Back home I could walk in any shop from Campostella to Five Points, E.O.V. to Berkley Commons, sit down and they’d do a nigga right. Out here was a different story. I went in the shop looking for the dude who hooked me up last week and he done bounced, phone cut off and everything. The new cat looked sketchy as hell, but we had that party so I tested it out.
Sitting in the barber chair, I planned and ran through every way all the roads could intersect. The record in my head kept skipping, and my first order of business quickly became finding a new barber. This nigga kept fuckin’ up my train of thought by putting his stank pinky on my upper lip to balance the clippers. When he wasn’t doing that, he was completely disregarding all the personal-space boundaries every man is supposed to abide by no matter what. He was straddling my legs or pressing his meat up against my forearm. My head was on my shoulders; how hard was it to reach across and cut? I shifted so many times it was a wonder my shit wasn’t fucked up by the time he was done. I’d go back inside the joint to get a trim or edge-up before I’d go back to this dude. The only reason he even got a tip was because I didn’t fuck with a working man’s paper. I told any and every one that. You always take care of the working man.
I still managed to walk up out that barber shop feeling clean as hell. Violated yes, but I was still ready to get my Denzel on. Know you can’t tell a dude nothing when he got a fresh cut and edge-up hair smelling like Motions oil sheen.
I had Angelo run me past a flower shop. I wanted to get real flowers, not the ones from the grocery store that come in them flimsy bags like some penny goldfish. Twenty minutes and $135 later I climbed back in the car with a damn bush of purple orchids.
“Aww, Rah, you got me flowers.” Angelo batted his eyes at me, laughing.
“Shut the hell up, and take me to the crib.”
I’d been put up in a condo not far from his. His family owned the building, so most of the tenants were connected, or they came from stupid money. I kept to myself and they assumed I was a rapper or a basketball player, paying me no mind.
“Hey man, you look out and get me lots of cheerleader’s numbers right?” The door man Ernesto grinned up at me. I just chuckled at him and shook my head as I walked past him into the building. Looking down at the flawless black marble flooring, I checked my reflection outside the door. I could smell baked chicken with gravy and yams coming all up out the condo and my stomach growled.
“Oh, Rasheed, these are beautiful, baby!” Shiree gasped, her eyes brightening up at my gift.
I puffed out my chest and smiled. “I picked ’em out myself.”
She closed her eyes and buried her nose in them, and I let her have her moment before taking them out of her hand and pulling her in close.
She put her hands underneath my shirt and raked her nails along the skin on my sides. I loved that shit. My boxers and jeans were getting more uncomfortable by the second. Shiree had a way of looking at me. Her eyes would turn into these deep, loving pools of chocolate syrup. I know I ain’t the most emotionally expressive person in the world, but that look would make a nigga chest tight. I’d have to look away or drown on dry land from staring.
Shiree came to see me and apologized months after Michelle’s confession. They’d thought Big gave her an STD, so on some revenge shit they set her up with my pistol. Truth is, his dick game was wack and on top of that he was playin’ her. She just went along for the money. She felt like shit for takin’ part in it and even used some of her paper to get me a lawyer to help appeal my case. He did what all them legal liars do and took her money, but I appreciated her effort. She’d sat there goin’ to pieces over me, and what they’d all done. Now, I’d tear through anyone with nothing but my bare hands if they fucked with her.
I nibbled her bottom lip and let it go. “I missed you.”
She ran the tip of her tongue across mine. “You didn’t miss me. You missed big Shirley.” She rolled her eyes. “You betta tell her how much you missed her.”
I hoped whatever she had in the oven was off or had a ways to go. As soon as she got that aggressive tone I got rock solid. There’s nothing wrong with being a soft, yielding woman, but nobody wants to be playin’ keep-away with your grown ass all the time.
“Dick me down now, daddy.” Go ahead, say it. I’ll give you time to practice. Now, ask any man out there what the most beautiful sound to the human ear is. Remember you’re asking a man, so it ain’t a symphony in whatever minor or any of that other foolishness. Those words are it, and the “daddy” at the end is optional.
I kissed her, sucking on her bottom lip hard. She tasted like Riesling and pineapples. I reached down and lifted her sundress, laughing when she ain’t even have on panties.
“You think you slick, huh.”
She shrugged in response and bit her bottom lip, waiting for me to continue. She was already slippery wet and ready. I parted her lips and watched her eyes barely flutter closed while my finger hovered over her clit, barely touching her.
“Go get me some peppermint tea and daddy’ll take care of you.”
She squealed and took off for the kitchen, clothes and ass cheeks flying everywhere.
I’d gotten off my shoes, pants, and boxers. My shirt was barely over my head when my eyes crossed and toes curled. Shiree dragged her nails across my bare ass with one hand and cupped my balls with the other. She had a mouthful of me and hot tea, as she slurped, tightening her lips around my dick, pulling me farther down her throat. I yanked my shirt over my head and watched her work. Knowing Shiree, she’d already had that shit on standby, and it was beautiful.
I growled, pulling her up, bending her over the couch. Looking back at me with her head down on the back of the couch and her thumbnail in her mouth she gave me a little evil grin. She knew she was in trouble and loved it. I drank some of the tea, letting it warm the inside of my mouth before swallowing it. I didn’t swallow the next sip. I leaned over her back so my dick was rock solid right in the crack of her ass and I slid a hot kiss down her spine. She moaned and pressed back into me. I took another sip, spread her ass open, and ran my tongue from her tailbone down to her asshole and dove in. She moaned like she was possessed, locking her ankles behind my back locking me in. Peppermint tea and ass eatin’, be careful how and when you use that shit. If you’ve ever wondered what makes perfectly normal women turn into crazy, “kill your ass if you try to leave” psychos, there’s your answer.
When the tea got down to room temperature, that meant it was time to handle business. Shiree grabbed the back of the couch for leverage and threw all that ass back at me. I tensed and started thinking about how many grams it takes to make an ounce. How many ounces mak—
“You fuckin’ me or am I fuckin’ you huh?” she shot back at me, sounding all breathless.
I exhaled. My body back under control, I leaned down and pressed my chest against her back so she could feel my skin against hers. Grabbing her hips for leverage, I pulled out and went in so slow and so deep she looked like she’d stopped breathing.
“I’m fuckin’ you, baby,” I told her quietly.
See, Shiree always fucked with these short-stroke, “no dick game” niggas she could out sex in the bedroom. All she needed was to sense a weak moment, and I’d have to remind her who was in charge less she go trying to pull a damn plastic dick out on a nigga. I have to admit, every now and again that shit did get to feeling good as all hell. But, I never slipped up though, to hell with that. I’d just pull some fuck-crobatics on her. Flip that ass over, give her one of them deep “I love you” kisses and go-go gadget drill-her until she’d tap out. Literally.
Chapter 16
All Over a Wet Pigeon
The spot Angelo found for the party was on some next-level shit. It looked like a meatpacking plant from the street view, but once you got inside, it was perfect. Four themed levels broke up into smaller areas. It had pool tables, two areas that we were gonna use as dance floors, and a bar. I saw an investment opportunity. The place would make a
killing as an after-hours spot. I made a note to check into the property owner.
I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of turnout we’d have, so I got there mad early to get everything set up. If Angelo did his homework like he was supposed to, we shouldn’t have a problem. I kept it simple, balancing some black leather Giuseppe Zanottis with a blazer and some Balmain jeans. Shiree was all over me when I tried to get out the door, so I know I looked good and smelled even better. She refused to not work and I loved that about her. Shiree wasn’t the type to take handouts or live off a nigga. I refused to let her get back on a stage. We compromised, and she found work doing hair and makeup for a major modeling agency. She had to be at a shoot tonight out at the beach with some dude who wore more makeup than she did. I let her do her thing, get that money.
Everybody who goes inside the way I did, usually come out broke. Not your boy. One day out in the yard I seen this dude scaring the hell out of a cat. He was a big, ugly somebody with one of those crazy brashes. A brash is a beard so long it could brush his ass. “Trying to collect cat piss,” was what he said when he saw me staring him down. It was prison; people did all kinds of weird shit, so I ain’t ask why. The cat he was scaring to death was one I’d been feedin’ scraps to. Since she liked me, I knew what spots she liked to mark. I helped him set up bottle caps to collect piss with, and he asked if I wanted to get high as his way of saying thanks. Me and this crazy white dude, who went by the name Scorpion, was tight after that.
Lo and behold, him and his boys were making their own versions of powder by cuttin’ down and refining the stuff that came in off the street. Cat piss was only one of the additives they used to tweak and mix shit down. They had a makeshift lab rigged up with butane lighter Bunsen burners, and soda bottles for beakers. I’d never seen anything like it. You walk up to a dude to buy an eight ball or whatever, and then he turns around and asks you what you wanna feel. I remember standing there like, “Um, high.”
There’s levels to that shit like the levels to medicinal marijuana. There’s clean high, which is your normal coke. Then there was the extreme left-field stuff like face melter, mind warp, wormhole, chest expander, and body rock. None of those were for amateurs. I’d sent some samples out to test the water, and let’s just say I’ma leave all that to the dudes inside. We don’t need no more zombie apocalypse scares. Then you have lines like the phantom limb, where random body parts go numb or magically manifest. One cat swore up and down he had a damn tail. It was funny as hell, but I’m sorry, prison is not the place to run around thinking you gotta ghost appendage attached to your ass. Heaven’s gate was on some “so beautiful I’d never do it again” type shit. Have you seeing angels and talking to God.
Scorpion helped me tweak the fuck out of this one line though. I called my new baby Indican wet dream, and she wasn’t nothing but the truth.
“Rah, yous already here. Lookin’ Ginsu sharp.” Angelo walked in with a smug smile on his face. He was boasting like a boxer before the big fight, walking around the ring with his arms spread out yelling at the empty room.
“What you think, it’s like Kitchen Stadium up in here or what? We’s gonna flambé these bitches tonight, Bobby Flay style.”
The smile instantly fell off my face. “We gonna what? No. Don’t ever say that again. Where the couches and them chaise things I asked for? We only got a couple of hours.”
“My bad, dude. Honey used to keep me watching the damn Food Network . . .”
I glared, and looked for something, anything, to throw at this kid.
“Okay, chaise lounges, I’m on it. Password wet dream.”
Four hours later we were all set up and every major anybody who did anything started making their way in.
“Yo, what’s up with me telling them a password and then you don’t even make ’em use it?”
I didn’t tell Angelo everything, because just like a woman, he’d ask too many inconsequential questions. I’d end up pissed off and not answering anyway, and we’d still end with the same outcome. I just sipped my Henny and Coke, waiting for the crowd to peak, hoping Don Cerzulo would actually put in an appearance. Some of the finest women in Miami showed up, fighting with each other to get our attention. I ain’t gonna say I settled, but I could look at every last one of them and know they weren’t worth half of my Shiree. She came to me when I was dirty, broke down, and hopeless. Stayed with me, gave me hope, and I refused to mess that up. I decided to text her to pass the time.
Hey, you. I stared at the screen. Secretly I was waiting to see exactly how long she’d take to respond.
* * *
Hey, baby. Is everything going okay?
* * *
When she replied immediately, I was relieved. If she was texting me then she damn sure wasn’t fucking somebody else. Yeah, I put it down, treated her like my queen and all that, but I’d done a lot of wrong in my time, told a lot of lies to a lot of women. It was hard for me to completely let my guard down. I was a changed dude, but I damn sure ain’t want to go all in and throw on the blinders called love and then have someone runnin’ game on my non-seeing ass. I tried to think of something cute that would make her smile.
Everything’s good. Up here waitin’ when I rather be home with my heart.
* * *
Again she hit me right back. Aww. Well your heart is still at work, baby. This shoot is running over. I’m on standby for touchups.
I read that shit twice and looked at my watch. It was damn near midnight. Shiree hadn’t worked late in a minute. On second thought, she hadn’t even been flying out for any shoots with the girls. At one point it seemed like she was working late or hopping on a jet almost every other week. All that stopped once I got her locked down though . . . or so I thought.
My fingers were going a mile a minute. Why you ain’t get somebody else to fill in? It’s late. What time you gonna be home?
I waited and after five minutes I’d finished my drink and ordered another one. Angelo was all over the place like a Chinese spinning top, and I was getting more irritated by the second. The first floor was packed, standing room only, and that was my cue. I signaled the DJ and the music lowered as I made my way up to the second floor. Reality nodded, opening the solid metal door that led to my showroom. Reality was one of the guys I’d recruited for the night’s security. A dreaded, six feet six-ish, purple-black brick wall of a motherfucka controlled my door. If anyone tried to act stupid, they’d get a Reality check.
The guests were all being told to consider using their password carefully. Once they came upstairs, there was no going back downstairs or changing their mind. You’d be surprised how many people in this lifestyle hear something like that and push forward all gung-ho and shit. They’d seen and done everything so if you’ve got a novelty, you’d better use it to your fullest advantage. The first wave came in and stood under the black light, gripped in a state of frightened anticipation. To add some dramatic flair I’d found a Phantom of the Opera mask that covered half my face. The second floor was nothing like the club we had downstairs. Couches, chaise lounges, and oversized pillows were from one end of the room to the other. I opened a case covered in black velvet and the black light made the vials inside glow. One was incandescent pink and the other was bright blue. The room broke out in ooh’s and aah’s.
“Choose tonight’s experience. Would you like to have a wet dream, or become a wet dream?” I asked them, feeling like a damn ring master.
They came up and started making their selections. Wet dream was the prison favorite and the most hated. For a woman, it was the equivalent of turning on every sexually arousable nerve ending in her body. That’s how Shiree described it anyway. She said even her toes felt like they could actually cum if I touched ’em just right. It’s a sexually explosive buildup that’d have you hangin’ on a door humpin’ the hell out of a doorknob. All the while it’s feeling like you got ten niggas with ten dicks with lips on each dick going to town.
There honestly wasn’t any difference
between that pink shit and the blue one. As a businessman I just knew you always need an option, and it’s always a plus if it’s pink. Women tend to gravitate toward anything pink. So it honestly didn’t matter who picked what.
“Come over here and play with me, sexy. I like the mask.”
Grinning at my handy work I quickly peeled a topless Dominican chick off my chest, shaking my head at her. The no was more for the head in my pants than for her.
You stay down, boy. Yes, I seen them pretty-ass dark exotic nipples too, but we can’t play.
It was all going exactly as planned. I checked my phone and still no response from Shiree. Angelo was nowhere to be seen. Making my way up to the third deck, I spotted him on a couch with two brunettes and shook my head. I specifically told him to wait until after we handled business. Of course, Reality would hit me at that exact moment to let me know Don Cerzulo was on the way up. I made sure the third floor was completely empty before posting G and Fallon outside the door. Stuffing the mask behind the bar, I checked my reflection in the mirror.
Oh well, all or nothing, this is it.
“I don’t think we’ve met, Don Cerzulo, I’m—”
“Not my son. Where is Angelo?” He dismissed me and looked around suspiciously.
“Angelo is downstairs, sir. I was going to partner with him, but seeing as how he’s in the middle of a naked orgy with the customers and we haven’t done any business, I’d like to rethink my options. It seems as though you might be the better businessman?” I waited.
“You don’t have anything I don’t already have. Whatever it is, I can get it.”
“What I’m selling you don’t have, and can’t get, because I created it,” I replied smugly, setting two vials of wet dream on the bar underneath the black light.
Don Cerzulo rubbed his chin and took a seat on the sofa facing the bar. He stared at them, frowning, tilting his head from side and then to the other. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for something like this, so I went behind the bar to freshen up my drink while he stared or whatever.
Baby Momma Saga, Part 2 Page 13