by Sa'id Salaam
Dope Girl:
The Beginning
Sa’id Salaam
© 2013 Sa'id Salaam
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.
Cover Design: Dynasty cover me
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Dedicated to Zakiyyah Salaam
Acknowledgements
First all praise is for Allah Lord of everything.
Mommy Deidra, Grandma Rainey, Daughter Jessica, Sons Erv-G, and Ramel J aka Doobie daddy, The grands Gavin and Aliya.
Sister Satira, Brothers William, Carl, Mark, Akia. Cousins, Aunts, Uncles, Nieces and Nephews.
My fellow authors especially but not limited to: Amira Queenpen, Treasure Blue, K’wan, Ashley and Jacquavious, Young Lit, Leo Sullivan, Author Quianna (Salaams Sister), Ms. Shan, Hood Chronicles, Nika Michelle, Marie Norfleet, Kelvin Jackson, Fire and Ice, Sabrina Eubanks, Katavious Ellis, Rasheed, Chrishawn Simpson, Author LaRedeaux, Tremaine Johnson, Julia Press Simsons, Mike-O, Patron Gold, Tina Nance, Jerrice Owens, Arabia Dover, Joe Awsum, Felisha Bradshaw, niecy coulture, Paige Green, Cole Hart, David Weaver, Angela Day, Eyone Willians, Taquila Thompson, The ladies of OOSA, DC bookdiva, Cash Money Content, and errbody else.
Renee Lamb, Chuncky, Farryn Grant, Stephanie Tarrer, Judith Sims, Aniya Brown, Sharon Lady Shay, Nicole Santa Cruz, Detra Young, Zaneta Powell, Sandy “The Book- Connoisseur” Barrett Sims, Swiperda Foxest, Denise (Aunt DG) Gilliam, Gabrielle Dotson, Dee Boggess, Katrice Mathis, Kitty Galore, Roslyn Reed, Tee-Tee Samuels, Dawn Mellette, Christina, Roneesha Wynn, Shemika Jones Lee O’neil, Kenisha Parker, Erica Black butterfly Hale, Darke N Lovely, Stephanie Thompson, Michelle Rawls, Adrienne Jones, Papaya, La La, Christina Willians, Tampeka Lester, Marcia Benson, and everyone I’m forgetting right now.
My Editor the lovelySandy “The Book- Connoisseur” Barrett Sims, Thanks for your time energy and attention to detail.
Andrew (Mezan) Mayes, Nichole Kagee, both Abdul Qawi (s), Abdullah Hakim, Amin,My dude Yi you came through in the ninth inning and helped more than you know!, Jihad, Haleem, Rafi, Adul Nur, B-5, Dro, Bop, Ali, Rasheed, Abdur-Rasheed (J.u.), 1440, Basir, Nasir, Amir, Amira, Adla Berry, Abu Na’eem, April Na’eema, Aminah, Yara Umm Shahadah,.
Peace….
In the name of God, most gracious, most merciful
By the token of time.
Verily mankind is in loss.
Except for those who believe and do righteous deeds, and recommend each other to truth, and recommend each other to patience.
Chapter 1
Kathy Johnson was a whore long before she had ever gotten paid for sex. As a young girl she sought out laps that paid to be sat in. She did quite well as a child and always had money for candy and treats.
When puberty hit, she filled out in all the right places and she was in high demand. She would gladly give it up to the boys just because she liked sex and loved attention. She was in such high demand, that one boy had only offered a few dollars to skip the long line leading to her vagina. That offer opened up a whole new world.
Boys paid what they could, but once the men of the small town got wind of the fine young thing who fucked for free, they wanted in as well, literally.
Kathy was Jet black and built for speed. She was too poor for perms, but the head full of thick course hair only added to her appeal.
Not to mention, the high temperatures in the Mississippi Delta called for as little clothing as possible. The tiny shorts showcasing a lovely mound of black ass cleavage could not be ignored.
Soon, she was fucking every day, except for her monthly cycle. That was known locally as “Head Week”. The fee for admission varied from a few dollars here or a ride over there. Whatever was needed could be easily obtained with a spread of her big pretty thighs. Practice makes perfect, and her head was soon the stuff legends were made of. She had what’s referred to down south as ‘fiyah head’.
A local dope boy called Skee-bo happened across some of that good head and put her on his payroll. She would sit around the trap house with him listening to the rapper D-Lite or watching Animal on DVD, and giving dynamite blow jobs on call. She was like ‘on demand’; men would die for a blow job button on the remote. Industry would come to a grinding halt if such a thing were ever invented.
Skee-bo decided to save a little cash, and instead, paid her in crack. It took a little talking into and training, but once she’d gotten that first blast the game had changed.
Fucking for favors was gone with the wind. It now required hard cash to pay for hard rock to handle your hard cock. She would stay in the trap houses for weeks on end sexing and smoking.
Her sweet-sixteenth birthday was spent with her being passed around a crack house. It would have been sad, but she was so far out of touch she didn’t know what month it was.
Kathy wasn’t the only teen crack whore in town. Her friend Jahilya followed her into the cesspool she called “life”, and was soon in the trenches of drug addiction and prostitution. They were the Cagney and Lacy of crack whores.
Pussy is, and always has been a commodity, and as such falls prey to the laws of supply and demand. When the demand for sex was low and the dick supply dwindled, the girls turned to stealing.
The ebb and flow of customers was directly influenced by the paydays of the local industries. The plants paid on the 1st and the 15th and business boomed. Other times of the month, not so much.
“Ooh I know!” Jahilya announced triumphantly as she did when inspiration struck. The girl was dumb, so an idea, any idea, was news. “We can go down to the department store and steal!”
Stealing from the small towns, even smaller department stores was a silly act of desperation. For one, they didn’t carry much of anything of value, then, everyone knew everyone, their mothers, fathers, grandmothers, etc, etc…
“Ok!” Kathy eagerly agreed, and off they went.
“Hey Kay, how’s your mama?” The overweight and under worked security guard inquired cheerfully upon seeing the girls enter. She, like everyone else in town, was extremely fond of her father Deacon Johnson and mother Sister Clara.
“Fine ma’am,” Kathy guessed. She hadn’t been home and had no clue on how they were doing.
In this small town everyone knew everyone else’s business which made the guard wonder what Kathy was doing in the store; she certainly wasn’t shopping.
Her suspicions proved true as she discreetly followed the wayward girls through the aisles. The amateur thieves stole things they liked instead of stuff that could be traded for the cash that could be traded for dope that would trade their sobriety for inebriation.
She could only shake her head as she watched them conceal trinkets under their skimpy clothing. The guard summoned the police who responded quickly in the relatively crime free town.
“This is easy!” Jahilya cheered as they waddled, laden with goods towards the front door.
“I know right! Let’s drop this stuff off and come back for more!” Kathy agreed.
“Hey mista Mann,” they sang sweetly as they saw the local beat cop posted outside. He had tricked with both girls before and hated what was coming next.
“Y’all gals stealing?” He asked, looking at the bulge in their clothing.
“No,” the girls sang again in unison.
“Well, Ms. Judy seems to thank different, y’all go back inside.”
They were taken to a back office and relieved of the stolen merchandise. Officer Mann was rock hard at the thought of sexing them both for letting them off with a firm warning. If Ms. Jud
y hadn’t alerted the manager he would have spent the rest of his shift with the two girls.
The manager Mrs. Tombs knew the two tramps were the reason her husband brought home less than his take- home pay. Not to mention, he didn’t have any use for her after tricking with them.
“I want these girls arrested!” she demanded, deflating the cop’s penis. “I will personally come by and sign a statement. A message must be sent!”
The county judge had pity on the petty thieves. He knew they both came from broken homes and couldn’t pay bail or fines. Not broken homes as in divorced, but broke as in nobody had much money, especially not money to waste on this foolishness.
“I sentence you girls to a year probation, stay out of trouble, and you can stay out of the jail!” He boomed down on the girls.
It was of course an exercise of futility. The notion of putting a drug addict on probation was built upon the same platform of the boomerang. No matter how hard or far you threw it, it was coming right back.
Knowing that the terms of the probation meant being drug free, the girls were immediately fugitives. Longs Mississippi didn’t have many fugitives so they were high on the list.
No one searched for the girls harder than Officer Mann. He had no plans on cuffing them when he caught up with them; he wanted to fuck them both. That’s exactly what he did when fate finally intertwined their paths.
“Hey gals!” Don’t y’all run, ya hear!” The cop said as he lucked up on both of them.
They had just left the local trap house with several sucked dicks worth of crack in their pockets. Instinct told them to run, but the look in the deputies eyes told them his motive.
“Yes sir,” they said together, as if trained.
“Y’all gals know y’all in trouble. The Judge issued warrants for the both of you,” he said sounding all official, even though his dick was so hard it hurt. “Hop on in and let’s see can we work something out.”
“Okay,” they sang and hopped in the police car.
The ‘something’ the cop wanted to work out was their firm young bodies. He took them over to a secluded field and took turns fucking them between rows of turnip and mustard greens.
Deputy Mann worked overtime that night. The citizens of Longs Mississippi were on their own that night. The deed grew tedious for the girls with dope on hand demanding to be smoked. Finally, the cop burst one last nut and was satisfied.
“Ok, I’ma let you gals go, but y’all steer clear of town and ‘specially the sto’,” he said sternly. “I’ll meet y’all right back here on Saturday.”
“Not for free you won’t,” Kathy said under her breath, as she waved goodbye. They decided they would smoke a few rocks right there before heading back to town.
“We go now?” The lead migrant worker asked with an eager smile and fist full of dollars. He and several others heard the sounds of sex from their cabins and had gone out to investigate.
When they saw the cop giving the girls the business, they wanted to give them some business too. They rushed back to the cabin and collected what didn’t get wired to El Salvador.
“Eww no!” Jahilya frowned at the thought of having sex with the field hands. She was young enough to still be in the ‘cute boy’ stage and ignored the money in their hands.
Kathy followed her friend and turned the men down. They smoked their little rocks, and went back in search of more cocks. The girls walked back to town.
Jahilya’s luck took a turn for the worst, and she was caught by the towns black cop deputy, Thom; Uncle Thom, as he was known because he hated black folks. He couldn’t even stand looking in the mirror because of that black bastard staring back at him.
“Guess I’ll suck yo’ thang for you,” Jahilya said in surrender. That gave her another charge of solicitation.
“I warned ya,” The Judge said sympathetically. Since she was back in the system he had no choice but to revoke her probation.
She was actually blessed for the year in prison the Judge sentenced her to. It was a reprieve of sorts and served to save her from herself. It was just enough time to break the addiction that would have ultimately, otherwise killed her.
Kathy on the other hand wasn’t so lucky. She remained free to destroy herself. When the small police force made it their business to clear their only outstanding warrant, they turned up the heat.
“Don’t brang yo’ ass round here no more,” the dope boy warned when she stopped to cop. “Them folks been by here err’ day looking for you.”
He took her money but made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. It was enough that the cops turned a blind eye to his dealing, but he would not harbor a fugitive. He, like the bootlegger and whore house, was tolerated. In America everyone has a vice, so why be a hypocrite?
Deputy Mann liked young black girls, while Uncle Thom liked kissing white people’s pink asses. The judge liked little boys, and the Sheriff wore panties under his uniform;only in America.
Kathy wandered aimlessly until she remembered the men in the fields. She made a bee line to the migrant workers with cash andthey welcomed her opened legs with opened arms.
The men spent their left over earnings and free time ‘inside’ of Kathy’s vagina. She had virtually moved into the cabin with the twenty or so men. They were allowed to run a tab in her and pay on Fridays. One was sent to buy drugs and beer for the weekend parties.
Kathy stayed with the ‘Mexicans’ for a week. Just as many ignorant people refer to all Orientals as Chinese,she referred to all the Hispanic men as Mexicans.
In fact, many of the men who traveled South picking crops were from South and Central America. North Americans had become far too uppity to pick the locals’ crops, especially the cotton. You couldn’t pay black folks to pick cotton in this day and age. Fuck that, wear some wool, nobody picking cotton. The foreigners were tough like that. They picked the cotton, strawberries and whatever else God pushed from the ground to feed mankind.
They did it for meager pay, most which went south to support their families. Kathy got what was left. Her vagina caliente and ‘cerveza frio’ were the main sources of entertainment.
Pedro Juan Salazar was the only one of the men who wouldn’t touch the girl. He was a proud man, and he was disgusted by the loose young girl. Honor and dignity were high on his list of values. He had a wife and family waiting on him to collect enough money so he’d be able to send for them.
In his native country Columbia, Pedro was a soldier, a revolutionist. He was a leader of an insurgency against the tyrannical government, and as such, a target.
He fled in the middle of the night as the army forces swept down on his village. After a month of surviving in the jungle, he emerged tired, hungry and more determined than ever.
Pedro, along with a couple dozen men set out on foot in search of a better life for their families. Their destination was America, thousands of miles to the north. They walked, hitched rides on rail cars, and swam when necessary. By the time they’d reached Mexico, what started out as dozens, were now two. The rest had died trying.
His story, while interesting, is not the focus of the story. It just shows the determination and guts of his bloodline. He came from a long line of warriors and subsequently fathered one.
Pedro, almost always excused himself when the Kathy train was initiated. He would walk alone in the fields as the men took turns with the black whore.
It was sickness and fate that managed to get Pedro and Kathy alone. She felt so bad for him lying on his cot sick from fever, that she did her best to nurse him back to being healthy.
Pedro sipped the water she offered and thanked her with a weak smile. Kathy mistook the only semblance of friendship he’d ever offered to heart. His erection was hot from fever as she slid down onto it.
It only took a few rocks of her hips to get him to ejaculate inside of her. Just as he had survived the brutal trek from one continent to the next, it was his sperm that fought its way through the semen soup in the young whore’s wom
b. It, out of the millions, found and burrowed inside of her just released egg.
Fate, it was fate that took Pedro in his sleep just as life was formed in Kathy. The migrant workers buried their comrade in a field set aside to plant the bodies of expendable workers.
A day later, a truck had come to escort them off to their next crop in the next state. A valiant protest to bring Kathy along fell on deaf ears. The sexual equivalent of a water boy was left behind.
****
“We gotta get that child some help,” Mrs. Johnson whispered, as Kathy lay comatose on the sofa. It was needless to whisper because a marching band wouldn’t wake the dead tired girl.
“I’m finna get her some help alright?” The deacon replied ominously.
“Who you calling?” His wife demanded, as he angrily dialed.
“Hey sheriff this is Deacon Johnson,” he replied, answering the question and announcing his call. “Yes sir as a matter fact we have. She’s here now.”
Again, fate intervened and the ‘Uncle Thom’ deputy, Thom, answered the call. Deputy Mann wanted to take the call but was clear across the county. Good thing too, because she probably would have ‘escaped’ from Officer Mann,gotten lose, and ran off with a mouth full of “cum” if it were left to him.
“Guess I gotta give you the same thing I gave your lil buddy,” the judge reckoned when Kathy was brought in front of him. “One year in state custody!”
The year-long sentence would mean the child she didn’t know yet would be born into custody. At least it would be born. If left on the streets, it would have been aborted before she had ever known she was pregnant.
Of course, her popping up pregnant while incarcerated churned the rumor mill. Speculation ran wild as to who fathered the child. That was the question on Kathy’s mind too.
With her being a ward of the state, the abortion she so desperately sought was beyond her reach. She, like everyone else would just have to wait until the child was born to start the second round of guessing.