by Noire
Other Urban Erotic Tales by Noire
Thong on Fire
Thug-A-Licious
Baby Brother
Candy Licker
G-Spot
Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2007 by Noire
Song lyrics courtesy of Reem Raw and Robb Hawk
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ATRIA BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Dana Sloan
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Noire.
Hood : an urban erotic tale / by Noire.—1st Atria Books trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
1. African Americans—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3614.O45H66 2007
813’.6—dc22
2007015746
ISBN-10: 1-4165-4543-3
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-4543-9
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com
This urban erotic tale is dedicated to all the Jimmys, Thugs, Pimps, Smooves, Farads, Finesses, Drekos, Sackies, and Hoods who grind on the block and face the consequences of street life every single day.
No regrets ’cause life is sacred!
Never let go of what you put your faith in!
Times get hard, gotta keep your patience…
Hold on till your dream comes true and embrace it!
Face it!
—COURTESY OF REEM RAW
Keep doin ya own damn thang!
Acknowledgments
Father, thank you for allowing me to do what I do.
Nisaa, Missy, Jay, Man, Ty…my stinky baby…I luv y’all to the bone.
My fam at Noire Music Group and N.J.S. Entertainment, We next!
Reem Raw…your lyrics are on fiyah.
We about to take this to the next level!
Readers hit Reem at Myspace.com/NJSMusic to hear those hot tracks.
Angie, Aretha, Melissa, and the rest of my fam who puts it down for me at NOIREMagazine.com, you have my thanks and my luv.
To the thousands of readers and fans who watch my back,
Shield me from the noise,
And send me luv and support every single day,
I luv y’all right back.
STAY BLACK
—NOIRE
So Hood!
This here ain’t no romance
It’s an urban erotic tale
Bitches, chips, and gangstas
A grimy hustle Hood knows well
Youth got stolen, manhood molded,
The streets welcomed him in
Loyal soldier, no man’s doljah,
Determined to get it in
Making traps, pulling gats,
Piff, yay, and sticky green,
The love of dollas, money, power
Friends turn into fiends
Mind slippin, foes trippin,
the Hoodsta’s going mental
Self destruction, soul abduction,
Grimy street essentials
Underhanded dealing
’Cause the love was just pretend
Outlandish flossing, double-crossing
What kind of G betrays a friend?
So this here ain’t no romance
Hood payback is a bitch
Life shits on you twice as hard
When ya fuckin wit’ a snitch!
—NOIRE
In the Beginning…
HAVE YOU EVER been shitted on? Nah, not no regular every day street shit. I’m talking that low-down grimy diarrhea shit. The kinda shit that no matter how much you try to make it right, it still stinks? Have you ever lived in the gutter? Slept in somebody else’s piss? Crawled around with fake niggas like wet rats in a barrel? Yo, check it. Lamont be my government, but Hood be my name. Reppin the true definition of a street soldier. A general. Out there on the front lines getting it in. Doing whatever it takes. I earned my stripes chilling up in Fat Daddy’s joint, a Brownsville barbershop in the belly of Brooklyn. We went to war up in that muthafucka, and when the smoke cleared wasn’t but one gangsta left standing. Some called me a street savior…others said I was just another Brownsville boy gone bad. Whatever. I brung it and I took it too. But when it was all said and done I walked away with a lesson learned in street loyalty: Ain’t no need in looking over your shoulder in this game. Because your real enemies ain’t aiming at your back. They lunging straight for your heart. Ya dig?
Chapter 1
I’m a G-E-N-E-R-A-L!
Get it right, I’m the type that’ll always prevail!
I’m a G-E-N-E-R-A-L!
THE CLUB WAS packed out and niggas was wildin. In a back room the bass thumped hard, booming through the walls and sending vibrations up through the cold cement floor. Dreko opened his legs wider and watched the white girl as she bobbed her head up and down between his thighs. Her pink lips nibbled along the shaft of his dick as he wound his fingers through her hair, then slid them down to grip her slim neck.
“Stop playin,” he growled from deep in his throat. “Suck this shit right and don’t be fuckin playin.”
The girl giggled and puckered up, pecking his wood with tiny kisses. She took a deep breath and blew on his dick, amazed at the thick black snake she held in her hands.
“Man—” Dreko squeezed her neck painfully then slammed her face down into his groin. “Suck my fuckin dick! Fuck all them little kisses. Gimme some of that throat.”
“Sorry,” the white girl whispered. She’d spotted Dreko when he stepped in from the bitter cold with three other guys, and right away her pussy had started throbbing. She had a thing for muscled up, dark chocolate guys with danger in their eyes and this cat had walked up in the joint like he paid the bills.
She took his pretty dick in both hands and stuffed it in her mouth. A lot of cats liked it when she spread her long blond hair over their thighs and teased them with her lips while they watched. She always made sure they got a good look at her smooth, white skin pressed up on their black dicks. It turned them on to see that contrast, feeding those secret fantasies of dominating and fucking the shit out of a white girl.
But this dude seemed cranky and impatient. The way he held her neck in a death grip told her he wanted his head straight up. No frills and no fancy foreplay. Just suck the dick and get the damn nut. She went to work on that shit like it was her day job.
“Yeah,” he moaned as she slurped away, taking his whole dick in her mouth, then spitting it out halfway, before sucking it in again. The white girl worked him over. Her best friend Lauren had been fuckin with club ballers like him for months now, but she was still pretty new to this scene and was looking for a real playa who could offer her some status.
Her family was Italian and they lived over in Canarsie. They hated black people and if her father and brothers knew she was in a club naked on her fifteen-year-old knees with a black man’s dick rammed down her throat, they’d kill her ass. They’d have to catch her first, though. She’d run away from home seven times in the last few months and the pull of the streets was enough to make her stay gone forever.
She glanced up as Dreko pounded up into her mouth. His eyes were closed and there was rage mixed in with the hot pleasure on his face. He was a real youngster too. He looked a whole lot younger now than he did when he had
stepped through the door looking all good under them club lights. He licked his pretty brown lips as he groaned again and she damn near lost her neck rhythm staring at his fine ass. Young wasn’t the fuckin word. He was even younger than her. His goatee was barely more than peach fuzz. He was heavy in the dick though, and his tall, strapping body was all man. He opened his eyes and busted her staring. She picked up her pace and slurped his dick harder, then hummed in the back of her throat, vibrating her tonsils against his sweet, swollen head.
“Faster,” he demanded. His hand still gripped her neck, tighter now as he worked anxiously for his nut. She felt his dick straining as he arched his back and pumped into her mouth. She worked double-time. Sucked his muscle deeper. Put every trick she knew into pleasing him as she anticipated how good his big black dick was going to feel pounding inside of her.
She smiled to herself as she felt his body stiffen, then shudder. He was young, she realized. He’d lost his head in less than three minutes and she silently congratulated herself as she felt his warm semen fill her mouth. Holding it on her tongue, she savored his salty flavor.
Above her, he pushed her away then leaned back in the chair. He laid his head back against the wall. “Damn. That muhfuckin shit felt good.”
Still smiling inside, she rose and climbed into his lap, straddling his strong legs and rubbing her damp pussy on his still-hard dick. She pressed her lips against his throat then pulled his head forward, covering his mouth with hers. She parted her lips and tongued him down real deep, letting his bitter spurt flow out of her mouth and into his.
“Wha—” he snatched away, spitting out slime. He wiped his tongue on his sleeve and cursed.
She laughed. “It’s a snowball,” she explained. “I just gave you a little snowball.”
He swung so fast she never saw it coming. Broke her nose with just one punch. The blow sent her flying backward from his lap. Her head cracked on the edge of a metal table and she thudded to the floor. Pain exploded between her eyes and every bone in her body hurt. Blood trickled from her nose and filled her mouth. A wet scream burst from her throat.
“Nasty bitch!” His scream was even louder than hers as he yanked up his pants and raised his foot and kicked in her face.
Her nose throbbed in agony. She tried to turn and avoid his blow and a bomb went off in the back of her head. His boot cracked her skull and the horrible sound that split the room came from her own lips. Not even the club music could cover it, and it just got louder and louder as she rolled over on her back and his boot came down again. Hard. Bashing into her broken nose and busting both her lips.
“Please…” she begged, flat on her back gurgling blood with her arms stretched toward him. He raged like a fuckin maniac above her. Sweat was dripping off his face and his eyes looked devil red. Cursing, he buried his boot in her stomach. She rolled over again and threw up.
“Nasty fuckin bitch,” he panted as he stomped her face into the cold cement. Sobbing, she curled herself inward like a baby, her hands slippery with blood as she tried in vain to spread her fingers over her busted head. Her blond hair was sticky in her eyes and she screamed louder when her fingers pressed against a soft, dented part of her skull. The pain was so intense she gasped, nearly blacking out, cowering under the flurry of his blows, unable to escape.
He was gonna kill her and she knew it. All she could do was lay there and pray. A minute later there was a commotion and the door was flung open as a bunch of dudes busted up into the small room. Thank you, God, the girl thought as she lay weak and disoriented. Dreko was swarmed by five big cats who pulled him off her and tackled him to the ground.
“I will kill that dirty bitch!” he was screaming and spitting as they took him down to the ground. “Word my niggas, I’ma kill her nasty ass!”
As she lay naked and moaning on the cold, dirty floor, the young white girl silently thanked God again. She’d been fucking with fire on these mean streets of Brownsville and this time she had come real close to getting burnt. They dragged Dreko out of the room and he was still screaming like an animal.
Somebody threw a sweater over her tiny titties. She fought against the black pain and willed her fingers to move as she struggled to pull the sweater over her bloody head. She was up on her hands and knees, and Dreko’s threats were still ringing in her ears and sending cold terror rushing through her blood.
Right then and there she made the wisest decision of her young life. These streets were hungry as hell for a girl like her. They’d eat her little ass up and shit her right out. Fuck all this. Her girl Lauren could stay in Brownsville wildin with these crazy niggers for the rest of her life if she wanted to, but if she could just find enough strength to make it outta this club alive she was crawling her white ass back home to Canarsie.
Chapter 2
It’s priceless, never felt love like this,
Only you can bring light to my crisis,
Life just ain’t worth it at all without you, swear,
I don’t wanna do it at all without you, true…
“I’M COLD,” MONROE complained for the hundredth time. The streets were deserted and his breath came out smoky in the night air. “I’m so so so cold, Lamont. My feet not even there no more.”
It was one of the bitterest nights of the year. The young boys had been chased out of the abandoned building they’d been living in and the police were sweeping the streets and forcing the homeless into heated shelters.
Inside the torn, wet mitten they shared Lamont entwined their fingers, gripping his baby brother’s hand real tight. They’d been walking the dark streets of Central Brooklyn for hours and he was frozen too. Lamont had already given Moo one of the two thin jackets he’d worn. Now he took off his skully and pushed it down on Monroe’s head, but the cold was so bad that even five knit hats wouldn’t have mattered.
“Just keep your other hand in your pocket, Moo,” he told him, guiding the four-year-old across the ice-covered pavement. He looked down, trying hard not to slip in the frozen footprints left by pedestrians before him. His raggedy sneakers were like thin pieces of cloth. He removed his left hand from his jacket pocket and immediately regretted it. Throbbing pain stiffened his fingers as the bitter cold gripped him.
“This better?” he asked as he pulled the knit hat down lower on Moo’s forehead. His little brother coughed deeply. His nose was running and his lips were cracked and dry.
Moo nodded. He was cold but he was trying hard to be brave. He saw how red Lamont’s ears were as he tried to hunch his skinny shoulders and duck his bare head against the biting wind. Somehow Moo had lost his mittens so it was his fault they only had one glove to share, but Mont didn’t even get mad about it.
“I’m so hungry,” Moo said softly.
Lamont closed his hand around the softening brown lump in his pocket. It was supposed to be Moo’s breakfast for tomorrow, but neither of them had eaten in hours and he was gonna have to give it to him tonight. They stopped and leaned against an ice-covered Mazda.
“Here.” Lamont took his hand from his pocket again, ignoring the stiffening cold. He held the small potato out to Moo. “Take a couple of bites.”
As hungry as he was, Moo looked at the potato and shook his head.
“C’mon, man,” Lamont urged. He’d found the potato in an almost-fresh bag of trash and it was the only thing in the whole pile that the rats hadn’t already either shit on or gnawed on.
Moo stared at the spindly white buds that were growing out of the skin.
“Man, them just the eyes,” Lamont said, breaking off the buds and tossing them down to the ice. He wiped a fuzzy sheen of mold from the potato’s skin and waited while Moo bit into it hesitantly and then chewed.
“Act like it’s like a apple, man,” Lamont told him. “Eat it just like a apple.”
Moo ate the mushy potato quickly and the brothers walked on, this time down the middle of the street. It was safer that way. Lamont had already stuck his knife into a fiend who tried to snatch
Moo from a doorway the night before, and the piss-soaked abandoned car they had been sleeping in for the last few nights was also a bust. Some fool had kicked all the windows out and crackheads had been sleeping all up in it. Pissing it up some more.
“M-m-my legs cold, Mont. My toes feel funny too.”
Chin down against the ice-flecked wind, Lamont moved onward.
Monroe started to whine. “Mont, when Mama coming to get us, huh? Maybe she ain’t never coming, right? She don’t even come see us no more. Is the police gone shoot her like they did Daddy, Monty? Huh?”
Then Moo got real quiet like he was thinking. The moon was full. Long minutes passed where there was nothing but the whistling wind and the sounds of their small feet crunching through the ice.
Then he said softly, “Prob’bly you gone die too, huh, Monty. That would scare me real bad. You think you gone get dead one day and I’ma have to walk around out here by myself?”
“No,” Lamont said quietly. The wind took his answer and tossed it toward the north. Theirs was a straight up hard-knock life. They’d slept in concrete barrels on the project playground, down a garbage ramp in Tilden, and snuck on the train and rode all the way to the Bronx and back. Twice they ran from transit cops, jumping off at one stop and crossing over and catching a train going in the opposite direction. Damn right Moo was scared.
Hood had his fears too, but they were not of anything on the streets. His greatest nightmare was that his mind might one day slip off, just like his mother’s had, and so he conditioned himself to use the words in his head every single day. And even though he always looked calm and fearless on the outside, his brain was constantly on whirl: spittin lyrics, building bridges, stacking verses, humming hooks, and composing street songs that overflowed with metaphors and similes.
“Mama crazy ain’t she, Mont? That’s why we ain’t got no house no more. Gramma said Mama buggy. Done lost her mind. Is that why Daddy’s friends shot him up, Monty? Cause Mama lost all the words out her head and got crazy?”