by Lena Scott
The dark-skinned boy watched her open the package. “I didn’t know folks still took it raw like this.”
Tanqueray was upset, but not for long, once she saw that Dub Dub hadn’t even touched it. Her guess was he couldn’t flip it and had sent it back, which was fine, because he sent it back intact. She’d be able to explain this little bit being gone, since Omar knew she dabbled from time to time.
She poured the contents from one of the small vials onto a mirror. “That’s because you only know ghetto folks . . . be rocking it up and getting crunked, sucking on the glass dick and shit.” She rolled a one hundred-dollar bill up tight. Up her nose the white powder went. “Shit!” She quickly held her nostrils and jerked her head back.
Tanqueray noticed the boys were watching with interest. “I don’t play with toys like that.” Holding out the bill, she offered the light-skinned boy a line. “Go on, try it.” Then she said to the darker boy, “And then you.” She grinned. “I mean, I always tip. Since I didn’t get no money, this is the best I can do.”
The boys quickly accepted the offer, dropping to the plush carpet and moving up close to the coffee table.
The darker boy, feeling the high immediately, threw himself back on the plush carpet and yelped, “I ain’t never done that.”
“Ain’t nothing but a thang,” the lighter boy purred, clearly having done blow before. He looked at Tanqueray with new eyes—enhanced vision.
She recognized the look and quickly shared another line with him. By then he had moved up close and personal with her on the sofa, looking her in the eyes, moving up on her, kissing her. If the cocaine was true to its magic, he was probably harder than stone right about now.
“You hella fine,” he told her. It was as if he could sense her sexual needs. “And this shit done got me hornier than a mug,” he whispered between kisses. “You got somebody coming home?”
“And if I do?”
“Then he gon’ have to wait until I get finished,” he said, climbing on her.
The darker boy opened his eyes to see Tanqueray wriggling from her tight jeans. “Aww shit! Y’all up here fuckin’? We gon’ do a threesome? I’m down!”
“Hell nah, nigga. We ain’t in France! Go in the game room.” Tanqueray pointed before breaking into a wicked giggle.
The darker boy quickly followed her long acrylic-tip index finger across the large tiled floor toward a sunken room and down the two steps leading to a wide-screen TV.
Tanqueray and the lighter skinned dude, who had dropped his sagging Sean Johns to the floor, caught each other in a tight grip.
“What’s your name?”
He pushed from the tight embrace and pulled off his jersey, exposing the two F’s tattooed on his chest. Pointing to one he smiled.
Tanqueray swooned at sight of his sexy mouth gem, his tight body, and sexy tats. He was hotter than the weather outside.
“Fine.” He said, before pointing at the other F. “Finer.” He then pointed in the middle of his smooth hairless chest, “Finest,” he said, before heading south down Tanqueray’s firm athletic body. On his way he noticed the tattoo at her hip joint. He touched it with his finger. “Sugar?” He looked up at her. “What does that mean?”
She grinned. “What you think, nigga?”
“I guess yo’ man is the only one could verify that though,” he said, laughing.
“Please, his dick ain’t gold, not like this.” Tanqueray pulled away the front of the thong, exposing her gold public hair. “Hell, I’ll give a nigga diabetes.”
Finest grinned widely, showing off his dimples that deeply creased his cheek. He was indeed a cutie. Quickly he reached into his sweats to retrieve his bragging rights. He was well endowed, more than Tanqueray had imagined.
“Ohhh shit!” She giggled. “That looks painful.”
“Baby, it’s far from painful. Shit. I’ll have you putting your feet through the damn ceiling, Suga.”
“So you say.”
“Aww shit! Then it’s on, bitch!” Finest quickly ripped the thong completely off and licked her like a lollipop, cleaning her clock, sneezing in her bushes.
Tanqueray spread and raised her legs, kicking off one shoe, freeing her foot from the jeans, to give him free rein. He was making it good. She actually had to give him a little attention by holding herself open for him to get at the button that would make this game worth it. She grabbed his long hair, thrusting herself toward his mouth, while he sucked hungrily on her clit.
“Yeah, yeah, baby,” he groaned. “Das some sho’ nuff sugar.”
Tanqueray was losing her grip. She wanted something inside her, a finger, a foot, a dick, something. But surely she couldn’t let this little nigga hit it. He was the delivery-man. But it had been so long. Tanqueray squealed, trembling at the onset of an orgasm. She couldn’t believe she was having one. Wow!
“Can y’all keep it down?” the other boy called from the den, cranking up the sound.
It had been a while since her man Omar had made it good like this, with his ol’ lick-it-and-quit-it ass. She’d have to imagine hard and quick to feel any kind of goodness when he worked his three licks to the center.
Finest stood now, exposing his manhood, which stood at attention and was saluting her, calling her by name.
Tannnnquerrrraayyyyy, take it! Take it all!
Pushing her down on the sofa, Finest jumped in her lap and was down in it within a second, bouncing on her like a pogo stick.
“Damnnnnnnn! It’s gooood,” she squealed.
“I know that, bitch!” he answered, growling and gripping her hips as if he hadn’t laid the pipe in years. He was a beast and she loved it.
“I got your bitch!” she tried to protest, yet squealing, cooing between each word.
Finest worked his dick beyond well. It was damn good. Up, down, and all around, her hips swiveled, making sure not a spot was missed. He bit her left breast and then suckled on her right one like a hungry runt needing to get at what was left.
“Ohhhhhh shiiiiiiit,” she finally cried out, and her eyes rolled back in her head.
Pulling out, he rolled her off the sofa and onto the floor. “Give it to me. Give me that ass bitch,” he growled.
Tanqueray obeyed like a virgin eager for something new. Only, this wasn’t new for her. It had just been a while.
He entered her from behind as if on a mission, spanking her smooth butt cheek before clawing at her thighs with both hands, pulling her closer, grinding deep inside her. He was “putting ugly on it.” She could tell by the way he was moaning, huffing, and puffing.
Reaching between her thighs, she gently squeezed his tight balls, easing them away from his body, so as to delay his coming just a minute longer.
Dammit! I’m not supposed to be enjoying this shit. “Oh . . . oh . . . oooohh . . . shiiiiiit!” Tanqueray screamed out as another orgasm took over. This one was bigger than the last and left her nearly breathless. She grabbed the carpet now, hanging on for dear life, her butt in the air, as he rocked her forward, pushing it in as far as it would go. In a minute she was gonna get on her back. It was just that good. She arched her back high and dipped low, so he could get it way up in there.
“Aw shit! You want the dick, don’t choo, girl?” he said, taking advantage of her position and traveling up the river.
She rolled on her back, so she could see Finest’s face as he pleasured the both of them. Just as she imaged, he was beautiful. His face wasn’t even sweaty. He could go all night, she thought.
“Yeah, and you know I wanted this pussy soon as I walked in here today, huh?” He pulled her legs over his shoulders now and was thrusting harder and deeper. “And now”—he paused, before thrusting double-time and then once more deep within her cavern for good measure, lingering and with a little twist at the end—“I gotta go,” he said as he came full force inside her, closing his eyes for just a moment, shuddering slightly.
“Y’all niggas is nasty as hell!” Floyd stepped up the stairs back into t
he living room, where Tanqueray lay wide-legged, grinning and exposed for all to see. He’d caught the tail end of the performance and was attempting to push down his erection. He’d been jacking off like a machine and was apparently about to come on himself.
Tanqueray could see his achy-looking bump under his jogging pants. Sorry, you get no love here, she thought.
One more line of cocaine disappeared up Finest’s nostrils after he pulled back on his jeans.
After pulling on her jeans and tying her halter-back together, Tanqueray offered Floyd another hit as well, but he refused. Apparently it wasn’t his thing. So be it, she thought, sucking up another line herself and grinning at Finest. “Thanks for the, umm, delivery.”
“Nice doing business with you, my dear.” Finest offered a two-finger salute, and he and Floyd headed out of the condo.
Tanqueray smiled to herself the rest of the day, thinking about that dude. “Finest,” she heard herself say out loud.
Despite what people thought about her, she had never done anything like that before. She liked her coke, but all that freaky sex, you could keep it. Being somewhat of a tomboy, she was more into boosting with her brothers, scoring pot, and making that gouda, and was slow to get involved with boys on a sexual level. But when she did find somebody who brought a little joy between her thighs, it was on. Still that didn’t make her a ho, but for some reason, Omar thought she was.
She picked up her latest copy of Essence and went back to wasting the afternoon. Just that momentary thought about Omar must have willed him up because, soon after, he pulled into the driveway. He drove a Benz, not the newest one, which was embarrassing as hell, but what’s a black man to do?
Tanqueray fell back from the window, where she had peeked out after hearing the sound of his car pulling in. She felt good, considering all the crap she had on her mind—Sinclair, Debonair. Even Unique had filled her dreams the night before. I wonder why them niggas is on my mind? Surely she was out for good and wasn’t planning to go back to the ghetto, not the P, not the West End, none of it. I’m moving on up!
Sure she’d gone by the house on the first to see what was what over there, but there was nothing she could do about the bills and all that other bad air. All she could do was work from this end. She’d tried to invest with Dub Dub, but that didn’t work out. Fuck it! she thought. I’ll worry about that shit later.
Since moving in with Omar a few months back, Tanqueray had tried not to think about the Palemos much. Although, as much as she wanted to front, the Palemos was on the top of her brain all the time because, when she wasn’t thinking about home, she was facing Omar and the jacked-up life she had with him.
Omar was a prick, and he didn’t fuck good. As a matter of fact, unless you count him eating pussy, he didn’t fuck at all. But Omar bought her pretty things, and she was digging that—$1800 pink Escada shoes and matching bag. Tanqueray hated to think she was being pimped for her clothes, shoes, nails, and hair. But looking and feeling good was important. Tanqueray was born poor and lived poor her whole life, but did that mean she had to think poor? That she had to look poor? Hell nah. So she was going for it.
Truth be told, Omar wasn’t nothing but a pimp. Not one of those East Coast pimps who pulled up in a “biggo” Cadillac and wore big rings and gold teeth, but pimp he was, even though he didn’t want to admit it. Having taken over a busted escort service from his brother that wasn’t making him a dime, Omar put his brains to working a couple of years ago and started allowing his escorts to have sex with the clients. Now, he made his living trading cunts for cash.
He’d met Tanqueray when she was stripping in a club. He was there pimping his girls to the customers, until Murphy, the club owner, kicked his pimp ass out. Tanqueray was out back, taking a smoke break, when she saw it all go down. But, damn, if he didn’t take one of the top dancers, Shantel, with him, and they left in a limo.
The next time he showed up, you bet Tanqueray left with him, not as his ho, but as his girlfriend. I don’t care what he does, he doesn’t pimp me! Don’t nobody call me a ho. Tanqueray had repeated this montra many times. No man controls me. No man owns me. No man calls me a ho. And many times she’d argued with Omar on that very topic, which was why he slapped her around. Even though she fucked him that night in the limo, that was for her gratification, not his. She went with him that night for her good, not his. And now, look, she was living in the condo, not Shantel. He had it twisted big time.
Omar made a drink and went in the bedroom to change clothes for the umpteenth time today. He changed his clothes every time he walked in the door from outside. It was almost as if he had some weird fetish about the air outside being on him.
He walked back in the living room from the bedroom. “There is a party tonight for some very important people coming to town, and I want you to go.”
Tanqueray ignored him, continuing to read her latest Louis Vuitton catalog, which she had moved on to after Essence and Jet.
Omar moved within her eyesight. “Did you hear me?”
“Can you believe somebody would actually pay sixteen hunerd dollars for an ink pen? I wonder what else it does? I mean, it would have to eat my pussy real good before I spend that kind of money. How about you?” Tanqueray looked up as if just noticing his presence.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I did. Get one of your hoes to go. I’m busy.”
“Shantel is sick, and I can’t get anyone to go that can carry herself like a professional, but you.”
Tanqueray stood up, slamming her magazine into the seat. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going. I’m not a trick, a ho, or a low-class working girl. I’m a classy bitch who ain’t gonna go to no party and let no fat white man paw all over me, begging me to suck his dick, or dance in his lap. Uh-uh, no.” She wagged her fresh manicured finger in Omar’s face.
Her high was leaving fast. She wanted to pull out the rest of her stash left from under the cushion, but then Omar would be asking how she got it, and frankly, she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. She’d had an uncomfortable feeling about that whole deal with Dub Dub anyway, but since nothing had come up, she was trying to just let it go.
Omar’s face tightened. “Tang, don’t start with me. I’ve have been trying for a long time to treat you different than any other female in my life. Bitch, you keep this up, and our little situation here will have to change.”
“What situation? You act like you’re keeping me here. I’m with you because I want to be here. I actually like you, Omar,” she said, taking on a condescending tone. “But, look here, you keep treating me like a ho, and well, you’re right . . . things here are gonna have to change, if you keep that up.”
Omar stood stiff for a moment. Tanqueray loved talking him into a circle. She felt he was stupid and played him like a fiddle most of the time, which was probably another reason he beat on her, always an out for dumb people. But, thank goodness, he was a dumb man with money.
“Look, I know you are not threatening me, stank-ass bitch.” He was in her face now, gripping her hard by the arms.
She looked at his hands, and the tight clutch he had on her. “You gonna bruise me? How is that gonna look for your important white clients to see your escorts all beat up? You gonna just appear to be some dumb black pimp daddy, slapping your shit around, not caring about nothing. You want that?”
Again she spun his head and left him questioning himself. He loosened his grip.
“Exactly.” Tanqueray wasn’t a fool. She knew how far to go and figured she had reached her limit. It was time to try switching gears now. “Now, if I go tonight, you gonna do something special for me?” She moved away from him and headed back to the large recliner she had been lounging in. There, she bent over slowly, making sure he got a bird’s-eye view of her ass. He loved her butt. It was her best banking asset.
“Special?” he asked, softening his tone.
“Yeah, I mean, what if that fat fuck wants to get on me
, and I do it?”
“I’m not telling you to fuck ’im. Matter of fact, I don’t think I want you to.”
“But you know he’s gonna wanna fuck me. They all do.”
Tanqueray knew the conversation was going to make him horny. He’d tried this move before, sending her out to work a party, but she wanted no parts of that mess. Dancing was good enough for her, and she brought in a lot of money just working the pole. She was a stripper when they’d met and wanted that to be the only title on her resume. She’d be naked for anybody for her own money, but fuckin’ for somebody else’s pocket . . . no, she wasn’t having it. She would rather just lay up under Omar and get all the benefits of being a ho without really hoin’ and for the last few months, it had worked. Sort of.
She turned to him. “They all want to fuck me,” she said, moving her lips slowly as she formed the F-word. It was like hypnotism, watching him move toward her. You’re so easy. She slid into his embrace “Yeah, baby, why don’t you fuck me first?” she whispered, her lips moving on his cheek.
She could feel his hands roaming her backside, sliding into her jeans and squeezing her ass.
She wrapped her arms around his neck to allow him to do what he wanted inside her clothing. He had a clothes fetish, and liked doing freaky shit with her toes and stuff like that. First, he would take off her shoes and suck on her toes, licking each one slowly. Then he would pull off her pants, but not her thong. She would always wear a thong with some kind of jewel or sparkle. He liked sparkles, but what he liked better was an edible thong, which she had on now. He’d then put her shoes back on, nibbling away at the thong until he opened the narrow crotch, exposing her golden clump. She’d dyed her pubic hair golden one afternoon on a whim before going on stage, and the men went nuts, so she kept it that way.