Life Without Hope

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