As money kept coming in by the bundles, Ken changed. He went from not being able to live without me, to talking to me like I wasn’t shit. Then the abuse started. I must admit that I used to hit him first, but I never dreamed of the day when he’d hit me back. People had warned me about putting my hands on him, but I never thought that my Ken would raise his hand to strike me. Things just started spiraling out of control. We were living at his mama’s house and fighting every other day and stressing the hell out of her. Ken would do anything for me, but he didn’t want me going anywhere while he did whatever he wanted to in the streets. I started feeling like an old woman versus the eighteen-year -old girl that I was.
Finally, Ken moved us out of his mama’s house, but he was cheating and I knew it. I began to feel helpless because I’d become dependent on him and felt him slipping right out of my hands. What was crazy was that he was cheating with girls that were nowhere near as cute as me. Most of the chicks were slimmer, but they were extremely ghetto and rough around the edges. I was what most people considered a good girl; well at least on paper. I’d graduated from school and it could’ve been with honors had I not been living with Ken my senior year. So, needless to say, I couldn’t understand why Ken would fuck with those chicks when he had me at home. The only thing that I could see was that maybe I had picked up a few pounds and he found those girls more appealing. Still, I felt that Ken should be thanking God that I’d ever given him the time of day. I wasn’t going to allow him to mistreat me, so I broke up with him. It was hard because he was all that I knew; but if I would have stayed, I knew that he would have lost all respect for me. I was that girl that never put up with his shit, so if I would’ve changed to adjust to his changes, then I would’ve become his personal doormat. With him, I was always the one in control of our relationship, and I simply couldn’t deal if I no longer had the upper hand. Ken was able to get me because he was willing to go the distance, so without that factor, what was there to keep me?
Finally, we pulled into Kerry’s apartment complex. She was the only one that lived in the projects. She had one daughter, but she wasn’t sure who the daddy was. I think that there were like five different possibilities. What was sad was that she had a boyfriend the entire time. That poor boy didn’t have a clue as to what kind of girl he had. Slut was just embedded in her. She was so damn crazy that she had left her boyfriend that gave her everything under the sun for some ugly bum ass nigga she met on the damn bus. He was so damn broke that she often still had to go sleep with her ex just for them to get by. Then her asshole new boyfriend who goes by the name of Jay, got upset with her one day. He went and picked up her old boyfriend and told him that he and Kerry go shopping with his money all the time. And that she doesn’t know who the biological father of her daughter is. Needless to say, this was a shocker since Red, the ex, was under the impression that he was the little girl’s daddy. I don’t even know why, for the life of me, Kerry would tell any man that she’s dating about her whorish past. And, I think that the entire situation was just a buster ass move on Jay’s behalf because her daughter doesn’t have any kind of father figure or support now. Jay surely can’t take care of her with his jobless ass.
The bitch is so nuts that I’ve actually caught Kerry lying about something that she claimed Jay bought for her and her daughter, only for it to turn out that Red got it for them. Anyway, now Jay’s this jealous ass-wipe that can’t let her breathe without him being there. I say that it’s Kerry’s fault for revealing far too much information. He even kicks her ass from time to time; but that’s on her because after I tried to defend her, she ran right back to him. I washed my hands of it all. She’s living off the government and he’s living off of her. Jay tries to tell her what to do, but he can’t even pay the damn light bill. I just recently found out that she calls the chat line whenever he’s not around. I mean, that shit was crazy. She was calling a chat room, where she didn’t know who she was talking to, less along how they looked. Talking to complete damn strangers. So, yeah, her shit is all fucked up.
Once again, I blow my horn so that Kerry can come out. After five minutes, she finally does. She walked around her building in some skin-tight jeans and an even tighter shirt. She hadn’t gotten rid of that baby fat yet, so her stomach was trying to hang over her pants. She’s very hippy, so she looked curvaceous in her little get up, but she definitely needed to work out because her ass was wide and long without a hint of roundness.
Tameka’s the one that always wants to pump us up and lie all at the same time. So she rolls down the window and yells out, “I see you, bitch! Looking all sexy and shit.”
Kerry has this huge grin on her face as she hops in the car, sitting behind me. “Let’s go, shit. I’m ready to go shake my ass.”
“You better be quiet before Jay comes running after your ass,” I joked as I drive out of the lot.
“Please, don’t even mention his name cause I’m so sick and tired of his ass,” Kerry shook her head.
“Ummf,” Angel let out.
“I guess,” I sighed not even wanting to hear their newest issues. There were just too damn many of them to keep up with. So, I pressed play and blasted my Juvenile CD all the way to the club.
The music gets everybody hyped up, so we’re all grooving in our seats, riding the beat. As expected, I pull up at Metropolis at 11:50 p.m. There was still a long line. Every Thursday was ladies night, and we got in free all night long, so women came to the club in droves. We took a look at the line for men and I couldn’t believe how many fine niggas were out there. I was practically drooling on myself.
As usual, I had to pay for parking which ended up being way down the damn street. I don’t know how in the hell they were charging for something that was a total inconvenience. We all had to walk down the street in our heels and then stand in line. On our way to the line, a few dudes grabbed my hand, but none interested me. The music was pumping on the inside of the club and I couldn’t wait to get inside. Without even realizing it, I started rocking my hips to the beat.
“Don’t do me like that, mama,” some dude said as he walked by with his boys.
I simply laughed and was kind of embarrassed that he had taken notice. Eventually, we made it in the club and partied our asses off. Not too many guys paid Angel much attention. Several dudes approached me and Tameka. Kerry got some attention when she dropped her pants and shook her ass. I mean, I know that we had had a few drinks, but damn. She always had to do something to have the spotlight on her and that night was no exception. After her little stunt, she was exchanging numbers left and right. By the end of the night, I’d collected two numbers from two guys that barely made the cut. They were average looking and nothing to get excited about. All in all, I enjoyed getting my flirt on.
There was a dude who tried to holla at me when we were leaving the club and he put the F in fine. He had a caramel complexion and resembled a tall T.I. with hazel eyes, but was exceptionally tall. At least 6’3. He had much swag with a blinding piece and chain around his neck. He was inked up, had on Gucci, and had a bottom grill. He was too damn sexy, so when he grabbed my hand, I damn near shitted on myself. My heartbeat stopped. For a second, our eyes met and it felt like he could see right through me. I had never felt like that. It scared the hell out of me. It had to be some kind of joke. He couldn’t possibly be interested in me. Was he trying to play some kind of sick joke? The dude had to be playing games, so I quickly snatched my hand away from him.
“Aw mama, you ain’t gotta do your boy like that,” he teased, as I walked away.
“Bitch, you are tripping. Did you not see that nigga? He was fine as hell,” Tameka fawned.
I was trying my best to front like I met niggas like him all day, every day. “Girl, please, he wasn’t all of that,” I scuffed. Honestly, I wouldn’t know the first thing to say to a dude like him. He was too handsome for me. I could see myself getting lost while dealing with a man like that guy. I just felt that I didn’t have what it took to hook hi
m, so why even bother?
Chapter 2
Killah
“Aw mama, you ain’t gotta do your boy like that,” I swooned to the pretty and thick chick.
She just kept on walking with the rest of her friends. I saw her little slim friend looking back at me, while the other two mutt ducks kept it moving and probably encouraged Ms. Pretty and Thick to keep walking too. I just knew that if I got the chance to get up and personal with mommy, she’d give a nigga a chance; but I guess that I was wrong. Her girl tried to upstage her by dropping her jeans and I thought that the shit was gross. That bitch had some serious cellulite.
I’d been watching her all night long. She had been working the dance floor and flinging that long hair everywhere. I just loved a chick with natural beauty and she was definitely all natural. That long hair was all hers and I know because I’d been scoping her just that hard. She had some track running legs, thick thighs, and nice huge breasts. Her face was extremely pretty. She didn’t have a whole lot of ass, but it was far from flat. She was just one of those chicks that had a lot of breasts but she was one of the very few that carried it well. Those white men would pay a fortune to fuck with a chick like her. She reminded me of that broad Taccora from America’s Next Top Model as far as her build was concerned, but she put Taccora to sleep when it came to her beauty. I always liked my girls thick and pretty as fuck, and that little caramel high-capping ass girl would have been a perfect candidate. But fuck it, she just wasn’t feeling a nigga’s swag, I guess. She probably went for that big buff type anyway. And I’m a fit nigga standing at 6’3”, but I’m not some huge Debow type nigga.
I tried to brush it off and deal with my bruised ego by grabbing the next chick that caught my eye. This one didn’t resist, and I took her straight to Motel 6 and wore that ass out. I slid on that extra-large magnum and went to work. I had that bitch screaming at the top of her lungs. She sucked my dick and let me skeet in her mouth. Two hours later, I dropped her ass off at home then went to the crib alone. As I drove home, I had to laugh at myself because I didn’t even remember her name. Fuck it, it wasn’t like I was going to call her ass.
When I stepped inside of my home it was too quiet. My eyes searched the wide area. There was no one there to greet me or to question me. I hated this shit. Ever since my girl Courtney had passed, shit just hadn’t been the same. She would always wait up for me after I went to the club. Then she’d go crazy if I came home past three in the morning. During those times, I was fucking up and never even thought of my soulmate being taken away. It all just happened so suddenly. One night after leaving to go to her mama’s house, she never came home again. They say that the driver was drunk, but I didn’t give a damn. That motherfucka had taken the love of my life. I knew that the most he’d get was probation or a few years in prison and that just wasn’t good enough for me. So, I ended his life just like he’d ended mine.
Now all I do is focus on getting money. My pain has made me one hell of a hustler. I don’t have anything holding me back from putting my all into this game. So, now I have this huge ass house sitting right next to a lake, a Benz, an Escalade, and a Cadillac for when I dip through the hood. On paper, I’m the shit, but I know that something is missing from this picture. And I know exactly what it is – Courtney. Losing her taught me something very valuable. Money can’t buy everything. Nobody knows how much I’d pay to get my girl back. This shit that I have don’t even seem like much without someone to share it with.
It had been two years since Courtney had been killed and I was finally trying to see other females. I realized that it wasn’t much out here, especially someone that could live up to my expectations. I already mentioned how I liked for my women to physically look and that was the easy part, it was all the other shit that I had a hard time finding. Courtney had graduated from school and was currently going to college before she died. Even though I was a man that didn’t mind taking care of my woman, she still worked full time at the hospital. She was driven and she made me want to do better. I knew that if I left her she would survive. I can’t explain the feeling of knowing that a woman wants you, but don’t need you. Now it seems that any chick that looks like anything is looking for some man to come save her. I just can’t get with that shit, and I find myself wondering if these chicks are really digging me for me, or if they are only interested in what I can do for them.
I can’t trust anybody so I try to keep my distance from these scandalous broads by keeping everything strictly physical. Still, I’m human and can get lonely; so that’s why I started calling the chat line. My little brother has met a million chicks on there, and not all of them are bad. He told me that the chat line is an easy way of meeting women without exposing too much of yourself. Basically, you can be whoever you want to be on there. So nobody has to know how much money I have or anything. They only know what I tell them. I can just talk and pass away time if I want to, or I can actually meet the chick and fuck. The choice is all mine and I like that. So far I’ve met like ten girls on the line and fucked three of them. In between, I’ve held a million conversations with a million other chicks. I can vent when I want to and never have to worry about some bitch using my vulnerability against me since they don’t know me.
Man, the chat line is crazy. I have come across so many different types of bitches on there. There are some broads thinking that they’re going to meet their husband on there after holding one conversation with a nigga. Then you have those undercover freaks that just want to play in their pussy while I listen. Then you have these chicks that have this huge ass list of shit that a nigga gotta have to fuck with them. Then you have the transvestite homo motherfuckas who are looking for some dick to suck. And finally you have the normal broads that just want somebody to talk to. The thing is learning how to sort all those motherfuckas out. Thank God for camera phones, because so many of those broads love to lie about how they look. I mean I love a thick woman, but I don’t think that most women know the difference between thick and just plain old fat. I mean…Monique is funny, but I ain’t trying to fuck with a bitch with all that extra baggage. A thick chick in my opinion is a girl with some ass, breasts, thighs…you know. They might even have a small gut cause no one is perfect, but that shit can’t be too outrageous. The rest of her body has to overshadow her pudgy stomach, but a bit of a gut is not a deal breaker for me. But some of those broads have a lot more going on than a gut. I met one chick that swore that she didn’t have a camera phone and ended up being about 350 pounds. You should’ve saw how fast I was hauling ass to get away from that whale. I wonder what my niggas would say if they saw me fucking with her ass. I would’ve never lived that shit down.
Even though I had gotten my rocks off something like three times that night, I still wasn’t ready to go to bed, so I laid out on the couch and grabbed my cell. I dialed up the chat line to see who was on. Immediately, a voice caught my attention. It was mainly what she said.
“Hey, this is Celebrity calling from the northwest side of Houston. I’m twenty years old and I stand about 5’6”. I have a light brown complexion with long hair. I’m what you call thick, which means that I’m not fat and I’m not skinny. I’m just right. I’m not on the line looking for anything in particular. We can talk; and then and only then, can I decide what kind of friendship we can have. I don’t have any major requirements, but the one thing that I do require is that whoever I talk to knows how to put a smile on my face. So, if you feel that’s you why don’t you holla back.”
It was like this chick was reading my mind. She was everything that I was looking for in a girl and she really got me with that line about wanting a smile on her face. Usually, these bitches get to talking about how they require that a nigga has this kind of job or that kind of career, or some shit like that. But this chick was on some other shit. I was in love. So I didn’t hesitate in leaving my number for her to call me. After hearing her, I didn’t want to listen to another ad. I just wanted to talk to Ms. Celebrity. So I hung up and h
oped that she would call. About five minutes later my cell phone rung.
“Hello,” I spoke into the phone.
“Is this Killah?” a sweet female voice asked me.
“Yeah, and this is?”
“This is umm…Celebrity.”
“Why do I feel that ain’t your real name?” I asked with a chuckle.
“Cause it’s not, but can we leave it at that for now?” she asked.
“That’s cool,” I told her. I understood why she wanted to wait to reveal her name. There were some crazy ass people on the line.
“Okay, so let’s get down to business. How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m twenty-seven.” I laughed.
“How many kids do you have?”
“None. And you?”
“None over here,” she replied. “Where is your girlfriend?”
“I’m single.”
“What do you do?”
“I own my own business,” I told her a half-truth.
“Okay, okay. Who do you live with?”
“By myself. And you?”
“I just moved back with my mama.”
“So, who were you living with before that?” I pried.
There was a slight pause. “Umm, I was living with my boyfriend at the time.”
“Why did you hesitate? Were you trying to figure out if you were going to tell me the truth?”
“Pretty much,” she giggled. “It’s just that I hate to talk about that situation cause then I’ll never shut up. My ex is a thing of the past and I like to keep it that way.”
Can I Talk to You (G Street Chronicles Presents) Page 2