I laid there rocking my bruised body. When I heard the front door slam, I leaned over and opened the wadded paper.
India,
You were amazing. I can’t express how exquisitely you made me feel. I hope we can do this again. Next time, it must be just me and you. Give me a call mi bella. 646-555-4608.
Besos,
Anais
P.S. I’m leaving this money because it’s yours. You gave it to me at the club but that money was given to you by your admirers. Buy yourself something nice and be sure to wear it for me on our next encounter. *wink wink*
I counted the money and was amazed to find almost six hundred dollars. I recalled giving Anais the money and the look of hesitation on her face. I giggled and was quickly brought back to my excruciating reality by the sharp pain in my abdomen. I sobbed quietly, cradling myself, wondering what the fuck it was going to take to break the fuck out of this abusive relationship.
READ THE ENTIRE STORY IN THE NEW NOVEL,
WOMAN’S CRY BY VANESSA MARTIR.
IN STORES NOW...
Chapter One
Share had just stepped out of the shower and was drying off when the phone rang. It was Petie. He was calling to let her know that he was on his way. Petie was a chocolate brotha with a six pack, a bunch of tattoos and a big dick. Yeah, he had a big gun. Share liked that.
She kept her feelings in check when it came to him or any other nigga. Niggas ain’t shit but money and dick. Get on your knees and suck my clit. That was her motto, so catching feelings was a no-no.
Share remembered that she didn’t douche. She had a variety of scents to choose from in her Summer’s Eve selection: baby powder, vinegar and water, mountain rain and floral. She decided on mountain rain. She opened it up and swoosh-swoosh. She always felt good after a douche. Keep that booty hole fresh, girl, she said to herself.
Share went into the bedroom and smoothed White Diamonds lotion all over her body and then sprayed some between her legs. Fresh just for you, baby boy. She knew Petie would be there any minute, ready to beat it up. Just thinking about it made her body jump. She had a heartbeat down there and he hadn’t even arrived yet. Damn, I’m open... slow down, breathe easy and remember he’s only a play thing. She’d told herself that a number of times, but her body just wouldn’t listen.
Petie called Share again to let her know that he had just parked the truck and to come downstairs and open the door for him. She’d thought about giving him keys, but she knew that would be the worst thing to do. That nigga would really think he was the boss if she did that. She let him be the boss in the bedroom; that was good enough.
Share didn’t take orders or demands from anybody; she was the boss. But there was something about Petie that made her weak. And she was scared of her feelings when it came to him. He was only her back-breaker, she kept telling herself. That was it and that was all. But her emotions kept making her feel otherwise.
She knew he would be downstairs by now, so she threw on a spandex cat suit along with her favorite animal slippers and ran downstairs. Petie liked to see her in a cat suit, and he particularly liked the front, where it would cut between her pussy lips. Share had fat lips on her chocolate box, and right now she was ready for him to suck her sweets.
Petie waited patiently on the steps of Share’s brownstone. She opened the door and stepped back into the foyer to let him in, and he gave her a pretty-ass smile that said, “You know I’m about to beat it.” She loved that smile. And she knew all of his looks and what they meant too. She also knew she would have to dead it before he hurt her; Petie was a heartbreaker who was not gonna leave his wife.
“What I told you about having me downstairs waiting like that? You know parole is looking for me,” Petie said when they got upstairs.
“Baby, please, the warrant squad ain’t out at night, so be easy,” Share replied.
“Yeah, aiight.” Petie took off his coat, threw it on a chair in the living room and made two drinks for them. She knew he liked to drink and argue before he got at her. He was on it like that. He would think of something to be angry about and then take it out on her in bed. She liked that rough shit, and she did all the things wifey didn’t do. That’s why his ass kept coming back.
The phone on her nightstand in the bedroom rang, and before Share could go and answer it, Petie rushed by her and snatched it up. “Speak. Who dis?” he barked. Petie waited impatiently for a few seconds to find out who was calling. Then he said, “Yeah, well, she’s busy.” And that was all Share heard before he pulled the phone’s cord out of the wall. Here we go. Now he’s got something to be angry about, she thought. “Come up out of that cat suit!” Petie called out before ordering her into the bedroom.
Petie placed his drink on the nightstand as Share entered the bedroom. The first thing she noticed was the phone on the floor. She stepped out of her cat suit and picked up the phone. Seeing the plug disconnected from the jack she said, “What the fuck you do to my phone?” Petie didn’t answer. He had taken off his shirt and was coming out of his jeans now, giving her a ‘You know what time it is’ look. Damn, she loved that look. This nigga...ah, man, I’m feeling his gangsta, she thought. Share never let Petie know how she truly felt about him, because then he would fuck everything up.
“Oh, you don’t hear me now? I said, what the fuck you do to my phone?” “Nothing!” Petie pulled out the K-Y Jelly and began stroking himself. “Who the fuck is Will?” he finally said.
“A friend—and stop answering my phone. I don’t answer your phone—do I?
All right then.” She knew the more shit she popped the more intense their encounter would be, so she kept poppin’ shit. And the more shit she popped the harder his dick got.
“You feeling brave tonight, huh...comin’ out ya face. You gangsta now, huh?” Petie said.
Share kept on and on. She got up in his grill, talking more shit. “Yeah, nigga, I’m feelin’ gangsta—now what? Get it crunk!” she said, and he did. Before she could go on, Petie was biting her on the neck. He turned her around and started smacking his dick between her cheeks. He spit on her bumper and rubbed it on her hole. He called it his goodness. “Ma, gimme my goodness,” he’d say. But tonight he was taking it. It was all right, though. He could do that; it was his. Share never let anybody else hit her there. Petie rubbed his fingers around her entry, massaging the hole. Every now and then he would stick his tongue inside, just to get her more ready.
Petie was so smooth and despite his large sized penis, he never ripped her. And he always talked her through it. “Share, put your thumb in your mouth,” he said. “Yeah, like that. Now relax, ma, daddy got you. Don’t run from me. Open up and let me in...yeah, that’s what’s up. Gimme my goodness.”
She felt him moving in deeper. “Ooh, God, Petie...please,” she moaned. The head was the worst part, but once that got in it was a wrap. Share was on the floor on all fours with her back arched, her bumper at Petie’s waist level. But the more he pushed, the lower she got. He continued stroking, and her butt began making juices, allowing him to easily slide in and out of her.
Share climbed onto the bed and Petie followed, hitting her like he was on a hang glider. He was giving her full pressure now, and it was his turn to pop shit. “So who the fuck is Will, huh?” stroking her deeper each time he asked.
“Aaah, Petie, please wait. Be nice,” Share begged.
“Tell Will to lose your number, ya heard?” he said digging his gun deeper into her hole.
Oh, God, help me, Share thought. She couldn’t take it anymore. It felt like he was making a new hole that wasn’t supposed to be there. She fell flat on her stomach, hoping his gun would slip out—it didn’t. Petie was long and strong and when she fell, he fell right with her; there was no escaping...in and out, in and out.
Share began to cry out. Petie loved that shit. The more she cried and moaned, the harder he stroked her. She just didn’t know that all that crying made his dick even harder.
“Share, be quiet. W
hy are you making me punish you like this, huh? Answer me, ma.” He was taunting her now. If she didn’t answer right away he would go even deeper, and Share knew it.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” she whined. He stroked her long and easy now. He spread her bumper cheeks so he could slide his whole self inside her. “Aaah, God, Petie...please, please.”
“Please what, ma? Huh, please what? Answer me.” Before Share could respond, she was coming all over the place. Her pussy cat was soaking wet; it was like a waterfall. God, this nigga is gonna make me crazy, she thought.
Petie’s breathing quickened and he was stroking her long and hard again. He re-applied pressure, this time creating smacking noises each time he thrust himself inside of her. He pulled out and thrust himself back into her over and over again, until he finally fell on top of her, out of breath and kissing the back of her neck. “Whew! That’s what’s up, ma,” he said. He rolled off of her, gave her a long kiss, wiped the sweat off her face and then kissed her nose. Share turned over onto her back, crossed her legs and looked over at Petie. After a few moments she got up, grabbed her hairbrush from off the dresser and swept her hair back; Petie had sweated out her doobie.
Share walked to the living room and took Petie’s phone out of his coat pocket. She checked the missed calls to see if she recognized any of the numbers. Ha! Wifey had called only about three hundred times. She wished she knew his password so she could hear the messages. Don’t worry; I’m sending him home now, bitch, she thought. She hated the idea of him leaving to go home to her. She wondered if he dug wifey out the same way he did her. The thought made her sick. She knew who his wife was, but his wife didn’t know who she was. She put the phone back in his pocket after erasing all of the missed calls. He didn’t need to know that she’d called so many times. Shit, he was going home to her.
Share fixed herself a drink and sat on the couch naked, waiting for Petie to come out of the bedroom. She thought that maybe they could swing another episode. Petie walked into the living room putting on his shirt. He looked at Share, wanting to get at her again, but there was no more time for that now; he knew wifey had probably blown his phone up. He bent down in front of Share, spread her legs and sucked on her sweets. She wrapped her legs around his neck, and he nibbled and licked on her clitoris until she was fully arched. He finally gave her one last suck before getting up and kissing her long and deep, their tongues entwined. “Next time, ma,” Petie said kissing her nose. He reached for his coat and let himself out of the apartment. Share threw on a robe and ran downstairs to watch him walk to his truck. Yeah, next time, baby boy, she thought. Damn, I’m caught up with this nigga. Share’s emotions were all over the place. It’ll be all right...next time.
Chapter TWO
Petie jumped in his truck and grabbed DMX’s It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot CD. He popped it into his CD player and pulled off, with How’s It Goin’ Down pumping out of his speakers. He always played that before and after seeing Share.
Petie knew Share was whipped. He put it on all the chicks like that. Nobody was special—not even wifey. He only stayed with her because of the kids. She was home base. Nobody could touch that, and he refused to let it go. She took care of his sons and cooked meals every night. Nah, he wasn’t going anywhere. What wifey didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But if it wasn’t for his sons he would’ve been bounced. She wasn’t fun in the bedroom anymore. She was boring—unlike Share. Share was creative and always willing, and she took it in the bumper. Yeah, that’s what he liked. Share was his, and if he ever found out somebody else was hitting that, he’d beat her down. However, there’d be none of that; he knew she enjoyed that bedroom punishment. But if he ever caught her cheating, there’d be no enjoyment whatsoever—believe that.
Petie checked his phone and was surprised to see that wifey didn’t call. That was strange. He pulled up to his building, shut the system off and hopped out of the truck. The regular cats were out front, waiting for the heads to come through. That’s how it was in the hood—always on the paper chase. Family gotta eat, bills gotta be paid and muthafuckas don’t want to hire convicted felons.... Get that money; it’s yours for the taking.
Petie put the key in the door, hoping that wifey would be asleep. But something told him she’d be up waiting for him with a million questions. He walked into his sons’ bedroom and looked in on them. They were fast asleep...his little men. He loved them to death. That’s what kept him coming home every night.
Petie took off his coat and went to the bedroom to see if his wife, Renee, was awake. She was. She gave him a ‘Where you been?’ look. He pulled off his G-Units and lined them up with the other twenty-six pairs of kicks he had. Petie had different footwear for every day of the month. You name it, he had it, and he made sure his little men had it too.
Petie kissed Renee on the cheek, and she began with the million questions. “Where you been? Why didn’t you call? Why you look like that? Why you always gotta go out at night? What took you so long? Who was you with? Was you with a bitch? Why you lyin’?” Damn, she’s nosy. He wanted to be rid of her ass, but he wouldn’t do that to his sons. Renee was a good mother. He couldn’t take that away from her. She had homemaker skills. She took care of the house and devoted all of her time to their sons. He couldn’t break up his happy home.
Petie remembered growing up and watching his mother struggle and work two jobs to make ends meet. She had a hard life, and he always wondered as a boy why his father just upped and left the way he did. He thought his pops didn’t love him. Petie remembered how unwanted and neglected he felt as a child without his father...all the other kids doing things with their dads and his was nowhere around. He had abandoned him and left him to grow up without him. He hated him for that, and he vowed that he would never cause his little men that kind of pain—never; so if it meant that he was stuck with Renee for life, then so be it. He was determined to have his sons grow up with both of their parents. He lived for them since they were born. They were all that mattered... his little men. But here he was being interrogated again, as usual. It was a no-win situation.
Petie snatched off his clothes down to his boxers and got in the bed. He took the remote control and turned on some porno. He had to watch the porno channel just to get in the mood to be with Renee. It just wasn’t the same anymore; she no longer excited him, so he would watch the chicks on the screen and imagine that he was hitting them instead.... Damn, one chick looked like Desiree...yeah, Des. Petie was thinking about going to check her tomorrow. She was a head nurse fa sho. After taking the boys to school, he’d spin past her crib so she could polish his gun. But in the meantime, he was in bed with wifey who didn’t even make him brick anymore.... She wouldn’t even wear thongs; she wore briefs. He couldn’t understand why she had become so boring. There was no chemistry between them anymore. Petie reached over and put his hand on her thigh. “Petie, I’m not in the mood,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek and rolled over.
“Goodnight,” she added.
“Goodnight, ma. I love you,” Petie replied.
“Yeah, I love you, too.”
Petie lay there for a few moments and cut off the TV. No problem; he could go to bed brick tonight. He wasn’t in the mood for her anyway. No sweat off his back. He would go see Des in the morning and then go and check Alexis. He had it all planned. Yeah, I need my sleep anyway, he thought looking over at Renee.
READ THE ENTIRE STORY IN THE NEW NOVEL,
IF IT AIN’T ONE THING IT’S ANOTHER BY SHARRON DOYLE.
IN STORES NOW...
WHERE
HIP-HOP
LITERATURE
BEGINS ...
Publishing was created to unify minds with entertaining, hard-hitting tales from a hood near you. Hip Hop literature interprets contemporary times and connects to readers through shared Language, culture and artistic expression. From street tales and erotica to coming-of age sagas, our stories are endearing, filled with drama, imagination and laced with a Hip Hop steez.<
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WHERE
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LITERATURE
BEGINS...
This is a work of fiction. names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or organizations, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2007 Augustus Publishing
eISBN : 978-1-935-88318-0
Edited by Anthony Whyte
Design/Photogaphy: Jason Claiborne
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For further information contact Augustus Publishing
First printing Augustus Publishing paperback May 2007
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Lipstick Diaries Page 15