by Wahida Clark
But as she ran she saw the headlights of a car ahead, and she felt blinded by the dazzling lights. She tried to cover her eyes, but when she did, she uncovered her eyes and she was on a runway modeling clothes.
She strutted down the runway as cameras whipped and flashed away, and she felt as if she was on top of the world. But, but . . . she almost tripped and fell and when she reached out to grab for balance, she suddenly was shaking the extended hand of her business manager.
“We're going to make a lot of money off you,” the manager said with a cunning smile that read dollar signs.
More lights flashed, and she covered her eyes from the brilliance of the light snaps, but she saw her face spread across magazine covers like Straight Stuntin, Show, Curve, Essence, and Don Diva.
But the blinding light that she covered her eyes from was her father pummeling her to the ground with hateful fists, disgraceful fists, fists, fists, fists and nonetheless.
“You'll never amount to anything, you faggot! Get out!” her father screamed with phlegm and gall pouring from his mouth.
Butterfly was fleeing her father as much as she was her dreams, nightmares, her fears. She was dressed in drag, and she knew the woman's clothes that dressed her body were supposed to be there. And when she looked down at the gash on her wrist, she was in the back of a car and her hand was holding a small straw and there were lines of cocaine before her, and she snorted them and felt the sudden charge. When she leaned back on the seat, she felt the sunrays resting on her skin, and when she opened her eyes, she lay in her special orchard with butterflies drifting poetically on the wings of wind.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I Have To Have Him
Two days had passed, and Buffy had gotten settled back in, and the compound had returned to normal. Almost. It was the weekend, a Saturday evening, and it was cold outside.
They headed to the gym where a basketball game was in progress, and it looked like a riot. The guys threw elbows and tripped one another. Bystanders and homeboys kept their hands on the hilt of their sharpened knives, waiting for something to pop off. Murder-ball was in full swing.
L and Ray Ray were playing on the same team and Buffy and Britney cheered away. It was so loud in the gym that it did them no justice to scream and act a fool.
Atwater was in a group of Moors, and his cellmate Thompson Bey sat at his side. Butterfly, who if she moved to go anywhere, would have all eyes in the gym following that phat pretty ass of hers.
“Stop staring at him so hard. You might offend him,” Buffy warned Butterfly, but the bitch was in an unrestraint heat, and she was on her scent.
“I can't keep my eyes off him.” Butterfly had puppy-eyes and it looked sick and cute at the same time.
“You can't stop talking about him neither. I feel bad for Lazy Eyes.”
“Out of sight out of mind. Cupid done shot that bitch with a new dick,” Britney said.
“Straight in the ass,” Buffy added as they laughed.
Butterfly gave them the finger.
Atwater got up and raced to the restroom, so he wouldn't miss that much of the game.
“There he goes, horny ‘ho,” Buffy said. “You better skedaddle if ya want to catch him.”
“Right now?” Butterfly asked as if she was a dimwit.
“No, bitch, when a full moon comes out and turns Britney into a werewolf,” Buffy responded.
“I'd probably still could give better head than you, vampire.”
Butterfly summoned her courage and went to the bathroom. When she went in, she saw Atwater at the urinal, and it made her a little mad that all eyes were on her as she walked to the bathroom. But when she went in, she went straight to the handicap urinal in the back and acted as if she had to piss. She waited a second, and when she came out there was a short line for the guys waiting to wash their hands at the sink which had a mirror over it. But Butterfly was lucky enough to stand right behind Atwater.
When the guy at the sink left, Atwater offered Butterfly to go before him. She washed her hands, but she was looking at him on the sly through the mirror. They held eye-contact, which seemed like forever and silently communicated volumes.
She walked back into the gym, now certain that Atwater felt the same way she felt about him. And she just didn't know how to make the first move.
They watched the end of the game and the ten-minute move was called at 7:30 p.m. Butterfly went to the library because Buffy thought Ray Ray wanted to meet him there, but when they got there, Ray Ray didn't even show up. So they were stuck on the move, and when Butterfly looked up, she saw that Atwater was there with his cellmate Thompson Bey, and they were in a room watching videos.
She couldn't contain herself, and she let Buffy and Britney know. “Atwater’s in the library now. What should I do? Should I just go in there?” Butterfly said fidgeting with her shirt.
They just said, “Calm down, you horny bitch.”
Atwater emerged from the classroom where they watched videos, and he headed for the bathroom.
It’s now or never, Butterfly thought. Buffy was going to be the watch, because Britney already proved to be useless.
When Butterfly went into the bathroom, Atwater wasn't pissing. He just stood there and said, “I've been waiting on you.” A sure smile framed his mouth.
It was music to Butterfly's ears. “I can't keep my eyes off you.”
“You're going to get me in trouble.” Atwater knew it! But he was too far gone to give a fuck.
“How so?” Butterfly asked, narrowing their distance until she stood right in front of him.
Atwater felt his dick lurch in his pants. He didn't think Butterfly had seen it, but her hand dashed out to grab it, and he couldn't stop her from massaging his dick.
“I know you want me. I see how you look at me.” It was the moment of truth, and as Atwater stared into Butterfly's eyes, he felt like he was looking into the face of Rihanna.
“I want to fuck you so bad, I don't know what to do.” The words trailed off Atwater's tongue before he could guard them.
“You wanna fuck me?” Butterfly asked senselessly, because she already knew the answer. She took Atwater's dick from his pants and sucked it on the spot. Atwater flung his arms back to close the bathroom door, but Butterfly stopped him.
“Leave it open.”
Atwater looked confused, but Butterfly peeped down the hallway to make sure Buffy was watching out for them.
“I had to make sure my girl was watching.”
“Damn, I wanna fuck you bad!” Atwater said as if he was lust-drunk.
Butterfly pulled down her shorts and bid him on. “Fuck me then,” she said as she leaned over the sink. Their encounter reminded her of her creamy dreams that she made with Lazy Eyes when he used to pound ten inches of thunder through-and-through her body. And she felt fever in the night.
“I ain’t got no protection,” Atwater said, and he was serious. He wasn't the one. Fuck no! Not after doing eighteen years and to come home with HIV or worse! He had heard all the stories, and he wasn't the one, not today or ever. Atwater would have never thought about having sex with a man, until he saw Butterfly, who didn’t resemble one at all.
Butterfly pulled her pants back up, because the mood was hampered. But she knew they were going to meet back up again.
“What sign are you?” she asked.
Atwater thought it was funny that she had asked. “I'm an Aries.”
She remembered it. “When are we going to meet back up?”
Atwater arranged his pants. “Meet me at the gym tomorrow night.” The pm shift, which started after 2:00 p.m. for the COs, was the best time because there were less COs on the compound then.
The rendezvous point, tomorrow night, was music to Butterfly’s ear. She was going to have him in every way possible.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Can’t Get You Out Of My Mind
Atwater needed the walk down the walkway to clear his head because he didn't know what the he
ll just happened back there. He went back to his unit from the library, knowing he was overly-attracted to Butterfly, and he even thought about the things he'd do to her, if nobody knew. But he never thought he'd actually act on it.
Damn me! He knew the urge was beyond him when he took the image of Butterfly back to the unit with him: her soft neck, her high and soft cheeks, and those fluffy lips. She had measurements that he yearned: a mouth-watering display of a supple 36-22-40. Yes, her waist was teeny-tiny and the arch in her back, the bow in her legs, her thick thighs, and her busty breasts. He was damned—he knew! He couldn't wait to get his big dick in her sugar-buns and wax-wane until he spazzed out. He'd hold her hips and shatter her spine with his diesel load.
Fuck! He had to get control of his thoughts. The whole time he was thinking about nutting so hard in Butterfly, his cellmate had been talking about miscellaneous things. He could have been talking about hidden treasure, but it still would have been miscellaneous. Shit! Atwater felt fever in the cold and unnerving air.
He went straight to the shower, took a cold shower, and thought about his fine wife and beautiful children. The cold-draining shower was good to clear his throbbing mind. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't drive head first, speeding into a head-on collision that would end with a plummet off a mountain peak. But that was exactly what it was if he made love to Butterfly. Oh my god! Did I say make love?
Atwater soaped his dick up and started to jerk it as fast as he could. He knew if he shot off a wad, he’d gain some semblance of control. But as he stroked his dick, he felt every callous on his palm, and he was just tired of jacking his dick. It had been eighteen years of fucking his hand, and plus, he was taking a cold shower, so his hands felt like fucking an empty soda can.
He dried off and went to his cell. It was lockdown anyway. Atwater slammed the door behind him, and Thompson Bey looked up at him as if he was crazy.
“What's up?”
“Nothing, just got something on my mind,” he said. After he brushed his teeth, he grabbed Robert Green's 33 Strategies of War. He read it, but still had the same thought of Butterfly's light skin and her fluffy, rosy red lips sliding up and down his shaft until he nutted down her throat. Frustrated, he slammed his book closed.
And it was as if his cell mate knew the content of his mind.
“Mace, these brothers are a trip. The homies are talking about checking Love in. They said that, that fool was in a homo-orgy a few weeks ago.”
“He from St. Louis?” Atwater asked, feeling like Thompson Bey had to know what he was going through.
“That's the only Love the homies would be concerned with. But Moor, I find it impossible that a man could come in here and get turned out.” A shadow of guilt shaded over Atwater's face. “And it's always them DC niggas that got all those fags.”
“Must be something in the water out there,” Atwater said, and he could have punched himself.
“I don't really agree with checking Love in though, because I know T got personal issues with him, and he's just trying to use this as an excuse. You know Love be into everything, and I know it's some ulterior motives. Really, who's checking brothers in for fucking punks?”
Atwater sighed. “Hardly ever.”
“I think the only reason the B-More Cart checked Lazy Eyes in was because he was married to B-Rod's daughter.”
“You're bullshittin’!” It was the first time Atwater had heard that.
“The truth is far from bullshit. I feel B-Rod too. That boy Lazy Eyes was fucking probably got the package; he's always at pill line. I saw him headed for pill line tonight when we were leaving the law library. You know them DC niggas be having that shit. HIV in DC is as high and as worse as places in Africa.
“But what trips me out even worse is the whole time Lazy Eyes was fucking that boy, he'd be out there on the visit tongue kissing his wife. I always say if you pitch, you'll eventually catch.” They laughed.
“That's foul.” Atwater brushed the light perspiration from his brow.
“I heard they ran a train on Lazy Eyes’ boy, who they call Butterfly in 4B when he first got here. I can't even front; I ain’t never seen men react to nobody like that. When that punk came into the gym tonight, it got so quiet I could hear hearts beating.” Thompson Bey laughed to himself. “Real talk, in my pimp days, I would have had to put that punk to work.”
“Islam Moor,” Atwater said, which was supposed to instill value in the conversation they were having. It was improper to talk about things that were debasing to men, and Atwater knew he was fronting to the max.
“Islam Moor.” Thompson Bey started laughing. “I'm just keeping it real.”
“No, I understand. I think it's just the novelty of having somebody on the pound that looks like a girl.”
“Yeah, Moor, and not just any girl—that fool looks like Rihanna.” Thompson Bey laughed harder. “But you're missing what I'm saying. I guarantee that even on the streets that boy got dudes going. I think women would even be curious. It's a live wire in the human psyche to marvel at anything exotic. And he fits the bill. Pure psychology.”
Atwater was lightly relieved that Butterfly had even affected his cell mate. “You may need to stay away from that boy talking like that.”
“Islam Moor. I'm going to bed. I've got to go to the plantation tomorrow.”
Thomson Bey turned the lights off, and Atwater was left to his thoughts. His mind went on to the conversation he had with Old School when they walked the track. There were only three divisions of people: Pimps/’Hos/Tricks. He had to keep his mind above the water and seize the opportunity of the prospects Butterfly had. It was chancy, risky, even dangerous, but he still had the semblance of a plan forming in his mind of how he could take pimping to another level. If what he thought could work, hell, he could even get Old School out of jail. He laughed and was too excited to go to sleep. He tossed and turned, thought about his plans, his future, and the egging thought that he couldn't get out of his mind: the touch of Butterfly's soft ass, which he thought about thrice as much!
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Fantasy
Unlike all the other images and nightmares that passed through Butterfly's mind while she slept, for the first time she had a lovely dream.
She was laid out in an orchard of soft red roses and Atwater had her legs straight up, ramming his dick inside her. He moaned, and she felt as if she had a g-spot that he was hitting. The head of his helmet flared, and she knew he was buttering her buttermilk biscuits as she took his sugar tongue into her mouth while he released his mother-lode.
His eyes were doting as he peered into her eyes, and she loved the feeling of having that power over him. His massive member was wedged between her cheeks, still hard, and he fucked her with the foremost passion ever. She had completely surrendered, abandoned to his strong arms locked on her hips and his manly prowess selfishly seeking its climax as she welcomed his toll. His dick felt like pure fire, and it was the most warming, satisfying and soothing feeling she had ever had.
Butterfly awoke as her evanescent dreams fled. And for once, she had woken with a smile on her face.
Britney had already left for work. So Butterfly got up and refreshed herself by washing her face and brushing her teeth. She threw the towel up over the door window so she could have some privacy. Butterfly then stripped naked and did a once-over in the mirror.
It was so rewarding for her to look at her shapely body in the mirror. It was all perfect! Everything was sleek, smooth, and firm. She clasped her tits to her chest and the cleavage looked sexy and appealing. She twirled on her heels and looked at the emphasized arch in her back and her phat butt and she celebrated! Oh but for her hair and lack of makeup and clothes!
She shaved her legs, armpits, and pubic hairs and at once she felt her comfort zone return. Then she made something to eat, because tonight she knew she was going to need all her energy for her amazing tryst. That dreary turquoise evening, Atwater and Craze-zo went to work out in the
weight room. It was always crowded with people. The good thing was there were two weight lifting areas: one outdoor and one indoor. They went to the indoors, and since it was cold outside, everybody was in there.
They were on the incline bench and Atwater was lifting as Craze-zo spotted him.
“One more. Push!”
When Atwater finished, a Mexican came over to ask if he could have the bench next, which was always the case. You had to call the weights and wait in a long line for the group of however many were finished, and then you could have your turn.
“We have two more sets,” Atwater responded to the Mexican as Craze-zo went to do his set.
While Craze-zo was getting ready to do his set, Butterfly and Buffy came to the door to peek into the weight room. Butterfly shot Atwater a quick knowing-eye, and Atwater felt his heart leap. But Craze-zo gave Butterfly and Buffy the evil eye and they took off.
Atwater laughed. “You're a funny dude.”
“No, man, those faggots is vicious. They got this whole compound off balance. What kind of shit is this? Niggas are going. And from what I hear, the Rihanna punk got trained in 4B, was fucking Black, Lazy Eyes, and that Mexican, Sosa. Word is before the orgy in 4B went down, Love and Tyrone—rest in piss, were fucking that faggot. On my hood, had you let me stab that one punk that night in the barbershop, them faggots wouldn't be so bogus right now.”
“You can't stab somebody up because they're gay,” Atwater said, but he hadn’t known that Butterfly had been tossed around like that. He was just happy he didn’t slip up and fuck the punk. The head was cool because it wasn’t like you could get HIV or AIDS from a blow job.
“Why not?” Craze-zo asked, his face completely blank of understanding Atwater's statement. “Me and my homies from my hood used to fuck punks up in Hollywood all the time. Shit, every jail I've ever been to them faggots have some shit in a twist. Look at these clowns around here. All them fools went to the SHU, and I know that race riot had something to do with the punk because all the key characters were fucking him. To add to that, one of them niggas was ready to leave his wife for that punk! Mark-ass niggas! Cuz, they got to get me out of this region before I put a plug in one of these busters!”