie,” she taunted.
“I don’t go with Frankie. I ain’t gay. I still go with you. You know, you’re still my girl,” Brick said in a pleading voice.
“Faggots have jelly babies. You gon’ marry Frankie, if one of y’all ends up pregnant?” Misty asked, and then emitted cackling laughter. She didn’t cease the torrent of cruel insults until Brick was reduced to sobs.
And violence. In a burst of rage, Brick clutched her by the collar, shook her until her teeth rattled. His face was filled with such blazing fury, he was unrecognizable. “I took that fall for you!” he bellowed like a wounded animal. “How you gon’ turn on me, when you the reason why this happened to me?” Brick’s voice boomed, his emotional pain rang out with every word. “I’ll kill your lil’ ass if you ever tell anybody about this.”
Stunned, Misty was briefly silent. Brick had never threatened her before, but he looked and sounded serious. “I’m sorry, Brick,” she said insincerely. “I was just playing. I won’t tell anybody; I promise.”
Brick dried his tears with the back of his hand.
“So, what was up with the blindfold?” Misty asked after Brick had gotten control of his emotions. “You looked crazy, serving dude wi
th a blindfold on,” she said with a chuckle.
Brick sighed. “Leave me alone, Misty. I don’t wanna talk about it, aiight?” Hurt and frustrated, he kicked a stone.
But Misty persisted. “Tell me, Brick, come on,” she cajoled.
“Frankie said a real man won’t let another man look at him while he’s looking out for his health.”
“What!” Misty said in a shrill tone.
“Forget it, Misty. I don’t feel like talking right now. I’ll explain tomorrow. It’s late; I gotta get home. You know how my foster father is. Mr. Rodney’s probably sitting in his chair, waiting with his belt. I know he’s mad as hell. He forgot to whip my ass yesterday. I hope he’s so drunk, he forgot about it. After all this, I can’t deal with two days’ worth of his leather belt.”
Misty never told a soul. It benefited her to keep Brick’s secret. And due to Misty’s spending habits, the two adolescents continued to come up short and Brick continued to pay Frankie back with his strength-yielding, white sap.
Frankie seemed content with the agreement until the day Misty went buck wild at the Gallery Mall and fucked up the money from an entire package.
“White sap ain’t gon’ get it, this time, Lil’ Playa,” Frankie told Brick grimly. Brick, sorting through the pile of laundry inside the wicker basket, searching for the blindfold, looked up at Frankie in bewilderment. “Look at yourself,” Frankie spewed. “You digging through that basket of dirty clothes, all desperate, like a dog looking for a bone. You feenin’ for this bone—” He crudely stroked his privates. “Bad as I want to, I can’t freak with you no more. You done turned sweet, mufucka,” Frankie accused, sounding personally offended.
“No, I’m not. I’m not sweet,” Brick mumbled in protest.
“Yeah, right!” Frankie scrunched his face in disgust. “Check this out…me, myself—I do what I do for health reasons. I gotta keep my strength up,” Frankie explained, poking himself in the chest, “But you—” Frankie shook his head. “I know young bucks don’t handle business right. Figured you were trying to be a man about messing up my cash flow—stepping up and doing the right thing.”
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