“Papi, you pop up in town with that square-ass bitch, Hope. I saw the date on that car tag, I also saw how she looks at you. I got enough sense to recognize a playa. Hope is on some conscious, intellectual bullshit, besides, she got a man,” Trina said as she freaked the Black & Mild, talking to me like she trying to save my life. She continued, “You came here running from something. You want to open up shop. Bleed this town for all you can get and then get the hell out.”
She completely caught me off guard. I was now looking at her from a totally different perspective. Her voice was laced with some kind of accent, maybe Spanish. It dawned on me that it matched her hypnotizing cat eyes and enchanting beauty. After she finished with the Black & Mild she removed a blunt from her purse, busted it open with a long manicured fingernail. She placed the weed in the blunt. Licked it while looking at me with a face that said, “this is how I would love to do it to you.”
“You know that’s bad for your health,” I said for the sake of conversation.
“So is this town to niggas that come in here shooting people up and selling fake dope,” she retorted, causing my mind to stagger on the red alert. She had me on my toes against the ropes. My mind racing, how in the fuck did she know that?
She fired up the blunt with gold lighter. I could sense that she was amused with our cat and mouse game. She inhaled deeply on the potent weed. It was hard to believe I was looking at a college student. What the fuck were they teaching in school?
“I’m that bitch, Papi. Ride or die bitch.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, like hot pussy on a platter. I looked out the window again, but this time I was checking for my own composure, trying to restrain myself. I placed the gun in my pocket, grabbed the Hennessy off the table and drank out of the bottle. It burned like the suspicion I had for her. I set my buttocks on the edge of the table, ogled her luscious body as smoke curled from pure lips making a halo around her head, giving her an angelic appearance or perhaps a devilish one. In the fog of smoke she said, “Nina Brown told me about your little caper.” She smirked knowingly. I almost choked on my drink, but I should have figured that. Talk about a small town. She had my attention.
“You can get twenty for a brick and a grand for an ounce as you already know.” I took another swig from the bottle, nodded for her to keep on talking, since she seemed to be enjoying herself.
“My last lover is in the feds. He made over a million dollars, mostly due to my connections. I never got credit for it.” She stopped and took a long drag off the blunt. “I can get a brick for ten thousand, cook it, break it down to dime rocks and make over a hundred thousand dollars.” I whistled out loud at that. Either she was lying, or was a bad bitch for real. She was starting to look like a sexy dollar sign. All real hustlers recognize the potential for making money, and in a new town, a female is always the first real option.
She kicked off her heels, wiggled her pedicured toes in the carpet and yawned like a feline. I watched the swell of her breasts as her nipples pointed skyward and her thighs spread across the chair. Her perfect body alluring. I was fighting this urge.
She looked at the ashes on the blunt as if contemplating a thought. And then she spoke, her cat eyes narrowing as if she couldn’t put enough emphasis on what she was really trying to relate to me.
“Papi, I want to do the Bonnie and Clyde thing … you and I. Stake some chips, get rich, leave this town. You know what I mean?” Her voice was sultry, eyes dreamy. That black dress eased up her thighs. I could see red lace panties, red like I imagined her venom was. If she was poison, I was about to OD on her. No real playa is really immune to the whims of a woman. You just go on guts and instincts. She padded over to the radio. I watched her ass bounce for me. She turned the radio to the college station and I heard Hope’s voice. I got the feeling she was doing this to read me. Just to see how much I cared for Hope. They debated, I listened, and Trina watched me the way a woman does when she is trying to read a man. Finally, music came on and Trina snapped out of her reverie.
Slowly, sensuously, her body came to life. Her lower torso grinded back and forth in a dance as if she were making love without me. She eased right up close to me. Her perfume, mingled with the weed, was like an aphrodisiac to my loins. Trina was coming on strong, strong like a woman that was sure of herself. A nimble finger walked down my thigh. I could feel the heat from her body. Trina was bold. I liked that in a woman, but under these circumstances, I was not too sure of her motives. The only thing that I was certain of was that she set me on fire, and her passion stroked the flames that went on to the furnace of my body. I stuck my hand under her dress and palmed her plump ass. She was soft and firm. I used the other hand to squeeze and spread her cheeks. I was rewarded with a soft moan that could have passed for a purr.
“Hey Shouty, I really ain’t into the bump and grind. Just put a price on the damn thang and lemme hit it.”
She pulled away from me. “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, Papi?”
She then unzipped my pants, stuck her hand down my leg and pulled out my joint. “Ooohh weee,” she droned. “You’re Mr. Big for real, huh?” Her voice breathy. She licked my neck … my chest … stomach … down … down … took me in both hands, primed her lips, stroked me and talked to me at the same time. “Papi, you like this?” I nodded, took my hand and tried to force her head down on me.
“Um, um, um. I’m gonna make love to you like no woman has ever done before.” The cadence of her voice was raspy. Her tongue left a trail of hot saliva. Some women thought that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but Trina knew better. She eased me into her hot mouth, slow as if savoring the taste like she was a real head hunter. She went inch by inch. In the background I could hear Hope on the radio. I looked down and saw her face just as Trina deep throated me. I gasped, gulped air holding onto the edge of the table as if it would prevent me from drowning myself in her as her mouth went up and down masterfully as she manipulated the juices in her mouth. I was losing control. She was going too fast. Her hands gently caressed my balls. I groaned in response as my hands held her head. She was moving too fast. She was about to make me a minute man. My toes curled as I felt my back arch. I was in that place of no return. The spoils of her virtuosity were stronger than my masculinity and she took what I wanted to deny, at least wait. I came in jets of milky white, just as she pulled her head away, aiming my semen on her chest.
She looked up at me and I saw something in her eyes, it wasn’t love either. Maybe it was the same thing Samson saw in Delilah before she cut his hair. She rubbed my juices on her erect nipples and then my dick. I reached down and pulled her up. She wiggled out of her dress, and then her panties. Pussy juice glistened between her thighs. Trina had one of them bodies that just made me want to stare. She touched herself and continued to rub her nipples like it really turned her on. I took off my clothes like they were on fire and we got in bed.
“Wait, wait!” she halted. “We need a condom. A hard dick ain’t never had a conscience.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears. There was no way in the world I was going to ruin all this good pussy with latex. She reached over and fumbled with her purse. I placed two fingers inside of her, then three. She moaned like a bad song, a silent surrender as I went deeper and stirred her passion.
“Don’t do this … to me. I don’t have any rubbers,” she squalled. That was her problem. I rolled on top of her, dick in hand, like a battering ram. She resisted, and made some kind of move with her hand, curled her spine, did some kind of leg lock shit like they do while wrestling. It worked. She effectively put the coochie on lock down. I bit down on her breast. “Ouch!” she shrieked. “Please don’t do this to me,” she whimpered as she unwrapped her legs. I found the entrance of soft silky pubic hairs. Her eyes matched mine. She was tight and wet. The sensation felt so good that I fought to keep control. Then she kissed me with a fervor that almost sucked the juices out of my mouth. My hands roamed her body. She spread her legs wider f
or me. She spoke in Spanish. “Make love to me, this is your pussy.”
I was barely inside her and she began to cum. She quivered and moaned. I went deeper. She dug her nails into my back. “You’re hurting me, go slow,” she stammered. She stroked my ego and didn’t even know it. I found a rhythm, rode the wave of her body like she was the last woman in the world. This wasn’t making love like what I did to Hope. We were fucking, wildly. I plunged deeper. She made a noise like I was torturing her. She panted. I was in a zone, like a runner with a fast pace. Her teeth snarled at me with an expression that she was determined to match each one of my thrusts. Our bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat. I was pounding so deep within her that it felt like I was about to lose myself. She was now making enough noise to wake up the dead, and then she reached another climax, one that made her shudder into uncontrollable convulsions. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head like she was possessed with something. As her head bumped against the headboard and long legs wrapped around my waist, I took one of her legs and placed it on my shoulder. Her eyes showed a hint of fear, for she knew what was next, and in one long thrust, for the first time, I drove all the way into her and she screamed as her talon fingernails raked my back. Our breathing was heavy and sweat cascaded from our intertwined bodies. Her cat eyes exerted robust energy as she looked up at me and squinted. She bit down on her lower lip in a painful show of a woman’s determination. Her voice screeched like chalk on blackboard and she lamented, “I have not been with a man in almost a year … you’re … trying to hurt, meeee … with that thing.” Her seductress Spanish was thick. “Pa…pi…let me suck iiiiit!” In mid stroke, I stopped, and burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she pouted. Her eyes smiled up at me. Even with her hair half matted to her face, with sweat and the painful wrinkles in her eyes, she was still one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I took what I could get and then some. Afterward, I rolled off of her and lay there satisfied, depleted. She looked over at me with a knowing grin, the kind lovers share when they have both been satisfied by the other, only I kept seeing something else. I closed my eyes because the game can make a nigga paranoid. For some reason the faces of Dre’, and the nigga that set me up, popped into my mind. I cringed like I had just been shot. Shot by the reality of my own stupid blunder. Dre’ was looking for Lil Cal. Lil Cal was from Miami, a spot called Opa Locka. It was infamous as a dope hole for young thugs, better known as the “Triangle,” where you could walk in and never come out. I would never go in there without Lil Cal with me. Shit! All this time I forgot to warn my nigga Cal about what Dre’ was up to. I leaped from the bed and startled Trina. So much had been going on in the past two days. I paced the floor thinking. Dre’ had family in Tallahassee, or was it Jacksonville? Orlando? I forgot and we used to hustle together. My mind was really congested. I paced the floor naked while Trina looked at me with the covers pulled up to her chin. I picked up the phone, dialed 305 area code. The phone wouldn’t let me call out long distance. I slammed it down, cursed Dre’ out and paced some more, rubbing the waves in my head absent-mindedly.
“Pass me my purse,” Trina said, reading my mind. I grabbed her purse, rummaged inside and found a phone and a tiny two shot derringer .38 pistol, powerful enough to put any man down.
Livid, she sprung up in bed and screamed at me, “Gimme my damn purse!”
I did what playas do, I ignored her, dialed the number and watched as she stormed toward me. She snatched the purse out of my hands and came close to getting her first ass whoopin too.
Someone answered the phone on the third ring. It was Blazack. Before I could tell him what happened, he told me that the Feds got Lil Cal as soon as Dre’ walked out of the house. Cal sold him a brick. Heavy hearted, I sat down in the middle of the floor. Blazack went on to say that he felt like my boy Dre’ had something to do with the bust. Blazack was one of the most dangerous men that I had ever known. It was like he had been born in the wrong era. He was a cold-blooded murderer, who went at life like it was his mission to die. He was the only man I knew that beat three murder raps. He really didn’t have to sell dope. If he walked up to you and asked for something, like an ounce or two, it was best to give it to him or risk getting shot, or have a loved one come up missing. Every real crew had to have a Blazack, he was the enforcer, the man that went into the trenches and did the dirty work. He didn’t aspire to be rich, just enjoyed staying true to the game. Reluctantly, I told him what happened. I could hear his breathing on the phone, a silent threat to wreak havoc on whomever he felt was responsible for setting up Lil Cal. This included me. I felt my heart racing in my chest after I’d finished telling him what happened.
“What took you so fucking long to warn us?” he yelled on the phone.
“Man, I’ve been caught up in all kinds of bull –”
“Fuck that nigga!” he yelled. He wasn’t even tryin’ to hear about the shit I had been going through. “I know where yo old man live at with that big-ass church down there in Sarasota, if you tryin some funny shit –”
“Hold up!” I interrupted. “Don’t go there, don’t go there.” I was tryin to calm him, at the same time, let him know I ain’t nothing nice either when it comes to gunplay.
“Man I’ve been in all kinds of dumb shit. Peep CNN, that’s me running from the police. I would never set ya’ll up.”
“Nigga where you at?” Blazack asked. I didn’t like the tone of his voice. It took a few seconds to answer, I’m sure he noticed. Trina made a face at me as I answered, “I’m in Tallahassee. It’s sweet. I’ve already hit a lick for some grands.”
“Fuck that nigga, you was the one that introduced us to that hot-ass nigga.” Blazack was on some serious death before dishonor shit. That was cool unless the wrath of his anger was directed at you. Trying to stop him was like trying to stop a suicide terrorist. He simply did not care.
“Dre’s grandfather lives in Sarasota,” I blurted out.
“Let’s kidnap that fool!” Blazack said coldly. I didn’t answer, Blazack was crazy like that. One thing was for sure, someone’s family would be receiving an unwanted visit from him.
“Look man, the spot is hot as hell here. Let me come down there until shit cool down and together we can look for that nigga Dre’. You know what they say, three can keep a secret, if two are dead,” Blazack said.
I pondered over his riddle, the math did not come out right, but I owed an allegiance to my nigga Cal. Blazack was his own man, which by code would make him my man, too. At least help him get out of this mess, that I felt responsible for getting him in. We made plans. I was to Western Union him the money to come to Tallahassee. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made in my life.
I walked back to the bed with the feeling a man has when he knows he has just fucked up by not following his first mind.
Trina sat up in bed and the covers fell to her waist. Suddenly, I had an urge to beat in her guts again. She fired up the roach and took two pulls which almost choked her. “Smoke this, it will make you feel better.” I took it, and watched as she padded to the bathroom. Her ass looked like Serena Williams’, only finer. She closed the door, at least I thought she did. I counted out my stash and hid it under the carpet.
She returned smelling like soap and something else sweet. We had an idle conversation as she made the bed, until I suddenly remembered about Dre’, and the likelihood that he had family in Tallahassee, which meant that he could have possibly been hustling there, too.
“You know a nigga named Dre’. Drives a sky blue caddy on dubs?”
She stopped making the bed momentarily as if to think. I admired the gap between her legs as she bent over. She shrugged her shoulders no, but I kind of got the feeling she was lying. We got back in bed. It was a quarter after four in the morning.
After we got cozy, she snuggled up close against me and whispered in my ear like she was still hot and horny.
“Have you ever tried a sixty nine position?” she asked mischievously. He
r hand went under the covers on a mission. I resisted the urge to laugh. Trina was trying to beat me for my head. Oral sex that is.
“I don’t eat pussy.” I lied. I felt her body stiffen and then relax. “You want me to do you again?” She said it like a dare. She held the hard response to her question in her hands. Then she closed her eyes and went into that utopia where women go when they’re being sexy and sweet and it’s as natural for them as breathing. With her eyes closed, she took me on a trek down memory lane.
“I was born in New York. I’m the youngest and only girl. My father has been dead now for about eight years. When he died, my world came crashing down. My mom is African American, and dad Cuban. Word is bond, he taught me so much.” Her eyes popped open, she looked at me as if she were pleading. She continued, “I can cook dope, cut, weigh and sell it. That’s where Nina Brown came in at.” She removed a lock of hair from her forehead, adjusted her pillow and leaned toward me. I had to strain my ears to hear her. While talking, her mind was distant, giving me a piece of her past.
“My father left a trust fund for me after he died. It’s over a quarter of a million dollars. I receive the money annually, but only if I’m in school. My daddy was smart like that. He said, life’s education didn’t guarantee a thing. He wanted me to be street smart, too. He died from AIDS.” She said this somberly as the timbre of her voice changed. “Now my oldest brother has it, and to think we just finished playing Russian Roulette with a loaded dick.” I felt like I had been hit with a low blow. Moments passed and the silence was uncomfortable. As she looked at me, something about her moved me. And now, caught up in the liaison of raw sex, fervid passion and the intimacy of pillow talking, I found myself looking at her the way a man does a woman. I was feeling her like she had just jumped on my chest with spiked heels.
She huffed, “I’m tired of these fake-ass hoes too. Fronting like they down with me just to be seen in my whip.” Just that quick, her mood changed. Her eyes sparkled.
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