By the time I was ten, I was hanging with teenagers, following them niggas. So, I was breaking into people’s cars and shit, stealing whatever the fuck they had. I was gangbanging and fuckin’ bitches at twelve, like I was a grown ass man, smoking weed by the time I was thirteen, and I sold my first dime bag before I even got hair on my dick! I mean, what the fuck did you really expect for me to do, especially when I grew up in the type of environment that I grew up in?
My mama had me at fourteen years old. I had a young mother and a young grandmother because my grandma had my mother when she was only twelve. Growing up, I would alternate between living with my mama, who was still living with my grandmother, and my ole boy on the weekends, who lived with his mama. Two grandmothers, one on each side, and none of them ever put their foot down, so I was off the porch at a young age.
In my teenage years, I was living like I was twenty-one, coming into the house whenever I wanted. The hustling, the robbing, and all the other shit that I was doing, that came from me just wanting to get a quick buck.
My ole boy hustled. Back then, he was the flyest nigga I knew. Roca Wear, Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, and Adidas were all some of the shit that he used to rock when I was a kid. He kept me flyer than a motha fucka too. I had all the Jordans and Nikes as a little boy. Because he kept me fly like that, I knew that when I got a little older, I would want to keep this shit up.
My mama named me Billionaire, so that shit was just in me to like money. I loved money. I loved having money in my bank account. Then again, I was a hood nigga, so when I used to make my money back then, it was usually given to me in duffel bags. Shit, if I’m going to be honest, sometimes it would have blood on it because we would just get the money whichever way we could.
I liked to look good. I loved for a bitch to tell me that I smelled good, and I loved the sound of a few chains dangling around my neck. Most of all, I loved being able to walk my ass into any designer store and buy whatever I wanted without even having to check the tag. With the type of taste that I had, I had to push dope. Pushing dope gave me easy money, so that’s what I chose to do.
At twenty-five years old, I was the man to see in Miami. I was bigger than my daddy. Somehow, I surpassed him and eventually brought him along, so he could eat with my crew and me. My crew consisted of me, Monterius, and a fuck nigga named Trucks, whose mama should have fuckin’ swallowed, or his daddy should have busted him out on the carpet or a rag. I never got around to asking the fuck nigga why he did what he did. Before I could even change into my jumpsuit at the jail, Monterius had put two and two together, ran down on Trucks, and put a couple of slugs in his brain.
I was good to that nigga, man. Went and got myself checked because I wanted to give him a kidney since he needed one, but it turned out that I wasn’t a match. When we jumped headfirst into this drug shit, we were like the three amigos. We had always planned to get into this shit and stay in for five years at the most, just so we could stack enough money, get our people out the hood, and have the chance to go legit one day.
Nigga put dirty guns in my fuckin’ whip, that were more than likely his, called them boys on me, and had my black ass sent off to prison for it. This wasn’t just some nigga that I met in my adolescent years. I really knew this nigga. We had grown up together, I called his mother ma sometimes, and I thought of his little sister as my little sister. As mad as I was about that shit, man, God had to sit a nigga down for them five years because I was living too fuckin’ dangerous.
Felix, who was my plug out in Columbia, had my crew pushing shit in the states that a lot of other niggas who were selling weight didn’t even have yet. Felix had so much faith in us that every time we re-upped, he damn near tripled the inventory. That was good in terms of money, but the more weight, the more years a nigga would get in the Feds, and the longer my mama would cry if she ever lost me to the system.
Felix knew I only wanted to give him five years, but when he and I talked on the phone, which was every blue moon, there was literally nothing about him that made me feel like he would allow me to retire in five years. This nigga wanted my life because he would say all the time that my crew made him the most money that he’d ever made in his life. Now that I was a free man, I had every intention of going legit, but this drug life shit was like a fuckin’ contract. These motha fuckas wanted to hold me hostage and milk me for everything I had. Niggas had no understanding that I had two kids who I needed to be there for.
I lost five years out of my kids’ lives behind some bullshit. My son, Billion Jr., aka Lil Bill, played football. You know how many football games I already missed? How many end of the year banquets, when my son was awarded trophies? I’ve missed touchdowns, him losing his teeth, all that shit. My beautiful baby girl, Khari; I missed father and daughter dances, she was in ballet, so I missed all types of recitals, plays, all kinds of shit. I wouldn’t sell a nigga a bag of weed from my personal stash. That’s just how serious I was about not moving dope.
Monterius was still heavy in this shit, and he was telling me that he had less than a year before he got out. I told the nigga all the fuckin’ time that he was playing with fire, but the nigga didn’t want to listen to shit. I knew I wasn’t the ideal person for following directions and shit, but if so many people were in my ear, telling me to make some changes, it was only a matter of time before I started listening. Monterius wouldn’t even listen to my cousin, Twinkle, so I don’t know why I expected the nigga to listen to me. If a nigga hardly ever listened to his shorty, then you couldn’t expect him to listen to you, is the way I saw it.
That was my fuckin’ brother, though. I trusted him with my life because he was solid. Although I had my own money stashed away that was waiting for me when I was released two days ago, the nigga picked me up from the prison with three duffle bags in the back of his truck. There were hundreds and hundreds of neatly stacked bills waiting in that backseat for me.
Five million in cash was a welcome home gift from my nigga. You didn’t meet solid niggas like that these days. That nigga made it his business to visit me at the prison two times a month. There never was a time that I called him collect, and he didn’t answer for me. He went crazy with putting money on my books once I was sentenced to five years. With the shit that I had on me, a nigga was supposed to have gotten nothing less than ten years. Because I had always been invisible before this charge, I never got picked up for shit, so my record was clean. On top of that, I had a good ass lawyer, and shout out to my bomb ass cousin, Twinkle, for writing that character reference. With all of that, the judge had some sympathy for me, and I was given the mandatory minimum five-year sentence.
My rich ass Jewish lawyer, Yael, I owed that nigga my life. Had it been anyone else representing me, I would have still been in that fuckin’ prison.
As far as money went, I was straight, and I had a meeting later today with a couple of real estate agents. I was about to get this real estate money!
Back in prison, I was bunkmates with a man named Mr. Pride. Nigga was old enough to be my damn granddaddy. I swear I’m not even exaggerating. For at least the first year of me being in the cell with him, we didn’t say shit to each other. He had the bottom bunk, so he would just sit there half the time with his glasses on, just reading. It didn’t matter that he didn’t talk to me because I ain’t come to the prison to make friends. Besides, I liked a nigga who stayed out of the fuckin’ way.
My first year there, I needed all the space I could get because my baby boy was five, and my daughter was three, so the shit was fuckin’ with me hard. Mr. Pride and I had our first conversation about two years into my sentence. A letter had come in the mail from my baby mama, Sidnesha, with pictures of Lil Bill graduating from kindergarten. I swear that shit broke my fuckin’ heart that I wasn’t able to be there and witness that shit. That’s when Mr. Pride talked to me for the first time. We talked for hours, man.
Nigga had ten kids with seven different baby mamas, so he made my situation with my baby mamas l
ook simple. He started telling me about all the shit he had missed out on and the shit he continued to miss because they’d given the nigga twenty years for the attempted murder of his wife. This old ass nigga was really ’bout that life. I swear, that ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ shit is real because I didn’t expect some shit like that.
He told me that he caught his wife fuckin’ around on him, and he shot the bitch, as he fuckin’ should have! Cheat on me, and I’m shooting your ass too, but the only difference is that I’m shooting to kill. It was labeled attempted murder because, as you can guess, the bitch didn’t die. This nigga was better than me because he and his wife were still together, and she came down faithfully to see about him. If that wasn’t a different type of toxic, I didn’t know what the fuck it was. I always thought that the shit I had with my baby mama, Sidnesha, was toxic, but we ain’t have shit on this nigga and his wife.
I always wondered why the nigga was in there, though, but I just assumed it was some white-collar crime bullshit. Talking to him every day is how I found out that he was filthy rich when he was on the outside, but unlike me, he got his money the legal way. He flipped houses. Mr. Pride explained the business and the amount of money that I could earn by doing it, so the shit interested me. Shit, anything that was going to bring in some good money and was legal would interest me.
He had his own business, and it was called Pride’s. None of his kids wanted the company, so he offered the shit to me because he had been in contact with his lawyer and was really thinking about shutting it down. Mr. Pride was a sixty-year-old man who didn’t think he would survive long enough to do his whole bid, and that was really because he was battling prostate cancer too. I told him that I wanted to check everything out, and if it sounded like some shit that I wanted to do, I would keep the business.
In the months leading up to my release day, he was in contact with his lawyer, and I’ve even talked to him a few times myself, just to get a sense of how everything would go once I was released. No one expected me to be flipping houses, which is why I was keeping the shit on the hush for now. I could flip the fuck out of some dope, and that was the case because it came with hunger. Yeah, I had the five mil that Monterius gave me, plus I had a few mil stashed away. I wanted to make new money too, so I was going to jump headfirst into this shit, and if I ain’t like it, I would wait to hear from Mr. Pride and tell him that he could go ahead and close the business down.
Back to this nut, though… because this bitch was riding the fuck out of my dick like she was trying to prove a point. Her homegirl stood right in front of her, and she was eating the fuck out of her pussy too. Lil mama had skills.
“Shittttt… Billionaire…. make me cummmm… make me cummm again,” this pretty bitch, Anika, moaned.
Her voice was muffled because she had a mouth full of pussy, but I heard every word she said. I started drilling inside that pussy harder, so she could cum for the second time. Anika’s pussy was good, but it wasn’t stalker worthy. Like, I wasn’t going to be posted in her bushes tomorrow night, wondering if she was going to sneak a nigga in and give him some pussy. I didn’t even know where shorty lived. Her pussy was good enough to hold me over, though.
I was backed up like a motha fucka, so this was good for me. The visual of two bitches feasting on each other like they had done for the past hour was enough to have my dick screaming. This was the first fuck where I didn’t have to look over my shoulder, worrying about a guard catching me, so I loved this. I could have fucked either of my baby mamas tonight, but I didn’t need the unnecessary drama.
I hadn’t fucked Sidnesha in about six years. A year before I went in to do my bid, we fucked once, and I swear the shit wasn’t even supposed to have happened. I was over there with my lil man, who was running a high fever. We had just gotten back from the hospital with him, and Sidnesha was in his room, standing over him and crying because she didn’t like for our son to be sick. I didn’t either, but I was stronger than her in that situation.
Prior to that, Sidnesha and I hadn’t fucked because that bitch was fuckin’ crazy, man. We fucked, and she would turn up on a nigga, thinking that we were in a fuckin’ relationship, so before that, I hadn’t messed around with her since Lil Bill was about two. That night, I just remember pulling her out of the room, so our son could get some rest, and we stood in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. I held her while she cried, telling her that everything was going to be straight.
One thing led to another, and next thing I knew, I had her on her back. Her long ass fuckin’ nails were digging into me as she told me over and over again to put another baby inside of her. Just because she was saying that shit, I made sure I didn’t let off inside her.
Sidnesha and I were too fuckin’ toxic together. Fuckin’ and fighting are what we did when we were together. I won’t even act like Nesha was just somebody that I was fuckin’ because she wasn’t. That was my bitch once upon a time. I purposely put my son in her because, back then, I was living so wrong that I wanted a piece of me to always be with her. I just knew some shit was going to happen to me. I dreamed about death daily.
When I was with Nesha, I wasn’t faithful. I was wild, leaving empty boxes of condoms in my car, forgetting to delete text messages from other bitches, the list goes on and on. That played a part in the toxic level of our relationship. Although I loved Nesha, at the same time, I wanted to fuck hoes. I didn’t want to be tied down at the time. I was nineteen and twenty years old, a little nigga fresh off the porch, making money, so I wasn’t about to be talking marriage and all that other shit.
I can write a book about some of the shit that Sidnesha and I have been through. I ain’t proud of it, but I have let her push me over the edge a couple of times, and I had to slap the shit out of her, but she’s done a nigga far worse. On my chest, right next to my armpit, I still have the scar from when the bitch stabbed me after going through my phone. If I had to go through all that for a relationship, I was good.
I left Nesha alone for about two years, and that’s when I met Denim, my second baby mama. Denim wasn’t just a fuck either, but we weren’t in a relationship like Sidnesha and I were. Denim was the complete opposite of Sidnesha. She was my good girl, but shorty was nasty as fuck. She fucked me good, kept me full, had good conversation, and she was pretty. Still wasn’t enough to tie a nigga down, though. I didn’t even know if she wanted to be tied down because she had another daughter from her first baby daddy, and she acted like she was still in love with that nigga, so it is what it is. She broke me off with pussy whenever I asked for it while I was locked, but that was it.
I vowed to myself that I wasn’t going to come home and be fuckin’ on my baby mamas because that wasn’t going to do shit but complicate things. I definitely wasn’t fuckin’ Sidnesha because that bitch would have me in jail behind her ass. All night tonight at the club, she had an attitude because I was entertaining bitches. Denim simply didn’t give a fuck because she was chilling with her girls. Sidnesha was beautiful; literally could have any man she wanted, and that’s what I needed her to do… find any man who wanted her.
“Damn, fuck. I’m ’bout to nut,” I groaned and pushed shorty off me.
She and her homegirl knew what I wanted, so they both dropped to their knees, took the condom off, and they fought to suck on my dick. When I busted, I threw my head back, feeling like I had just let go of years’ worth of nut.
After they finished, Anika crawled back into my lap and tried to kiss me, but I curved her.
Anika was the shorty who spoke to me when I was walking Twinkle’s stuck up ass doctor friend to her car. That woman was so damn beautiful, but nah... I was good. I’d ruin her fuckin’ life, man. Plus, she gave me stuck up vibes, and I ain’t like no stuck-up ass bitch. It’s okay to be confident in yourself and feel like you’re the prettiest female in the world. I personally feel like a woman is supposed to have that type of confidence, but nah, I could tell that we didn’t have shit in common. Shorty proba
bly didn’t have an inkling of what the hood even looked like. I liked for a female to be able to relate to me. I ain’t really want to come from two different parts of the world like that.
“Watch out. I gotta go piss,” I said to them.
They both stood up and moved out of the way.
With my dick swinging, I walked into the bathroom, making sure I closed the door behind me. I took my piss and then walked over to the sink to wash my hands and throw some water on my face. Looking in the mirror, I started mentally telling myself that this year had to be the best year of my fuckin’ life. I had to get my shit in order so I could have partial custody of my kids because I needed to be there. I needed to stay my black ass out of jail, and I didn’t need to get lost in fuckin’ these bitches. This was probably going to be the last of fuckin’ hoes anyway. I would jack my dick from now on.
I knew I was fucked up in the head and that I lacked trust when I had to take these bitches’ phones from them and do a strip search the second we made it to the hotel. When they started sucking my dick the first time, I was clutching my gun that rested in a strap on my ankle more than I was touching their ass and titties. The only way I was going to be trusting around a bitch was if I got me an ole lady. I wanted to be so trusting of a bitch that I could sit under her for hours, and not even worry about her trying to set a nigga up or niggas busting through my shit, trying to rob me. I wanted to be able to give money to my ole lady and not have to worry about her doing a nigga dirty by giving some of the money to another nigga that she had on the side.
The shit I went through with Trucks mentally fucked me up. I ain’t want no new people around me. Tonight, all types of niggas that I went to grade school with and shit were trying to get up in my section, but I wouldn’t allow the shit to happen. Them niggas could have come with a good heart, just wanting to kick it with me, but I was fucked up. They probably thought I was acting funny, and after tonight, a few of them were probably going to say that I changed. In all seriousness, I did change, but for the better.
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