by Aija Monique
Shun was drifting a bit in his thoughts. He was ready to jump out of the game just as fast as he’d jumped in. The thought of Porsha crossed his mind more than he would’ve liked to admit as well. He wasn’t one for falling for the mistress. He didn’t know much about Porsha and her background. He just knew she seemed solid and had his best interest at heart. The things she said about Phil were true. He was unstable, but he couldn’t just turn his back on him either.
Frankie jumped into Shun’s train of thought in an attempt to get his head back into the game. “Look, I don’t know what’s up with your boy, but we need to get that shit under control before we move forward.” Frankie waited for a response.
“Agreed,” Shun said, angry that he was even put in such a situation. He couldn’t believe how Junior was acting. It made him look bad. Cyrus was a keeper, provided his mouth could be tamed. However, it was evident that Junior was either up to no good or scary as shit. Either way, he had to be dealt with immediately.
* * *
“Man, what you think they talking about back there?” Junior chimed in as his forehead began to perspire.
Cyrus was looking at him puzzled as ever, while Junior looked high as a kite with lips as white as snow. Cyrus got instantly hot by Junior’s presentation. “Man, what the fuck is wrong wit’ you, nigga? You on that shit?” Cyrus’s eyes grew wide, filled with wonder. “Man, tell me you ain’t on that shit!” He cut his eyes toward Junior and leaned his head close to his shoulder. He was definitely testing him then, invading another man’s personal space. Cyrus felt like beating Junior gruesomely with the butt of his gun. He lifted his chin toward Junior and looked him straight in the eyes. “Nigga, you betta be cool. You fuck this shit up for us, I’m going to kill you myself. I promise.”
“Man, what the fuck you think they talking about? Fuck what I’m on. I’m alert and ready to shoot these fuck boys.”
This time, one of Frankie’s boys heard Junior’s words. “Don’t matter what the boss is talking about. You just be cool, boy.”
“Boy!” Cyrus jumped in, feeling froggy. He didn’t want Junior to think he was protecting him at all. It was just as if Frankie’s clan had disrespected him personally. Since he was standing alongside Junior with the same color skin, the term “boy” didn’t sit well with him.
“You better tell your boy to calm down,” the second of the two flunkies on Frankie’s team announced, raising his gun.
Cyrus immediately started in ready to pounce. He was loud and obnoxious at this point. “Fall back!”
“Naw, fuck this nigga! Let’s pop his ass right here. Right now. I’m tellin’ you, something is not right. They plottin’ on us.” Junior was fucking sweating so hard now there were puddles of water beneath his feet.
It made Cyrus nervous as shit. A man addicted to drugs with a damn gun was reason enough for Cyrus to shoot him, not to mention Frankie’s boys were getting irritated as well.
One of Frankie goons cocked back his weapon and demanded that Cyrus and Junior drop their weapons. Cyrus looked down at his gun, then back at his adversary. “Naw, I’m good. I’m not putting shit down.”
Junior grew very unstable from the demand to drop his weapon. Shun and Frankie finally came barging out of the back office nearly fumbling over each other to find out what all the fuss was about.
“Girls, girls, you’re all pretty,” Frankie shouted, clapping his hands to restore order. “What’s the problem here? Don’t you all like money?”
Cyrus stood with his gun drawn. He didn’t trust the men in front of him or the one standing next to him. All he could think to do was shoot first and ask questions later.
“What y’all talk about back there? I already know all about it. You think you just gon’ kill me. You want to kill me? You got anotha think comin’!” Junior was obviously having some sort of paranoid attack. He waved his gun around, demanding the money and drugs, as if his intention was to rob Frankie.
Shun stepped in front of Junior and placed his hands on Junior’s biceps. “Have you fucking lost your mind? I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, or, better yet, what drug of choice you’re on, but for one, it bet not be ma shit, and two, it bet not be the kind I deal with,” Shun said once he noticed how red and wide-eyed Junior was. “You on that shit?” Shun asked, biting the hell out of his bottom lip. He wanted to kill Junior. It wasn’t a good look claiming to be transporters of drugs and money, and you are a fucking addict. Shun shook Junior’s shoulders and leaned in close to whisper something in his ear. It looked like a scene from The Godfather or something.
Junior wasn’t stable, and he knew it. Shun asked Junior to just lower his weapon and chill out until the deal was made. Only, after Shun’s warning, it further irritated and heightened Junior’s paranoia.
Junior pushed past Shun and pulled his weapon.
Shocked and dismayed, Shun immediately started in. “Junior, what the fuck you doin’, man?” Junior spoke in action and fired three shots in Shun’s direction. Shun was hit twice and knocked down. Cyrus chimed right in, shooting Junior six times at close range. Cyrus was ready to fire away, gearing up to take out Frankie and his clan. Only Cyrus had solved the main issue by omitting Junior from the equation. The fucked-up part in this was that he could have omitted Shun as well.
“Frankie! Frankie! Shun’s hit. We gotta get help.” Cyrus panicked.
CHAPTER 4
Pussy Whipped
Porsha walked into the doors of Kern County Jail with a slight attitude. She wore a skintight black dress with red pumps. Her hair was pulled up in a princess bun, and her breasts were exposed and accented with a red lace bra. Porsha walked with an elegant sway toward the front desk. She was ready for love and war. She started and stopped as she felt a jump in her panties that was unexpected.
Thoughts of Shun’s dick playing with her G-spot made her pussy twitch. Yet, she burned with anger. She took Shun’s rejection harder than she herself expected. She assumed he was ready for love. His business was taking a huge leap toward monetary stability, and all she wanted to do was love and care for him. Her love for money wouldn’t be denied, but she actually cared for Shun. She wouldn’t be ignored either. She could give two shits about Phil. She knew he was bad news. The thing was, he was the closest thing to Shun, and she just wanted to be with him. So second best would just have to do.
Porsha waited for assistance at the window of the clerk’s desk. The clerk was busy filling out some paperwork and had yet to address her. The place was filled with homeless people and drunk men. Porsha had to cover her nose and face to shield from the fumes of vomit and pee.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Porsha straightened her stance and tugged at her black minidress that rode high above her knees. Her dress left little to the imagination, but then again, that was the point. She wasn’t sure how easy Phil was. She knew he wasn’t a disciplined man by his track record. He was in jail based on greed. So he was a man with a weak soul.
“Money,” Porsha said to herself, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Her heels were necessary, but they were beginning to give her hell.
“Ma’am, can I get some assistance, please?” Porsha asked with a hint of irritation. She didn’t want to come off like she was some ghetto hood rat, but she felt some kind of way about being ignored. The clerk was black and thought she was better than the rest of the working class in front of her desk. She was one of those fat, hairy women with a grey goatee, smirking every time she looked up from her computer and notepad. Porsha was getting angry at this point. The clerk’s attitude became a sting in her craw. Her blood was beginning to boil, and nervousness followed. She sure as hell couldn’t be caught by Shun at the jail bailing Phil out. How was she going to explain that shit? Especially after the way she talked about Phil previously, as if he was a walking virus. He was bad news, but if she had to, she would take him. Porsha was good at taking on cases. Phil just needed the right woman to tell him what to do. Honestly, the pussy does that if the woman beh
ind the cat is working it correctly. A man is easily tamed by a woman’s touch. Those with weak spirits, that is.
“How can I help you, ma’am?”
“Well, I’m here to pay the bail for a friend.”
“Friend, huh?”
“Yes, friend!”
“Okay, so what’s the name of this friend?”
“Phil goes by the name of Phil or Philly.”
“Riiiggghht, the innocent one. Then again, all of our inmates are innocent,” the officer commented, amused by her sarcastic undertone. Porsha just stood there with her lips pinched, trying desperately not to speak for fear she would spew something unsavory.
“How much is the bail, ma’am?” Porsha asked, avoiding the general conversation the officer was interested in conducting.
“Two grand, 10 percent!”
Porsha sucked on her teeth as she dug into her purse and pulled out a wad of cash. The officer looked on with a glow in her eyes, but a nasty look of disapproval on her brow. Porsha counted out the money slowly, on purpose, so the officer could get a good look at it. She knew she was itching to ask her where the money came from. She probably thought Phil was her pimp or some shit. Porsha thought to indulge in the officer’s unspoken assumptions, but she hadn’t the time.
“Here!” Porsha slid the money onto the counter. She was sad to see it go, but it was a small price to pay for her investment.
The officer counted the money at least three times before instructing one of the officers to go and fetch Phil.
“If you would just take a seat. It shouldn’t be long. Just fill out these papers.”
Porsha took the clipboard from the officer and headed toward a vacant seat. The eyes were heavy on her. The stench of booze and sex was heavy. Coked out prostitutes hung out on every corner of the room as if marking their territory, while drunken bar hoppers sobered up on the bench. The jail was overcrowded, and Porsha worried about possible disease if she sat down for too long. Sadly, she would have to take a chance because her dogs were barking.
She flipped through a fifteen-page discharge packet, skimming through the questions. Most of them she had no answers for. She didn’t know much about Phil. Porsha filled out as much of the paperwork as she could. She didn’t have the time to outline Phil’s entire life, 90 percent of which she knew nothing about. Shun ranted on just enough for Porsha to pass as a friend of the family.
* * *
“Hey, you!” the officer shouted into Phil’s holding cell.
“Ma cousin here?” Phil jumped up in excitement. He smoothed the front of his jumpsuit with his hands as if to iron out the wrinkles and rubbed his hands together.
“Well, if that sweet piece of ass sitting out front is your cousin, I have a proposition for you.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout, nigga? You betta gon’ wit’ that gay shit, brah. I don’t give a damn if you are the law.” Phil was furious that the officer had made a gay pass at him and his cousin Shun. He quickly tried to regain his composure as he thought that perhaps the officer was just trying to get a rise out of him.
The officer just laughed at Phil. He was serious about the woman, however, so he decided to inquire about the lady in the lobby once more.
“So who is the chick, your ho, your baby mama? Who?”
Phil didn’t respond this time. He just stood there. He had his head and chin turned up and his nose flared as the officer took off his handcuffs and threw him his plastic bag with his belongings in them. Phil seemed to undress in one swoop. He was beaming, skinning, and grinning like a kid in a candy store. He hadn’t done any real time but felt like he had been absent from civilization for a few years at least.
Phil dug through the bag a few times with a questionable look on his face. “Y’all got me for my bread and watch, I see. It’s good!” Phil could feel the heat in his chest rise. It fell quickly. His only mission was to get home, take a long shower, and set on the hunt for his drugs and money.
He tossed the jumpsuit in the corner of his cell and followed the officer out into the discharge area. He signed his name hurriedly and searched the room for Shun.
Porsha noticed Phil and began refreshing her makeup. She wasn’t sure he would remember her, but she wanted to make a good impression on him. Phil frequented the club where she worked, but she never had the pleasure of dancing for him. He was too loud for her, always throwing around singles as if they were hundreds.
The girls in the club actually called Shun “Hunnid.” All he rolled with was a stack of hundred-dollar bills. He would spend a bill on drinks, a bill on a girl, but he never engaged with anyone on a sociable level until Porsha came along. Both Shun and Porsha would agree that he was better sober. His mental devices were well tampered with under the influence. He was a horrible drunk.
Phil looked around the room once again. He was beginning to get upset.
“Who you say made my bail again?” Phil asked the officer.
“Hey, Phil.” Porsha threw her arm up and sashayed toward Phil and the officer.
“That her. She the piece of ass of I was telling you about,” the officer grunted and cleared his throat as he lowered his chin and watched Porsha’s every move while she approached.
“Ah, man, naw, that’s the broad from the club. I wonder what the fuck she doin’ here?” Phil leaned in and commented under his breath as if the officer was one of his boys. Noticing his slip in judgment, Phil looked alarmed at the officer, hoping he hadn’t paid too much attention to his last statement.
“Well, since you seem to be having some difficulties with mating this one, I’ll take her off your hands.”
Phil didn’t respond to the officer; instead, he took to eying Porsha himself in an effort to pick apart her motives.
“You ready?” Porsha stood clutching her phone, scrolling from screen to screen and reading text messages as if she was following the directions of someone. “Yessss, damn, I told you I would,” Porsha recited aloud as she hurriedly texted back with a look of frustration.
Phil’s eyes were dead on hers, waiting for the deceit to give her away. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Porsha waved good-bye to the officer who couldn’t seem to stop staring at her breasts protruding from the top of her black minidress. Porsha’s nipples were well defined. She couldn’t hide her excitement. She was so wet she feared her juices may soon drip down her legs. It was crazy how the thought of Shun’s touch could nearly bring her to come in public. Porsha took in a deep breath as she felt her clit harden and tickle the satin in her panties.
“Well, let’s go,” she said, erotically exhaling with a slight moan that stroked Phil’s interest to probe. Porsha turned on her heel and led the way to her car.
Phil hopped in the car with her, exercising very little judgment in the matter. First question that should have probed his mind was simple. Why the hell was this broad picking him up from jail? Second, where the fuck was Shun? Third thing, a bitch comes out of the woodwork from a club—red flag automatically. What did she need? Who was she fuckin’ with? Did he send her? Lastly, where the fuck was his loot? Thing was, he had better rock and roll with ole girl, temporarily, at least. Perhaps she was the smoke screen he needed to keep his affairs on the low.
Porsha switched around to the back of her whip and popped open the trunk. Phil was chill, which was a surprise to her. His ass was loud and obnoxious. That much she knew. She was waiting for him to lay into her. Her motives were clear, and the story she had for him was clear as well. It was simple. Shun said he wasn’t fuckin’ with him, and she found the shit foul. So she came to his rescue and thought he should know that his cousin was running major drug sales in not only corporate America, but in the hood. Territories Phil deemed as his own. The plot was thick as shit. She could care less cause, real talk. She would have been more loyal than a muthafucka to Shun, but he was playing games like his shit was platinum or somethin’.
Porsha came around to the driver’s seat and got in. She immediately started in on P
hil, placing her hands on his lap and traveling close to his dick. Phil’s leg tensed. He could feel his shit rise. He cursed under his breath. He knew his ass was in trouble. The pussy was a severe problem he had yet to get a grip on. He already had a gang of baby mamas running around the hood.
His main bitch, however, was this nerd chick who attended California State University, Fresno. He got to see her only on holidays and a few times during the year when he drove up there to surprise her. More for his own benefit. He was scared of his attachment to Monica. He wasn’t sure if she was this Goodie Two-shoes and whether he could trust her with his life.
In all honesty, Phil wasn’t trying to get caught up with none of them hoes. The baby mama drama was a bit much considering he had drugs to sell, money to make, and bitches to fuck. His current girl was definitely mainstream pussy. Pussy he could bring home to moms—if he had one.
Phil’s mom had been dead for ten years on account of a drug overdose, and his dad was his uncle, so his family was full of dysfunction. Love was overrated. The sound of it scared the shit out of ’im. He couldn’t deny his feelings for Monica, which was the main reason he kept a close watch on her. He seriously wanted to wife Monica when the time was right, but for now, he was cool with her doing the school thing while he stacked his chips.
Phil was deep in thought but was distracted by Porsha’s fondling and attempt to fuck him right in the jail parking lot. It was a dark underground parking structure, so to each his own. He hadn’t had any pussy in over seventy-two hours, and he was beginning to wonder what hers tasted like and how good her pussy would feel choking the shit out of his dick.