by Leo Sullivan
pulled out my joint. “Ooohh weee,” she droned. “You’re Mr. Big
for real, huh?” Her voice breathy. She licked my neck … my chest
… stomach … down … down … took me in both hands, primed
her lips, stroked me and talked to me at the same time. “Papi, you
like this?” I nodded, took my hand and tried to force her head
down on me.
“Um, um, um. I’m gonna make love to you like no woman has
ever done before.” The cadence of her voice was raspy. Her tongue
left a trail of hot saliva. Some women thought that the way to a
man’s heart was through his stomach, but Trina knew better. She
eased me into her hot mouth, slow as if savoring the taste like she
was a real head hunter. She went inch by inch. In the background
I could hear Hope on the radio. I looked down and saw her face
just as Trina deep throated me. I gasped, gulped air holding onto
the edge of the table as if it would prevent me from drowning
myself in her as her mouth went up and down masterfully as she
manipulated the juices in her mouth. I was losing control. She was
going too fast. Her hands gently caressed my balls. I groaned in
response as my hands held her head. She was moving too fast. She
was about to make me a minute man. My toes curled as I felt my
back arch. I was in that place of no return. The spoils of her vir-
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tuosity were stronger than my masculinity and she took what I
wanted to deny, at least wait. I came in jets of milky white, just as
she pulled her head away, aiming my semen on her chest.
She looked up at me and I saw something in her eyes, it was-
n’t love either. Maybe it was the same thing Samson saw in Delilah
before she cut his hair. She rubbed my juices on her erect nipples
and then my dick. I reached down and pulled her up. She wiggled
out of her dress, and then her panties. Pussy juice glistened
between her thighs. Trina had one of them bodies that just made
me want to stare. She touched herself and continued to rub her
nipples like it really turned her on. I took off my clothes like they
were on fire and we got in bed.
“Wait, wait!” she halted. “We need a condom. A hard dick
ain’t never had a conscience.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears. There was
no way in the world I was going to ruin all this good pussy with
latex. She reached over and fumbled with her purse. I placed two
fingers inside of her, then three. She moaned like a bad song, a
silent surrender as I went deeper and stirred her passion.
“Don’t do this … to me. I don’t have any rubbers,” she
squalled. That was her problem. I rolled on top of her, dick in
hand, like a battering ram. She resisted, and made some kind of
move with her hand, curled her spine, did some kind of leg lock
shit like they do while wrestling. It worked. She effectively put the
coochie on lock down. I bit down on her breast. “Ouch!” she
shrieked. “Please don’t do this to me,” she whimpered as she
unwrapped her legs. I found the entrance of soft silky pubic hairs.
Her eyes matched mine. She was tight and wet. The sensation felt
so good that I fought to keep control. Then she kissed me with a
fervor that almost sucked the juices out of my mouth. My hands
roamed her body. She spread her legs wider for me. She spoke in
Spanish. “Make love to me, this is your pussy.”
I was barely inside her and she began to cum. She quivered
and moaned. I went deeper. She dug her nails into my back.
“You’re hurting me, go slow,” she stammered. She stroked my ego
and didn’t even know it. I found a rhythm, rode the wave of her
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body like she was the last woman in the world. This wasn’t mak-
ing love like what I did to Hope. We were fucking, wildly. I
plunged deeper. She made a noise like I was tor turing her. She
panted. I was in a zone, like a runner with a fast pace. Her teeth
snarled at me with an expression that she was determined to
match each one of my thrusts. Our bodies were covered in a sheen
of sweat. I was pounding so deep within her that it felt like I was
about to lose myself. She was now making enough noise to wake
up the dead, and then she reached another climax, one that made
her shudder into uncontrollable convulsions. Her eyes rolled in
the back of her head like she was possessed with something. As her
head bumped against the headboard and long legs wrapped
around my waist, I took one of her legs and placed it on my shoul-
der. Her eyes showed a hint of fear, for she knew what was next,
and in one long thrust, for the first time, I drove all the way into
her and she screamed as her talon fingernails raked my back. Our
breathing was heavy and sweat cascaded from our intertwined
bodies. Her cat eyes exerted robust energy as she looked up at me
and squinted. She bit down on her lower lip in a painful show of
a woman’s determination. Her voice screeched like chalk on black-
board and she lamented, “I have not been with a man in almost a
year … you’re … trying to hurt, meeee … with that thing.” Her
seductress Spanish was thick. “Pa…pi…let me suck iiiiit!” In mid
stroke, I stopped, and burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she pouted. Her eyes smiled up at me.
Even with her hair half matted to her face, with sweat and the
painful wrinkles in her eyes, she was still one of the most beauti-
ful women I had ever seen. I took what I could get and then some.
After ward, I rolled off of her and lay there satisfied, depleted. She
looked over at me with a knowing grin, the kind lovers share when
they have both been satisfied by the other, only I kept seeing
something else. I closed my eyes because the game can make a
nigga paranoid. For some reason the faces of Dre’, and the nigga
that set me up, popped into my mind. I cringed like I had just
been shot. Shot by the reality of my own stupid blunder. Dre’ was
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looking for Lil Cal. Lil Cal was from Miami, a spot called Opa
Locka. It was infamous as a dope hole for young thugs, better
known as the “ Triangle,” where you could walk in and never come
out. I would never go in there without Lil Cal with me. Shit! All
this time I forgot to warn my nigga Cal about what Dre’ was up
to. I leaped from the bed and startled Trina. So much had been
going on in the past two days. I paced the floor thinking. Dre’ had
family in Tallahassee, or was it Jacksonville? Orlando? I forgot and
we used to hustle together. My mind was really congested. I paced
the floor naked while Trina looked at me with the covers pulled up
to her chin. I picked up the phone, dialed 305 area code. The
phone wouldn’t let me call out long distance. I slammed it down,
cursed Dre’ out and paced some more, rubbing the waves in my
head absent-mindedly.
“Pass me my purse,” Trina said, reading my mind. I grabbed
her purse, rummaged inside and found a phone and a tiny two
&n
bsp; shot derringer .38 pistol, powerful enough to put any man down.
Livid, she sprung up in bed and screamed at me, “Gimme my
damn purse!”
I did what playas do, I ignored her, dialed the number and
watched as she stormed toward me. She snatched the purse out of
my hands and came close to getting her first ass whoopin too.
Someone answered the phone on the third ring. It was
Blazack. Before I could tell him what happened, he told me that
the Feds got Lil Cal as soon as Dre’ walked out of the house. Cal
sold him a brick. Heavy hearted, I sat down in the middle of the
floor. Blazack went on to say that he felt like my boy Dre’ had
something to do with the bust. Blazack was one of the most dan-
gerous men that I had ever known. It was like he had been born
in the wrong era. He was a cold-blooded murderer, who went at
life like it was his mission to die. He was the only man I knew that
beat three murder raps. He really didn’t have to sell dope. If he
walked up to you and asked for something, like an ounce or two,
it was best to give it to him or risk getting shot, or have a loved
one come up missing. Every real crew had to have a Blazack, he
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was the enforcer, the man that went into the trenches and did the
dirty work. He didn’t aspire to be rich, just enjoyed staying true to
the game. Reluctantly, I told him what happened. I could hear his
breathing on the phone, a silent threat to wreak havoc on
whomever he felt was responsible for setting up Lil Cal. This
included me. I felt my heart racing in my chest after I’d finished
telling him what happened.
“What took you so fucking long to warn us?” he yelled on the
phone.
“Man, I’ve been caught up in all kinds of bull –”
“Fuck that nigga!” he yelled. He wasn’t even tryin’ to hear
about the shit I had been going through. “I know where yo old
man live at with that big-ass church down there in Sarasota, if you
tryin some funny shit –”
“Hold up!” I interrupted. “Don’t go there, don’t go there.” I
was tryin to calm him, at the same time, let him know I ain’t noth-
ing nice either when it comes to gunplay.
“Man I’ve been in all kinds of dumb shit. Peep CNN, that’s
me r unning from the police. I would never set ya’ll up.”
“Nigga where you at?” Blazack asked. I didn’t like the tone of
his voice. It took a few seconds to answer, I’m sure he noticed.
Trina made a face at me as I answered, “I’m in Tallahassee. It’s
sweet. I’ve already hit a lick for some grands.”
“Fuck that nigga, you was the one that introduced us to that
hot-ass nigga.” Blazack was on some serious death before dishon-
or shit. That was cool unless the wrath of his anger was directed at
you. Trying to stop him was like trying to stop a suicide terrorist.
He simply did not care.
“Dre’s grandfather lives in Sarasota,” I blurted out.
“Let’s kidnap that fool!” Blazack said coldly. I didn’t answer,
Blazack was crazy like that. One thing was for sure, someone’s
family would be receiving an unwanted visit from him.
“Look man, the spot is hot as hell here. Let me come down
there until shit cool down and together we can look for that nigga
Dre’. You know what they say, three can keep a secret, if two are
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dead,” Blazack said.
I pondered over his riddle, the math did not come out right,
but I owed an allegiance to my nigga Cal. Blazack was his own
man, which by code would make him my man, too. At least help
him get out of this mess, that I felt responsible for getting him in.
We made plans. I was to Western Union him the money to come
to Tallahassee. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made in my life.
I walked back to the bed with the feeling a man has when he
knows he has just fucked up by not following his first mind.
Trina sat up in bed and the covers fell to her waist. Suddenly,
I had an urge to beat in her guts again. She fired up the roach and
took two pulls which almost choked her. “Smoke this, it will make
you feel better.” I took it, and watched as she padded to the bath-
room. Her ass looked like Serena Williams’, only finer. She closed
the door, at least I thought she did. I counted out my stash and
hid it under the carpet.
She returned smelling like soap and something else sweet. We
had an idle conversation as she made the bed, until I suddenly
remembered about Dre’, and the likelihood that he had family in
Tallahassee, which meant that he could have possibly been hus-
tling there, too.
“You know a nigga named Dre’. Drives a sky blue caddy on
dubs?”
She stopped making the bed momentarily as if to think. I
admired the gap between her legs as she bent over. She shrugged
her shoulders no, but I kind of got the feeling she was lying. We
got back in bed. It was a quarter after four in the morning.
After we got cozy, she snuggled up close against me and whis-
pered in my ear like she was still hot and horny.
“Have you ever tried a sixty nine position?” she asked mis-
chievously. Her hand went under the covers on a mission. I resis-
ted the urge to laugh. Trina was trying to beat me for my head.
Oral sex that is.
“I don’t eat pussy.” I lied. I felt her body stiffen and then relax.
“You want me to do you again?” She said it like a dare. She held
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the hard response to her question in her hands. Then she closed
her eyes and went into that utopia where women go when they’re
being sexy and sweet and it’s as natural for them as breathing.
With her eyes closed, she took me on a trek down memory lane.
“I was born in New York. I’m the youngest, and only girl. My
father has been dead now for about eight years. When he died, my
world came crashing down. My mom is African American, and
dad Cuban. Word is bond, he taught me so much.” Her eyes
popped open, she looked at me as if she were pleading. She con-
tinued, “I can cook dope, cut, weigh and sell it. That’s where Nina
Brown came in at.” She removed a lock of hair from her forehead,
adjusted her pillow and leaned toward me. I had to strain my ears
to hear her. While talking, her mind was distant, giving me a piece
of her past.
“My father left a trust fund for me after he died. It’s over a
quarter of a million dollars. I receive the money annually, but only
if I’m in school. My daddy was smart like that. He said, life’s edu-
cation didn’t guarantee a thing. He wanted me to be street smart,
too. He died from AIDS.” She said this somberly as the timbre of
her voice changed. “Now my oldest brother has it, and to think we
just finished playing Russian Roulette with a loaded dick.” I felt
like I had been hit with a low blow. Moments passed and the
silence was uncomfortable. As she looked at me, something about
; her moved me. And now, caught up in the liaison of raw sex, fer-
vid passion and the intimacy of pillow talking, I found myself
looking at her the way a man does a woman. I was feeling her like
she had just jumped on my chest with spiked heels.
She huffed, “I’m tired of these fake-ass hoes too. Fronting like
they down with me just to be seen in my whip.” Just that quick,
her mood changed. Her eyes sparkled.
“Once you’ve been exposed to the game, money and power,
nothing else will do! My daddy taught me a lot. He also said ain’t
no drug dealer got no business in the game over a year. Ain’t no
future in fronting. People that sell get hooked just like the people
that buy.” She stopped talking to catch her breath. I was admiring
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her brain like she just submitted a verbal application to me,
“Gangsta Bitch For Hire.” She bragged, resting her head on my
chest. “Papi, I’m claiming you.” Her head went under the covers
and she took me into her mouth. Trina could suck a dick. As her
tongue worked its magic on my body, I wondered,
is she just one
of them bitches sweating me for my cheddar, thinking I can make her
life better?
I ran up in her after she finished giving me head. We
did it until the sun came up. She paralyzed me with her body and
afterward, she rested her head on her elbows and watched me until
I fell off to sleep.
*****
The next day I was awakened to the sound of someone pound-
ing on the door. Trina was gone. Instantly I knew that something
was not right. I stared into the darkness and called her name. The
knock continued. Groggily, I got out of bed, hit my big toe on the
chair, “Shit,” and stumbled to the door. “Who is it?” I shouted
rubbing my sore toe.
“Hope,” the voice answered back.
I opened the door, and the ardent sun electrocuted my blood
cracked eyes, blinding me. I was standing in my boxers with a
morning erection. Hope looked at me pathetically and stormed
past me. She was wearing some kind of African garb of floral col-
ors of picot yellow and brown. It was long with a matching hat.
She looked like a Princess. I remembered hearing her voice on the