The minute Erica was paid Tango pulled me from off the couch and wanted to take me into the room. I saw the strong lust in his eyes and kind of got nervous for a minute. He looked like he was about to get rough with me. He couldn’t wait to have me.
“Damn, your boy is thirsty for some ass,” Erica said.
“Yeah, he is,” Sheldon replied.
“I’m gonna play nice,” Tango said, showing a lecherous grin.
Yeah, like his words comforted me. But reluctantly, I was there to perform a service so me and my daughter could eat. Tango escorted me into one of the three bedrooms and before I walked in behind him, I heard his friend say, “Y’all two have fun now, my friend really needs this. And don’t stank up my room.”
The door closed behind me and I found myself in this barren-looking room, a small bed, no TV, or any posters and pictures decorating the walls. I guessed it was used for only one or two purposes: sleeping and sex. I stood by the door suddenly feeling apprehensive. Tango sat on the bed and stared at me.
“I’m sorry, do I make you nervous?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
He did, but I didn’t admit it to him. The look in his eyes showed a man who could be cold and dangerous. But yet, he seemed gentle and caring toward me for some reason. He was ready for me, and I had to ready myself for him. He took off his shirt, revealing his strapping and chiseled physique. I was in awe at his body. He was cut up and muscular everywhere. His biceps bulged out like a small mountain. His stomach had a wave of abs. And his upper body was swathed with tattoos; some I recognized as gang related, some was art, he had biblical scriptures written across his chest and back, and a few demonic artwork on his arms, which to me, contradicted the biblical passages.
“I gotta be honest with you,” he started to say.
When a man said to me “I gotta be honest with you” I tended to get a little nervous for some reason. Tango looked at me and said, “I just got out of prison a few days ago, and you’re the first woman I’ll be with in ten years.”
Wow, I thought.
He continued with, “I just need to feel the touch, the smell, the affection, and the inside of a woman right now. I’m so fuckin’ horny right now that I’m ’bout to explode. And you are the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.”
That right there, his lovely comment, made me smile widely.
“And if you speculating ’bout my sexuality, I ain’t never been wit’ no nigga in jail. I don’t fuckin’ swing that way. I spent my time reading, working out, and jerking off,” he stated.
It was good to hear him say that.
“You really think I’m truly beautiful?”
“I think you’re an angel, Diamond. I think any man who is in your life is a lucky and very fortunate man. I look in your eyes and I see a woman so pure and down for hers.”
“You see that in my eyes,” I replied. “You don’t even know me.”
My first impression was he was spitting some game at me, sweet talking; but he already paid me to fuck him. So I assumed his words were genuine. A man locked up for ten years, constantly around men and prison guards twenty-four/seven; maybe he could tend to change and found himself in a better place. I didn’t know his history or his past and I didn’t want to know it. I was simply a form of pleasure to him, not his parole officer.
“I wanna get to know you,” Tango said.
“You wanna get to know me huh?” I walked toward him, undoing my shirt and unfastening my jeans. Yeah, being inside me was one way of getting to know me.
He stood up and undid his jeans. That thirst for sex continually lingered in his eyes. He removed his jeans and boxers and showed me what he was working with. No lie, I was impressed with his size, not too big and not too small, but very right: eight inches long and with girth. His penis stood at attention, looking like a black steel pipe.
I came out my clothes and was buck-naked. His eyes lit up and his dick was so hard that it looked like a SCUD missile ready to launch inside of me.
“You have a condom?” I asked.
“Nah,” he said.
Luckily, I did.
I pulled out a Magnum, which looked like it would fit him snugly in that area. I approached him and rolled the latex back on his hard dick. I got down on my knees and was ready to give him some head. But for some strange reason he stopped me.
“I wanna taste you,” he said.
“You wanna eat me out?” I asked, somewhat confused.
“Yeah.”
He pulled me down onto the bed with him and positioned me on my back, spreading my legs. This was a first, a nigga—a trick at that—wanting to please me. It was his money, so I didn’t argue. His chin rested against my pussy’s lips and pressed a little into them. His kissing lips were just a breath away from my clit. He placed his tongue against me below; I breathed easily. His hands were strong against my thighs; it felt like he could easily rip me apart with his strength, but he was gentle like a feather.
I gasped when I felt his lips against me, his tongue digging inside of me. I placed my head back and closed my eyes. My mind drifted off somewhere as he ate me out. I had entered somewhere and wasn’t about to leave it, lying in an open glade with this thuggish and gorgeous specimen of a man devouring my pussy like if he needed it to live.
“Aaaah, ugh. Aaaah,” I moaned and gritted my teeth.
His tongue invaded me deep, instantly finding my G-spot. My mind spiraled into a touch of bliss as it felt like he was about to bring an orgasm to me. I kept my body arched and opened, and stop my knees from simply collapsing in sheer, trembling bliss. Tango ate and ate, and ate, like a starving offering. I shuddered in his grasp, playing the carnal tune with my voice. One moment his touch was like feathers, and then it would feel like a wriggling snake with his breath tickling my every nerve.
I clawed his backside as his mouth and teeth nipped at my flesh and in doing so, his hands reached up for my nipples, pinching them softly and cupping them. His full lips supped and suckled my pink folds, tugging, licking, flicking, and teasing without end. He kept my unsuspecting body on the edge of breathless shivering when he fingered both places, and then having his tongue flick back and forth inside of me, and across my throbbing clit. My whole body shook trying not to cum. I was his toy to play with and he was playing well.
“I just wanna taste you. You taste so fuckin’ good,” he said between licks and sucks.
“I’m gonna cum,” I cried out.
I was soon lost in this rapturous haze of a mind-blowing orgasm that never seemed to end. I quivered against the sheet and near him like I was having a seizure. My eyes fluttered and Tango worked me in a way that I had never been worked before. As I was coming down from my orgasm, my legs began to release his head, they became like vise grips around him when I was about to explode, and I could feel his tongue lapping up my juices. This man was a freak. I loved it.
He wasn’t done with me yet. Before the last drop of me came out, he tossed me into the doggie style position and thrust himself inside of me roughly. His big dick penetrated me like a hot spear. He moaned and grunted as his balls slammed against me and my good pussy almost having him reach the point of no return.
“Damn, ya pussy is so fuckin’ good. Oh shit, ugh, ugh!” he grunted.
I had him arched over me, weakened and clutching the white sheets, his dick at full staff with my glorious insides pleasing every inch of him to full throttle. He fucked me, and fucked me, grabbing my ass, cupping my tits, his rhythm dancing inside of me.
From there, he pulled out and wanted me to ride him cowgirl style. I straddled his nice physique with my fiery descent, slamming my pussy down on his dick and fucking him crazily. He gripped my hips as I rode that dick, trying to milk the cum from his nuts.
“Ooooh. Ooooh, shit. Ooooh, shit, ugh, ugh, ugh,” his feral grunts echoed out.
With my hands placed against his strapping chest, I felt this nigga’s dick cemented in my stomach. He was about to make me cum again,
as I was about to do him the same way.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ come,” he cried out.
We both were nearly there to heaven, once again, reaching the point of no return. He had me creaming and dripping wet. I came on the dick, saturating the condom thrusting inside of me. Moments later, he detonated himself inside of me with so much force, I feared he tore through the condom and came inside of me. He was ten years backed up and I couldn’t have any more mistakes.
When he was finally done coming, which took like forever, I pulled him out of me, quickly checking to see if the condom was still attached, which it was, thank God, and I fell against my back, breathing hard and sweating. He nestled against me and held me in his arms like I was his.
“That was so good, thank you,” he said.
I was taken aback. It was the first time any man thanked me for sex and held me close afterward. This rough-looking muthafucka was more than met the eye. For a moment, we cuddled in that bare room like a couple. I didn’t know him at all, but there was something about him that was truly comforting.
While he held me, he talked to me. I mean, he just literally opened up and started telling me about himself. His name was Tango, but his real name was Andre Clark. Tango was his street name, his nickname. The more he talked, the more he grew on me. He was warm and generous; he was even willing to pay me extra for more of my time.
He asked me about myself. I told him a few things, but not all of my business. I told him about the music career I tried to get into. I even spit a poem/rhyme for him. He was impressed. I mentioned my daughter, my likes, and dislikes. I told him about the shelter and why I started prostituting myself. The funny thing was, Tango looked at me and didn’t judge me at all. Most niggas wouldn’t be caught dead nestling against a prostitute and catching feelings for her. Tango didn’t care at all.
We talked for an hour, until Erica knocked on the door and said it was time for us to go. He didn’t want to let me go, but he understood.
“I wanna see you again,” he said.
I smiled.
He added, “I’ll pay you. I don’t care.”
He was sweet.
“Where do you be at?” he asked me.
“I work Hunts Point,” I told him.
“Okay.”
I got dressed. He didn’t. He just sat there at the foot of the bed, remaining buck-naked and looking at me. His eyes lit up. His body was sharp. He was really infatuated with everything about me. Erica continued knocking. “Diamond, c’mon, let’s go.”
“I’m coming,” I hollered.
Tango stood up from the bed, dick swinging and all. He reached into his pants pocket and removed a few bills. He handed me a twenty and said, “I ain’t got much right now, but you deserve a tip.”
I took it. “Thank you.”
I walked out the room feeling cool. He pleased me and I pleased him. And I wondered if it was all just talk with him, or would he come and see me again.
Erica and I footed it back out into the snowfall with two inches of snow already on the ground. My pussy was still tingling from the experience and I couldn’t wait to get back home to my daughter.
“Was he good?” Erica asked me, as we entered into the lobby covered in snow and cold.
I smiled at her.
Tango, he was more than good; he was different.
Chapter Eleven
Sammy
Brownsville was the worst, and will always be the worst in my eyes. I didn’t even know how I let Kawanda talked me into this. I was in the heart of Brownsville, Rockaway Avenue, near the Van Dyke houses. The bachelor party was at this seedy-looking lounge/bar. It was spacious, but it was hood, too hood for my taste. It made Crazy Legs look like some rich white club. Every nigga in the bar/lounge had a blunt to their lips or a bottle in their hand, and everywhere reeked of weed, cigarettes, and funky-smelling niggas. It was only rap music blaring throughout the place; the bitches were ghetto and whack with majority of them having bullet holes or stab wounds, and bad weaves and trashy outfits that they kept off. Nearly a dozen bitches strutted around the party butt-ass naked trying to fuck and suck niggas for one hundred dollars or less. Some bitches were tricking for fifty dollars.
I shook my head at these trashy, low-class looking bitches.
Unfortunately, all eyes were on me. I was the baddest bitch at the party and didn’t want the attention. But these hood and thirsty niggas were all over me like I was a star. I strutted around the place in a sexy minidress with a halter neckline with string ties and silver weave for a glittery effect and my clear stilettos. My style was original and I stood out. I was too shapely for these bitches who had stomachs and guts, and sagging tits and weak skin.
I sipped on a drink and chilled by the bar. Three hours in this place and I only made $200. I wanted to go home, but Kawanda and I shared a cab together. I was the only girl in the place who wasn’t disappearing into a room with a nigga to sexually please him. I simply made my money by dancing and flirting with niggas. It was supposed to be a bachelor party, but the groom-to-be was so drunk and disrespectful to the dancers and niggas at his party that a few fights broke out with him, and his homeboy had to cool him down and seriously talk to him. This was the man who had the contract with a record label. He wasn’t much to look at in my book. He was short and stocky with fuzzy cornrows and dark skin. Everything about him was off. He was also belligerent. When he would look my way, I would turn my head. I didn’t want anything to do with the man of the party.
The other thing that pissed me off was there weren’t any big-time ballers or rappers at the party. Steele didn’t even show up and I heard he and the husband-to-be were supposed to be kin. It appeared to me that all these niggas at this party had struggling pockets. They wanted to have tons of fun on a shoestring budget. And I wasn’t a shoestring budget bitch. I had these niggas coming at me left and right, yearning for my attention, craving to see my body in the nude, wanting to touch me in places to get their dicks hard. I was repulsed by everything. The place was nasty and the men were corny.
Kawanda was doing her thang though, making her paper, pleasing these niggas and doing what she did best: sex and being enticing. I watched her grind against someone in the dark corner in the nude and standing erect in a pair of red pumps. She had him against the wall, allowing his hands to touch her everywhere, one hand cupping her tit and the other between her legs. I assumed he was finger fucking her right there in public and she didn’t care. She had money spread about on the floor: one-, five-, and ten-dollar bills.
I was glued to Kawanda’s freaky actions until I heard someone say to me, “What’s wrong wit’ you, ma?”
He took a seat next to me at the bar. I glanced at him. He was tall and lanky with a nappy ’fro and looked like he didn’t have a dime to spend in his pockets.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I replied.
“You look nice though. I like ya style,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Can a nigga get a dance wit’ you?”
“You got money?”
“Shit, ma, it hurts that you even have to ask a nigga that shit. Yeah, I got paper on me. I know you ain’t no free ho,” he said. “You one of them stuck-up bitches ’bout that money and you gonna hit a nigga’s pockets to fuck.”
“What?” I replied, screwing my face at his comment.
“I’m sayin’, I got eighty on me fo’ ya time.”
“Eighty?” My face twisted up with a serious attitude.
He was serious.
“Nigga, you can take that eighty and find you some other thirsty bitch. I don’t turn tricks.”
“What? Then why you here, ma?” he asked.
Yeah, why was I there? I should have been gotten dressed and left. But I didn’t want to leave Brooklyn by myself. It was late and paying for a cab was too costly from Brownsville to the Bronx.
As if things couldn’t get any worse, the drunken groom came walking over with his eyes fixated on me. I noticed him watching
me all night, and now I guessed he had the nerve to come over. I wanted to walk away, but I didn’t get the chance.
“Yo, B, what’s good, my nigga? What this bitch talkin’ ’bout?” the groom said to him like I wasn’t standing there.
Bitch?
“She actin’ brand new, my nigga. She here, but she ain’t tryin’ to get that money like the rest of these bitches.”
“She actin’ brand new,” the groom replied. “What?”
I sucked my teeth out of frustration and rolled my eyes. The husband-to-be looked at me and asked, “Yo, ma, what’s ya name? I’ve been watchin’ you all night. You the baddest bitch up in this spot. You know a nigga ’bout to get married soon and I’m ’bout to get put on.”
I wasn’t impressed. I felt sorry for the bride. “I’m good,” I told him.
“What?” he replied with attitude, “What you mean, you good?”
“Fats, I told you this bitch is stuck-up.”
“I told you, I’m good.”
“Bitch—”
“I ain’t ya bitch,” I spat at him.
“Bitch, you better start actin’ right, ’cause this my fuckin’ party. I run this shit, bitch,” he hollered.
These fuckin’ Brownsville niggas, doesn’t anything ever good come out of dealing with them. I shouldn’t have come. But I wasn’t about to let some short, drunk, ugly, and punk muthafucka scream on me and treat me like shit.
“Your mother’s a fuckin’ bitch!” I cursed.
The groom done started shit with everybody in the party, so I guessed it was my turn. He stepped to me; I towered over him being in my six-inch stilettos. He twisted his face at me and started becoming belligerent.
“Yo fuck you, bitch! I’m Fats Money; you know who the fuck I am!” he screamed, creating unwanted attention on me and him.
Kawanda noticed the heated incident ensuing and hurried over to have my back. She came between me and him buck-naked with her clothes in her hands. “This my homegirl yo,” she said.
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