Boss Bitch Swag

by Cynthia White

  But Kitty’s death was different. She wasn’t a drug dealer or a prostitute; she was a good person whose only bad habit was having a few too many glasses of champagne. That was her big bad sin. She was perfect in every other way. If life didn’t play fair with a woman like her, then who the hell was I to expect anything more?

  Chapter 17

  21st Street looked the same way it did almost ten years ago. Dilapidated buildings stood gutted on the inside with gang tags and R.I.P. memorials covering their exteriors. My first apartment was even still standing. Back then, I thought I was living the life, but I’d come a long way: I went from The Cochran to the block and from the block to an expensive home on two acres of land.

  There was a li’l nigga sitting in front of the old apartment I used to call home. He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen years-old, and the expression on his face was cold and emotionless. I could relate; you had to be tough to survive in the hood. Kindness was mistaken for weakness - and weakness could get you killed. You had to be a soldier, watching your back at all times and trusting no one. Your best friend could turn on you in an instant. Even your girl could decide to trade you in for a nigga with more. Money, cars, clothes, and bling determined your worth as a human being. If you had no money, you got no respect.

  I wanted to tell that li’l nigga it would get better, but lies wouldn’t do him any good. The truth would catch up to him sooner or later – and judging by the look on his face, it already had.

  “What’s up, Boss?” An unfamiliar female voice begged for my attention. “What you doin’ on the block?”

  “I know you?” I questioned her identity. “This a bad time to be playin’ games with a nigga.”

  “It’s me,” she said with a smile, as if that was going to jog my memory. “Mercedes.”

  Gina’s youngest sister was all grown up. She looked a lot like her big sister - the old Gina, not the crackhead Gina. Their faces only slightly favored each other, but their bodies were eerily identical. I caught myself wondering if Mercedes could fuck like Gina; it was hard to shake the thought with her wearing those skin-tight jeans. Her ass was begging for some attention, and a nigga like me was more than happy to oblige.

  “What you been up to, girl?” I asked as if I really gave a damn. “You still in school?”

  “I’m startin’ St. Louis U in the fall.”

  “That’s something to be proud of.”

  “Thank you,” she giggled. The girl was just as gullible as Gina was at her age; all a nigga had to do was toss a compliment her way - and he was in. I wasn’t sure what her plans were for that evening, but they were about to change.

  “I can’t wait to move in the dorms. I need to put some distance between me and my family.”

  “That bad?” I continued to pretend that I was interested in her family drama.

  “I know you heard Gina’s cracked out now?”

  “Yeah, I know.” I was guilty of supplying her with some of that crack. My fucked up logic forced me to believe that her getting it from me was better than her sucking some stranger’s dick for it.

  “She gave birth to three beautiful kids, and she’s not a mother to any of them,” Mercedes went in on her sister again. “I don’t know what happened to her. When she was with you, she was a completely different person. She used to take such good care of herself.”

  “Don’t none of us stay the same. We all change; some of us for the better, and some for the worse.”

  Gina wasn’t my favorite person on earth, but I wasn’t about to stand there and badmouth her. Life had already taken enough from her.

  I gave Mercedes my cell number and told her to call me if she needed anything. The ball was now in her court; if she wanted to get low one good time before she started college, she had my number. She was already curious; her eyes gave that much away. During our conversation, I kept catching her looking down at the bulge in my pants. She wanted to know how big my dick was and if I could really put it down the way her big sister had described - so I didn’t have to wait long; my cell rang before nightfall.

  I was in my home gym lifting weights when Mercedes called, sweat covering my body from head to toe. I sent Pee-Wee to pick her up while I jumped in the shower. Once I was finished, I met li’l mama at my front door wearing nothing more than a pair of white silk Hugo Boss pajama bottoms. Chicks always told me how good the color white looked against my dark skin, so I used that shit to my advantage. Mercedes couldn't keep her eyes off a nigga.

  “Boss, I’ve had a crush on you ever since I was a li’l girl,” Mercedes confessed as she walked up on me and pressed her soft chest up against my rock-hard stomach. “I been dreamin’ about this moment for a long time.”

  She wanted it just as much as I did - maybe even more – and it was my Boss duty to give her what she’d been daydreaming about. She was one of those fake ass good girls, the ones who act all quiet and shy in public. Those were the biggest freaks. They didn’t talk about what they could do to a nigga; they just took a nigga to bed and fucked the taste out of his mouth. I could vibe with a bitch like that.

  “Boss, I wanna be yo freak.” She put her lips on my chest and started to suck and lick my skin. “I’ll do anything you want me to do, Daddy - and I do mean anything.”

  She reached down my pants and licked her lips as she pulled out my rock-hard dick. I could tell this bitch was a live one. She didn’t play games. My front door was still open, and she was down on her knees with a mouthful of dick - sucking like her life depended on it. Shorty didn’t give a fuck.

  I let her suck me off for twenty minutes before I came in her mouth; she liked to swallow, so I gave her ass something to drink. I fucked her mouth the same way I used to fuck her sister’s; clearly, those head-giving skills ran in the family. When she got through sucking and slobbing, I was drained. I almost didn’t have the energy to fuck her, which meant she almost went to college without getting some of this Boss dick.

  I woke up the next morning to the smell of pancakes, scrambled cheese eggs, and thick-cut maple bacon still sizzlin’ in the skillet. Suddenly, I had a case of déjà vu like a muthafucka; that was the exact same breakfast that Gina used to make me.

  I rolled out of bed, threw on a pair of boxers, and headed downstairs towards the kitchen. There, I saw Mercedes in all her glory: she stood in front of the stainless steel stove that had never been used before, cooking breakfast for a nigga butt-ass naked.

  “You are by far my favorite chef,” I joked, never taking my eyes off her ass for a second.

  “Good morning, Boss.” She turned around and smiled at a nigga like last night she got the best dick-down of her life. “How many pancakes you want?”

  I couldn’t even concentrate on her question; I was too busy concentrating on her titties and hairless pussy. There was no way she was leaving without getting fucked again; my dick wasn’t letting it go down like that.

  “You betta turn that off.”

  “Why?” she asked in a very playful manner, her eyes damn near burning a hole through my boxer shorts.

  “Cause I’m ‘bout to fuck the shit outta you.”

  “Uhm...I like the sound of that.” She turned around quickly and cut off the burner, giving me a good view of her bare ass.

  I walked up behind her and took one of her large breasts in each of my hands. She backed it up on me, pressing her soft ass up against my hard dick. We had each other going. I ran my right hand down her smooth, flat stomach until my fingers found what they were looking for. I then played with her pussy for about thirty seconds before she came; that was Gina’s spot, too.

  I bent her over right there in my kitchen and shoved my dick inside her; she liked it rough, and I liked giving it to her that way. Her ass jiggled like Jello with every thrust. I was going to give her something to sit up at night and gossip about with her girlfriends at St. Louis U.

  We went on like that for damn near two hours. I kept busting off inside her, and she would just suck my dick off and g
et me right back on hard again. Her sex game was on point.

  I never did get to eat those pancakes, and I also never saw Mercedes again after our night together. She called a few times, but I dodged her. She had her story, but I didn’t have shit else for her. A few months later, she moved into the dorm - and I moved on to Kim.

  Chapter 18

  Kim Jones was a twenty-three-year-old hair stylist with two kids and a husband at home. At that point in my life, I was in self-destruct mode - and Kim was just the right bitch to destruct with; she was wild, crazy, and down for whatever. I passed my free time with her mostly fucking and drinking. She didn’t get high, but she could drink any nigga under the table on any given day. Grey Goose was her poison, and she could easily drink an entire bottle all at once. I bought Grey Goose by the case, and the more she drank, the freakier she got. Kim fucked like a porn star and sucked dick like a Grade-A certified head doctor. I loved gettin’ head more than almost any nigga on the face of the earth. I didn’t really give a damn if a bitch could fuck or not - just as long as she could suck a mean dick.

  Around this time, I started drinking a lot more than usual; basically, if I was awake, I was drunk. Getting through the day became a challenge, and getting through the night was damn near impossible. Even my nigga Pee-Wee couldn’t get through to me, but that didn’t stop him from trying. I just didn’t give a fuck anymore. Why care? I didn’t see the point. Every single person I let inside either left or betrayed me.

  My cousin was the only person I trusted. Pee-Wee was my lifeline. He kept my business running when I was too drunk to run it myself, and my workers never had the slightest clue anything was wrong. The money was never short; my cousin made sure of that.

  It was Friday night, which meant everybody in the hood was heading to the Two One to get fucked up; for me, though, it was just like the other six nights of the week. I stayed fucked up. If I didn’t, the memories would eat my ass alive. Remembering all the freak hoes I fucked throughout the years was one thing, but remembering the ones that left their footprints on my life was another. Jazz was the worst; every time I pictured her on that floor in a pool of her own blood with her panties down around her ankles, I reached for another shot. I didn’t commit the crime myself, but I might as well have given that backstabbing-ass nigga Ren the code to the alarm. Who needed a judge and jury? I found myself guilty, then proceeded to punish myself with the only sentence I saw fit: life.

  Five hours of drinking and smoking were starting to take their toll on me. Pee-Wee was busy with some thick-ass white chick at the time, so I made another stupid ass decision and OK’d myself to drive. I stumbled all the way to my truck, and by the time I got behind the wheel I was worn out. I couldn’t drive, and I also couldn’t remember the number of any cab companies. All of a sudden, a strange feeling came over me; it was the same one I got when Gina set me up to get robbed by them cats from New York. My instinct kicked in; something didn't feel right, so I reached in my glove box and grabbed my 9mm.

  “Surprise!” Kim popped up in my backseat - and almost got herself shot in the process.

  “Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” I roared at her like a furious lion. “You almost got yo dumb ass killed.”

  “I’m sorry, Boss. I just wanted to surprise you. I missed you. You ain’t been returnin’ my calls. I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you, baby. Please don't be mad...?” she purred as she introduced her soft, warm tongue to my earlobe.

  “Uhm...” I couldn’t help but moan, “don’t let that shit happen again.”

  That bitch knew how to persuade a nigga. Her tongue was all over my neck in seconds, and I just sat back and enjoyed the sensation; her lick was deadly.

  “Come get this pussy, Boss,” Kim said, teasing me with her goodies. “This yo pussy, daddy.” She lied; that pussy belonged to the nigga that put that gold band on her finger - I was just sampling that ass.

  I turned around just in time to watch her untie the belt on her long black trench coat. Seduction was her weapon; she slid the coat open ever so smoothly and revealed her surprise: she was completely naked underneath. As my hungry eyes scanned the entire banquet of her body, a sly smile spread across my face; that bitch knew she had me then. My urge to fuck her was much stronger than my anger. She motioned with her finger for me to come to her. I hadn’t fucked in the backseat of a car since I was a li’l nigga; it was like taking a trip back in time. The shit was crazy exciting. I came up out of my bulky leather jacket with a quickness; the heat was already getting to me. When I started the truck, Pac’s “Me and My Girlfriend” bumped as I forced myself inside Kim. She felt so good; she always did. That was part of the problem: when a bitch made you feel that damn good, it was hard to leave her alone. Me and Kim were bad for each other. We both drank more when the other was around, and we also fucked raw - like she wasn’t even married. I don’t know how she planned on explaining a li’l dark-skinned baby to her yellow ass husband, but at the time I didn’t care about her or her husband...I didn’t even care about myself.

  “I love you, Boss,” she professed in a drunken sexual haze. “Oooooh...this dick feels so good...I love you...I love you, Boss.”

  I had to kiss her just to get her to shut the fuck up. I didn't want to hear that shit; that wasn’t what we were all about. She didn’t love me anymore than I loved her - she was just trying to come up. My house was nicer than the two-bedroom apartment she and her kids lived in with her husband. Ol’ boy did his best, but sometimes that’s not enough - and for a woman like Kim, it never would be.

  Outside, people walked all around the truck - not noticing a thing; the dark tinted windows on my EXT shielded our indiscretion. Inside, my dick was gliding smoothly in and out of her with ease. We were both so out of control, and there was nothing anybody could say to get through to either one of us. We lived to fuck and get drunk - nothing else mattered.

  I fucked with Kim for almost a year, then it was time to end it when she started talking about leaving her husband for me; I never wanted that. After my whirlwind with her, I needed a break. I honestly thought I was through with women – but then I met Meesha.

  Chapter 19

  Meesha

  It was pouring down raining the day I met Boss. I should have heeded nature’s warning, but I was too young to know the path he was about to take me down - and honestly, I was too naïve to care. I was only fifteen when he set his sights on me. To be fair, I looked more like I was twenty. There weren’t even any boys in my past. In no way was I ready for a man - especially not the hood legend known as Boss.

  That summer was some of the best and most carefree days of my young life. Boss started helping my family out instantly; my mother was even able to quit one of her two jobs and devote more time to me, my four little brothers, and my baby sister. At first, she was a little apprehensive about the age difference between me and Boss, but she soon grew to respect him when she saw the way he treated me. I got everything I wanted and so much more. I was just a girl from the hood; I didn’t know anything about Gucci or Fendi - but Boss put me up on game. He was my first love, and he soon became my entire world.

  I came from a single parent household where I had no supervision and dozens of responsibilities. As the oldest child, I had to keep the house in order when my mother wasn’t there - which ended up being the majority of the time. She worked two full-time jobs to pay all the bills and keep food on the table, so my little brothers and my little sister looked to me for guidance and support. Anthony was thirteen, William was twelve, Omar was ten, Jared had just turned eight, and Angie was only five. She sometimes got confused and called me “Mama.” I got her up in the morning, made her breakfast, then walked her to school. In the afternoon, I walked seventeen blocks from my high school to Angie's elementary school to pick her up. Once we made it home, I helped her with her homework, got her something to eat, gave her a bath, and put her to bed at night. The boys were older and more independent, but they still looked to me to feed them and occa
sionally help them with their homework. It was a lot - but just like my mother, I did what I had to do.

  Somehow in the middle of all that madness, I still managed to get perfect attendance and make the honor roll with a 4.0 GPA. I was proud of myself. I just didn’t know how my mother was going to manage once I went off to college. She was only thirty-two years-old, but most days she felt more like she was sixty-five. She started having babies when she was still a baby herself, and none of our fathers stuck around long enough to help her carry the burden. She knew that she leaned on me a lot, but working hard was her only option.