Sex in the Hood Saga

by White Chocolate

  Duke imitated her white girl way of talking. “Did you guys get audited like my dad?”

  She snarled, “Don’t mimic me!”

  “You so sexy when you mad. Make me wanna instigate somethin’ jus’ to see how them pretty lips curl up an’ yo’ eyes flash like lightnin’.”

  She bit the waffle cone, crunching as if it would shut him up. “It’s a’ight, ’cause you gon’ be bilingual in a minute.”

  “Je parle franais. So, what’s the third language? Espanol?”

  “Naw, Black. Ghetto. Street. Ebonics. You gon’ converse like Becky when we be steamin’ the Moreno Triplets, but you gon’ be rappin’ like a hardcore bitch when we deal wit’ Izz an’ any otha sorry-ass ma’fucka.”

  “Duke, translate. What the hell does ‘we be steamin” mean?”

  He licked his cone. “Cool it, baby girl. This meeting, it’s about turf. About me holdin’ the Moreno Triplets to their promise. Just before Prince got shot, he made a pact that Babylon would take ova they turf, from Jersey down to the Keys.”

  “Sounds like mega-bucks. As in, help me pay my college tuition if I agree.”

  “Millions, baby. It’s a win-win situation for everyone.”

  “Then why do you need me?”

  “To soften them. Yo’ exotic face—when I get through makin’ you ova to fit my vision—gon’ distract ’em.”

  “So it’s like My Fair Lady in reverse. He took a street urchin and made her into a proper English lady. Now I’m the next contestant on Extreme Ghetto Makeover.”

  Duke laughed. “You sexy as hell, naturally. How you think Cleopatra made Caesar an’ Mark Anthony do whateva the fuck she wanted? The power o’ pretty pussy, an’ knowin’ how to use it to whip any ma’fucka into submission.”

  Her whole face blossomed into the biggest, most blinding-bright smile she had flashed all day.

  “See, baby girl, you gon’ be dangerous wit’ a Big D!” Laughing, he admired his diamond “D” ring. He felt like a snake charmer—he had to bring it out of her without getting stung himself. “So when these dudes see yo’ light-bright face, you gon’ come off like beige Barbie wit’ a business degree from Harvard.”

  “Then you’ll help me to go to college.”

  Yeah, Inner City College, where you gon’ major in Streetology, get a masters in Babylonology, an’ a PhD in Sexology.

  “Anything you need, baby girl.”

  “Then what’s the catch? Daddy always said if something sounds too good to be true, then it probably is.”

  Duke shook his head. “It’s a straight-up equal exchange on the table. I help you, an’ you help me make sure they can’t get over on a nigga.”

  “Get over. Get over what?”

  “Take advantage ’cause we from the hood and they from a big white dynasty on a hill. They still gangsta as they wanna be.”

  “I hope I’ve never seen them before,” Victoria said. “I mean my ex-boyfriend’s parents are the richest, but they had some mafia-type friends. This one guy, with slicked-back hair and the most gorgeous Asian girlfriend—”

  Duke glanced at traffic on the busy street. Five-oh in an undercover squad car crept past, nodding.

  “Keep your voice down low, on the cool gears,” Duke said to Miss Daisy, who was eating that ice cream like she was going to cum. “Don’t let it ride up. Slow, steady, cool at all times.”

  “Duke, I haven’t agreed to do anything for you.”

  “Protection, baby. Just like I protected you twice tonight. From that dog—”

  “So it was you! How did you draw so fast?”

  “Practice,” Duke said. “Wit’ warrior protection. We guard the hood-old ladies to the bus stop, kids walkin’ to school. Twennie-fo’ se’en.”

  “That doesn’t make money.” Her words shot back like a question mark.

  “We got legit contracts for sports events an’ political rallies at all the stadiums an’ convention centers in Metro Detroit.”

  “Oh, then that would earn a lot of money,” Duchess said, “and you get minority business status. That’s why my dad put my name on the company.” A glazed look spread on her face as if her brain had just pushed the in-case-of-emergencyTOO MUCH INFORMATION button. She licked her ice cream, staring up at the colorful signs outside the row of restaurants and shops.

  “What in the world could I possibly do for you, Duke?”

  “You work at HQ. My building is that warehouse down from your grammomma house. It’s laid like you gotta see to believe—hundreds of employees, ’bout to be thousands—an’ it’s all legit. You handle my books, keep things runnin’ smooth, and work with my clients to arrange what they need. Travel to the wes’ coas’ an’ eas’ coas’, help me expand.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “I set you up to live like you wanna live. You’ll have time to go to college and study too. Just think on it tonight, especially when Kay-Kay creep into your sheets, smackin’ her lips.”

  Her eyes widened. “Can we stop for a newspaper, please? I need to look at the Want Ads for a job. And an apartment.”

  “Who gon’ hire the crook on the news who, if you listen to Mr. and Mrs. Mad back at the restaurant, people be thinkin’ you jus’ like yo’ daddy?”

  “I can’t work for you. I have to get my old life back.”

  “Look like the media blackwashed that all away,” Duke said, peeling away from the curb between two sweet-ass red motorcycles and a black Escalade with silver spoke rims. “Your secret out, shorty. You black and everybody know it now. And once you go black, you can’t go back. ‘’Specially when I can see it bubblin’ out your blood.”

  “What?”

  “You ain’t wearin’ no makeup,” Duke said, but ev’a since I saw you, your lips been gettin’ redder and redder. I see it. A strong, sexy diva bitch that’s beatin’ you up inside to escape the stiff- ass way you talk and carry yourself.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that. You don’t know my life. Just take me home.”

  Duke let out a sinister chuckle. “Home, right. Miss Daisy gon’ wilt up in that mug. And that other bitch inside you gon’ come out, come to me, neva look back. You’ll see, ’cause I see it. I’m a visionary, and you the vision.”

  Chapter 12

  The only vision Victoria had right now was her naked body next to his. As he drove with his left fingers draped so cool over the bottom of the steering wheel, she imagined hers clasped with his, like the posters for that Spike Lee movie, Jungle Fever—a black and a white hand, fingers intertwined. She’d never seen a black dick, just Brian’s, which was like beige and dark pink when it got hard.

  “What? What is that enormous black fist in the middle of the street?” she exclaimed. He stopped at a red light on downtown’s huge, car-clogged Jefferson Avenue. “Is it supposed to be there?”

  Duke’s deep laughter boomed through the car and up into the early evening air. “Damn, you ain’t neva even been downtown Detroit?”

  “I saw The Nutcracker ballet at the Fox Theatre on Christmas. Daddy took me to the opening of the Hard Rock Cafe and the Auto Show at Cobo. But I’ve never . . .” She was mesmerized by the black iron fist and forearm that were parallel with the ground. It was suspended by wires hanging from the center of a long, pyramid-shaped frame of posts or pipes.

  “Coleman Young, when he was the mayor, he put it up to remember Joe Louis. You know, the boxer.”

  “Right, I read about it in history class. The Black Power fist.”

  Duke imitated her. “The Black Pow-werrrr fist.”

  As he drove, blasting rap music, she closed her eyes, squeezing her pussy muscles. She stuck her butt deeper into the clean, butter-soft leather bucket seat. It embraced her ass, and her full stomach pressed into her waistband.

  Now with her stomach satisfied, an overwhelming hunger for Duke Johnson made her want to yank down her jeans, sit on the steering wheel, and spread herself wide open in his face. Her pussy was as pink and creamy as that vat of ice cream inside th
e bakery.

  How’s this for a Michigan cherry? she could tease while popping her pussy-fruit into his mouth.

  Her crotch felt like a wild animal screaming and squirming and starving to spread open its lips and suck down that big, juicy sausage bulging in his pants. Yeah, his dick would get squeezed, chewed and slurped up and down by Celeste. Then they could sit quietly for a little while, satisfied and full, until the raging and insatiable hunger made them devour each other all over again.

  If Duke felt half as good as Dildo Dick . . . Victoria smiled. Maybe the fact that she’d been using her dildo would make it easier to take all of Duke. Did that mean she was still a virgin? Would she still feel like a virgin? Would he be able to tell?

  Victoria couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel to straddle his lap, kiss him like there was no tomorrow, and slide down on his dick while his giant hands cupped her butt cheeks. He would be like the Greek god Atlas with her whole world in his fingertips. He was so big and strong, he could lift her up and down. She saw that once, in one of the porno movies she found in Daddy’s bedroom while he was out of town.

  “Duchess.” That deep, delicious voice rumbled through her chest, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You thinkin’ ’bout my proposal?”

  “Kinda,” she said as she came back to reality. I can’t work for this guy, no matter what definition of legitimate he’s working with. I’m stuck in hell. Her eyes stung with tears. She kept them closed.

  She thought of the works by Faust she’d just read in Honors English. Do I have to make a deal with the devil just to survive? Could I ever escape? And if I deal with him, will I break my race-sex vow to myself, about Celeste? Then where does that leave me the rest of my life?

  Chapter 13

  Duke turned off Jefferson onto Iroquois, where giant oak trees shaded huge, fancy houses built by auto barons like the Dodge family. This would make Duchess feel more relaxed, like he wasn’t as much of a hood rat as she thought. For now.

  “I’ve been here,” Duchess said softly. “Indian Village. My dad’s ex-partner lived right”—she pointed—“there. You should see how they restored it to its tum-of-the-century grandeur. It was even in Architectural Digest.”

  Duke pulled up to a brick colonial with white shutters and pink flowers blooming from window boxes and along the brick walk leading to the white wood double doors.

  “Pretty,” Duchess said.

  Duke got out, grabbed a brown leather backpack from the trunk, and opened her door. “C’mon.”

  “Who lives here?”

  “The real boss,” he joked.

  “Henry said you’re the boss. Is this like, an investor in your company or something?” The curious flash of her silver-blue eyes made his heart pound. His dick swelled harder.

  His every cell was on fire, but he had to stay cool. He couldn’t confess yet that with one look, he’d lost his mind through those windows to her soul. No, Duke would never just blurt out some corny sounding Casanova bullshit lines like that.

  In fact, this was the first time they had ever formed in his head. Milan, she was his childhood girlfriend, but fine as she was, he hadn’t felt anything this deep about her. Maybe it was because she could be so evil when she didn’t get her way. Maybe it was because she could be so sexy when she wanted something, but as soon as she used sex to get it, she would go right back to being evil.

  Duchess, on the other hand, who should have been a raving crazy bitch after what she had gone through, was as cool and as calm as he had been when Prince got killed, when Knight went to prison, and when Pinks staged that hostile takeover of Babylon.

  Stupid dead ma’fucka.

  “This way,” Duke said, keys jingling in his hand as he led her up the sidewalk. He walked behind her, resting his fingertips on her back, so he could watch her ass cheeks pop as she took long strides on her giraffe legs. At the same time, he inhaled her wind trail of pussy and lemon-flower shampoo. He almost moaned, sniffing like a dopefiend.

  He put in a key, turned, then pushed open the door.

  “Do you live here?” Duchess asked with wide eyes. It smelled like furniture polish and hazelnut gourmet coffee. At the center of the foyer, pink tulips sat in a vase on a table. Above it, the crystal chandelier sparkled with sunlight beaming in through little square windows around the door. Duke watched Duchess check it all out, from the white marble floor to the white-carpeted staircase and the polished banister that led upstairs.

  “This is beautiful,” Duchess said, turning around and looking up. “Where are we?”

  “You’ll see in a minute. Hold up.” Duke walked down the side hallway to the garage door. He opened it, but inside all he saw were a lawn mower and extra patio furniture.

  “This way, baby girl,” he said, leading her into the kitchen. “There’s a guest bedroom wit’ a full bath.” He pointed down the tiled hallway. “I know you wanted ta take a shower.”

  “If you think I’m gonna get naked in a big house alone with you—”

  I do, but not right now. Duke kept his face serious, but he wanted to laugh because she was fooling her damn self. She wish I would just take the pussy and put ’er outta her horny-ass misery right now.

  “Lock the bathroom door.” He handed her a phone. “An’ dial nine-one-one if you hear me breakin’ it down.” Duke smiled. “It should be some stuff yo’ size on’a vanity table. ’Cause I put it there, knowin’ you’d wanna freshen up when you stepped down into the hood.”

  Duchess stared up at him like she was trying to figure out what was really going on. She crossed her arms. “I’m not putting on your wife or girlfriend’s clothes.”

  “The tags still on e’ry thang. Don’t belong to nobody but you. Anything else you need, we can go shoppin’.”

  She glanced down the hall, which looked like an enchanted garden with all the pink pots of English ivy vines hanging over the high white window sills and walls. She looked at the phone in her palm then glanced back up at Duke.

  Damn, she beautiful. That little nose, he just wanted to bite it off. And that skin, he wanted to slurp every inch, suck the pretty out of it. But this definitely was neither the time nor the place. Duke’s heart was pounding already about how folks would respond to this visit once they got home.

  Duchess sharpened her eyes on him and said, “My dad always advised me to listen to that little voice in my head. The instinct in your gut. Mine is always right. And right now it says this is safe.”

  “You ain’t gotta convince me,” Duke said with a laugh.

  She spun toward the hall, all that hair slapping him in the chest. If he hated her, or if any other bitch flipped her long-ass hair on him like that, he’d hate her even more. But something about this chick was so humble, so unaware of just how fine she was, it would be impossible to hate her. It was like she was so busy thinking from the inside out, she forgot how she looked from the outside in. Most chicks, especially Milan, were always thinking from the outside in, like, “I’m so fine an’ sexy, he betta buy me a Prada outfit an’ take me to dinner at the Ritz.”

  That was the opposite of what Momma had taught him, Prince, and Knight “Judge men and women by how they is on the inside. Close yo’ eyes an’ feel ’em. The looks department be the devil’s workshop. He know how to paint a pretty picture over the wors’ nightmare, just ta fool you an’ get you into the wors’ trouble. An’ you can’t escape the nightmare once you done paid big bucks for the artwork.”

  Duchess’ silky-sweet voice snapped him out of the memory.

  “Duke,” Duchess called, standing in the arched white doorway to the bedroom. “Thank you.” She flashed the biggest, brightest smile then closed the door.

  Click. It sounded like she put a chair up to it too. Duke’s heart pounded as she laughed a little. She was trying to protect herself from her own pussy.

  He smiled as he walked into the kitchen, but returning Milan’s call and hearing her bitchy attitude made him stiffen and scowl.

  “What too
k you so fucking long to call me back, Duke?” Her voice shot through the phone like every word was a nail. He held the phone away from his ear, hating how she was always trying to sound so white and proper.

  He stepped to the white-tiled kitchen island, where the brown backpack sat next to a cake plate full of fresh-baked oatmeal raisin cookies. Duke raised the clear glass lid and sniffed his favorite home baked treat. He took one, bit down, and savored its thick, chewy sweetness.

  I bet Duchess’ pussy jus’ like this, washed down wit’ a steady stream of her own warm milk.

  “Duke!” He went to the refrigerator and grabbed the milk, concentrating on the delicious cookie to block out Milan’s voice. “What evil, stiff-ass bitch,” he said, “took ova the sweet, natural Michelle I use ta love?” He remembered riding his bike with her to their secret spot in the tall grass. In the empty lot beside her mamma’s house on Babylon. They were only six years old, kissing as the wind blew the grass all around them, promising each other that one day they’d get married, have some kids, and be happy.

  Right now, if she knew he was fantasizing about loving and fucking Miss Daisy, Milan would straight up try to bite his dick off, chew it up, and spit it up his ass. But the thought of touching the bag of bones around her evil spirit made him shiver as if he were watching a scary movie. Even the oatmeal cookie suddenly tasted bad as he thought about sex with Milan.

  “I saw you on TV, Duke. I don’t know what you have in mind, but you need to delete any vision you might think you might be having about our new neighbor.”

  “You one crazy bitch.” Duke stuffed the cookie into his mouth as if it were medicine to sweeten her bitterness, just like when Momma would give him honey to soothe a bad cough.

  “No,” Milan said, “I’m afraid you haven’t seen crazy. If you even think about giving that girl my position at Babylon, the position I earned by building everything with you, Knight and Prince—”

  “Oh, hell naw.” Duke swallowed the cookie. “Listen up. Firs’, you been so mad since Mahogani an’ the baby moved into Babylon, you been miscountin’ money an’ makin’ mistakes wit’ the Squad schedules. Yo’ evil ass say you lost the appointment book for the Sluts and the Studs.”