“Pass me that, B.” My half-brother, Manny, nudged me, referring to one of the free bottles of Ace that the club had given me. He along with my homie Will, my ContraBandz Gang, and a nice amount of bitches were posted up, laced with plenty of alcohol and weed.
I’d only been boxing professionally for about a year and half, and even though I wasn’t making the same bread as Mayweather and shit, people knew me and fucked with me.
In boxing, personality was big as fuck, and I had a lot of that shit. I talked shit all fucking day, but the key to it was that I backed it up. I’d yet to be knocked down, and even though it was just the beginning, I had faith that shit would stay that way.
I started boxing when I was just thirteen years old, and initially, it wasn’t some shit I wanted to do. Growing up and living in Inglewood, California, I got sucked into that gang shit right away, so I stayed fighting and doing all types of bullshit that put me in harm’s way. I was an angry little muthafucka, and my parents saw it, so since my dad’s homeboy was a trainer at some boxing gym pretty close by, he signed my ass up to not only keep me occupied, but also to get out frustrations and shit.
My pops was a cool dude when he wasn’t drunk off his ass. His drinking at times caused him to fight me like a grown ass man and do all types of shit that hurt my mother, including having babies on her, which was where Manny came from. My father got his mama and my mama pregnant at the same fucking time. He swore Manny wasn’t his, however, and if you asked him right now, twenty-five years later, he’d give the same answer.
I got to see the horrible fucking side of his ass that Manny never experienced since my pops didn’t claim him. Every time that nigga got drunk, he went upside my head, and I could admit that growing up with that turned me into a raging bull.
I hated a lot of shit, and because I had a short fuse, I was a perfect asset to Neighborhood Piru; the gang that dominated the area we lived in, in Inglewood. By age twelve, I was a full-time gang banger and criminal, whooping niggas’ asses for the smallest things, racking up bodies, and robbing muthafuckas when I was bored. Boxing was somewhat a savior in not just my street life but my at home life since the small checks I got from my fights would pay the few bills my dad couldn’t cover.
I competed and won as many boxing competitions as possible so I could bring home money, because if my pops couldn’t cover some shit, he’d drink, and when he got drunk, that meant I was getting fucked up and my moms was getting cheated on.
“Congrats on tonight.” This one bitch with a fat ass walked up on me in the section, smiling hard as fuck. Nah, I wasn’t super famous, at least not to me, but a lot of bitches knew me, niggas too, because of my reputation in and out of the ring. “You want some extra company?” She sat down next to me.
“I want my dick sucked, if that’s what you mean.” I got right to the point, looking her dead in the fucking eyes. I had enough females on my team and didn’t have time to be playing muthafuckin’ games. If she wasn’t about to top me off, we had nothing to talk about. I wasn’t interested in getting to know her, her fucking background, or even her damn name.
“Damn.” She giggled, still caught off guard. “You see all this and that’s the first thing you ask for?”
“I like ya mouth, and I wanna put my dick in it. Is you with that or nah?”
Before she could answer, my phone buzzed, and I looked down to see Kharla, one of the bitches I fucked on the regular, calling me. She was back home in LA, so we didn’t have shit to talk about.
“Right now?” old girl asked as I kept my eyes on my iPhone, since now a text had come through from Kharla.
Kharla: Hey babe I was able to get a flight into Miami. Should be there at your hotel soon.
Kharla’s ass stayed trying to be laid up under me, and whenever she could, she followed me out of the state. I ain’t really give a fuck because no bitch was about to force me to deal with her ass if I didn’t want to. She could be in the same room, but if I wanted something else for the night, I was gon’ go after it.
Finally bringing my attention back up, I looked at the pretty girl next to me and said, “Nah. I’ll hit you if I need you tonight.”
The astonishment on her face was slightly comical, but I played it cool. I could tell by how fine she was that she was used to muthafuckas eating out the palm of her fucking hand. I was never that type, and honestly, never had to be.
For a long while, getting money, my hood, and boxing had been my priorities, but females never were. I hit them up to fuck, and once I was done with that, it was back to the goal at hand. Most of these niggas lived and died by pussy, and even though a nigga loved it, I would never be out here looking stupid or losing money over the shit.
She typed her number in my phone, and I took my shit back before she could store her name. I wasn’t gon’ need all that because if I did call, she’d be a one-night thing and nothing else. She was way too bourgeois for me to sign her up to be some constant pussy for when I came to Florida.
“You have a goodnight, Belly, and I hope you call.” She stood up, and I just gave her a nod, lighting another blunt up. “I’m Vanessa, by the way.”
I was already deep in another text conversation, gaming up one of my thotties back in LA, as old girl stared me down, waiting for a response. Manny chuckled, and once she was gone, I got right back to the festivities.
I wasn’t rude to these hoes, at least not in my opinion. I just didn’t feel the need to sugarcoat shit or keep my thoughts to myself. The only thing I wanted from that bitch was some head, and I wasn’t gon’ play like I was on some other shit.
“I would definitely smash.” Manny watched her ass as she disappeared through the club.
“Me too, nigga. She just gotta show me that jaw work first.”
We both snickered lowly and continued to enjoy ourselves. The homie Will couldn’t chime in because he had his bitch Dionne with him. She followed this nigga every fucking where, always wanting to be in the middle of some shit.
I actually met her before I met him, when I was still an amateur boxer. She was at my first Golden Gloves match like a fucking groupie, so it was no surprise that ten minutes after I met her, she was sucking me up in the back change room. She came to all four of my Golden matches and sucked my dick after everyone. Her face was aight; she was a background dancer, so her body was tight, but that wasn’t enough for me to smash.
When I met Will sometime later, after going professional, I ran into baby girl again when he introduced her to me as his bitch. Because I didn’t know his ass like that, I didn’t say shit; I didn’t give a fuck. Not to mention I hadn’t seen her ass in a minute and thought maybe she’d changed up, so I wasn’t gon’ throw her hoe past in her face.
And this nigga Will and I weren’t really friends per se, but we were cool because we worked together; he was the photographer my manager hired to shoot my matches once I went pro.
Kharla: I’m here at the hotel. What room number?
“Aight, I’m out.” I stood up, ready to go fuck Kharla. Nothing really caught my eye tonight outside of Vanessa, so I was happy that Kharla had flown her ass over here.
“Night is just starting for me!” the homie Ozzy exclaimed happily, allowing some bitch to lead him into a dark corner.
Ozzy, along with Siggy and Cole, were a part of my ContraBandz Gang. We all banged NHP and became the closest while coming up. They still got their money illegally and by doing crazy shit, but I kept them close because they were my niggas. I would never leave my people behind just because I was coming up.
They came with me everywhere, so much so that it was expected to see them when you saw me at events and shit. They definitely reaped the benefits of my name and semi-celebrity. ContraBandz Gang was just about a group of niggas getting paper by any means necessary and via any avenue possible; it was a movement I’d created. I even had the shit trademarked because it’d become very popular as I became more popular.
Being a part of this CBG shit was like an automati
c pussy getter. According to the streets, niggas had even lied and said they were a part of it like some fucking groupies. For some reason, these hoes were attracted to that shit and wanted to fuck with a nigga from ContraBandz.
“Must be some pussy waiting.” Will smirked at me, hugging Dionne in his lap.
“Or I could be getting my rest, muthafucka. One day you’ll have some good shit to slide up in.” I felt Dionne staring me down with a scowl as I dapped Will up, then a laughing Manny.
“Fuck you, Belly.” Dionne rolled her eyes, tousling her curly hair.
“I’m good. Ya weave is funky, so I’m sure that pussy is too.”
“Aye, come on, man. What the fuck?” Will groaned, but I was already on my way out, not in the mood for one of his fuck ass speeches about respecting his woman.
I wouldn’t have made the weave comment had she not tried to get smart with me. And it wasn’t like I was lying. She’d been tossing that shit all night, and all I kept smelling was ass and tomato paste.
I honestly didn’t give a fuck that Will had a hoe for a housewife. Shit, the head wasn’t good enough for me to be hating; it was just convenient at the time. I only made comments because she was still in my DM’s on Instagram trying to start shit back up again.
I left out the back way of the club and hopped into my all-black Range Rover. I remembered when I bought this shit; a nigga was happy as fuck. I’d finally stopped living check to check, or fight to fight as they called it, so I treated myself. I went from making $2,500 a fight with not many endorsements, to making $30,000 a fight. Yeah, that $30,000 wasn’t much, but I’d increased my earnings by over twenty grand in less than a year by staying focused, so I wasn’t worried that I’d be rich as shit soon. Right now, I was what I called extra comfortable; I could buy what I wanted, but just not in excess.
I made it to my hotel about forty-five minutes later, and as soon as I entered the lobby, I saw Kharla seated on the large plush couch with her bags. Walking up behind, I leaned down to kiss on her neck, and she moved.
“Fuck you mad for?” I turned my lip up as I stared down at her.
“You were supposed to be here, Belly. I’ve been waiting for over an hour, and I know you were at some club with hoes,” she snapped, standing up and yanking the handle to her suitcase upward.
“I wasn’t supposed to do shit but whatever the fuck I wanted to do.” Stopping her from rounding the couch with her shit, I added, “But if you gon’ be acting stupid and shit, aka not giving up the pussy, you can stay yo’ ass down here.”
“What?”
“I wanna fuck, and if that’s not what you on, then don’t even go up to my room with all that bullshit. If you gon’ come to the room and act like you my girlfriend, which you ain’t, and like I owe you some shit, I ain’t with it. All I wanna do is smash right now.”
“Fine. I won’t come.” She plopped back down onto the lobby couch as I pulled my phone out to hit up Vanessa while heading to the elevator.
“Cortez!” Kharla called after me. “Cortez, seriously?”
I listened to her voice fade as the elevator doors closed and started up to my suite.
Not even ten minutes had passed from the time I’d texted Vanessa about sliding through, before her ass let me know she was here. She was way too muthafuckin’ thirsty which was a turn off and another reason why she’d never be my Miami jump off.
See, I wasn’t like most niggas, but then again, I was. I loved pussy, loved to fuck, loved getting my dick slobbed on, and if it was the right bitch, I loved eating pussy. But I preferred having a set amount of females to slide up in versus a bunch of new bitches. I was an athlete at the end of the day, so my health was important, but also the reasoning for that was that I loved women.
I wasn’t a complete muthafuckin’ asshole, so I had my moments where I liked to give a bitch some special treatment. But what I wasn’t about to do was give it to some random bop from a club. So I had a few hoes on my team that I liked to play ‘good nigga’ with occasionally when I was in the mood. Kharla was one of them.
My mama, when we were close, used to always tell me my ways would fuck these hoes up, but it was just how a nigga was, and I saw no reason to change that shit. Some days I wanted to make you feel special, and others I wanted you to leave me the fuck alone if you wasn’t gon’ be bouncing on my dick or letting me bust on ya face like a good little bitch.
“Hey, I didn’t even think you’d call.” Vanessa grinned before switching into my room.
I meant to respond, but the weed and liquor had me feeling good. Plus, my eyes were currently locked on her fat ass. I had the urge to bend her over since Kharla was bugging.
“Me either, but shit changed up.”
When she laughed, thinking I was joking, I laughed back with her.
“I saw your fight earlier, and I couldn’t believe how quickly you—”
“Aye, I have to be somewhere early as fuck in the morning. I’m tired too, so I really ain’t in the mood for conversation. Thank you for coming to see my match, and it’s cute that I impressed you, but my dick is hard.”
Pausing for a second, seemingly caught off guard, Vanessa finally strutted toward me and dropped to her knees. I smirked down at her since she’d flashed me her pretty smile while unbuckling my jeans. Before I knew it, she had my dick in her mouth and was bobbing like she was in a muthafuckin’ contest.
“Mmm,” she moaned, mouth filled with saliva as she deep throated my shit.
“Damn, bitch,” I grunted, staring down and watching her gobble my dick like a pro. I had to rethink not hitting her ass up no more. “Lift ya dress and pull ya panties down,” I ordered her as she continued to suck my dick.
Her talented ass did as she was told, so I snatched her off by the hair and bent her over the bed. I wasted no time rolling the condom down that I’d retrieved from my pocket, and dove right in. Gripping the fuck out of her hair, I yanked her head back and pounded her shit so hard she busted on me in under a minute. Watching her ass bounce against me was crazy, so after she came for a second time, I let loose in the condom.
Once I caught my breath, I went to the bathroom to flush it, then hopped into the shower to get the day and this female off me. After cleaning up, I brushed my teeth then came out to see that bitch passed out in the position I’d left her in.
“Aye, aye, get yo’ ass up.”
“Huh?” She wiped her mouth, which made my fucking stomach churn.
“Take yo’ ass home, fucking drooling all on my damn sheets and shit.” I yanked her up lightly.
She stumbled a bit but grabbed her panties from the floor before fixing her dress.
“Text me, B—”
“Not texting shit. Get the fuck out.” I pulled the hotel door open, and she stared up at me for a moment before waltzing out with an attitude I didn’t give a fuck about.
After slipping some boxers on, I got in the bed, ignoring the hundredth fucking call from Kharla.
The very next day…
Today was my last day out here in hot ass Miami, so after hopping in the shower, brushing, flossing, and rinsing with Listerine, I went down to the lobby to see Kharla was still there but knocked the fuck out on the couch.
“You got a problem, muthafucka?” I looked at the hotel clerk who was standing behind the check-in counter. He was staring hard as shit with his nosy ass.
“No, Mr. Khalil.” He put one hand up and flashed me one of them fake ass closed-mouth smiles that white people always gave.
Rounding the couch Kharla was lying on, I squatted down and moved her hair from her face. She jumped slightly, and when she opened her eyes to see me, she quickly sat up to fix herself. When done, she looked off, pushing her hair behind her ears, showing she was nervous yet still upset. Her brown hair was disheveled, and her caramel skin was flushed as fuck.
I fucked with Kharla because she had good pussy, was fine as shit, and she made her own money working as a video vixen. It wasn’t much, but it was better than he
r being laid up not doing shit.
She was definitely one of the main pussies I slid up in, so that had her thinking she was my bitch no matter how much I made it clear that she wasn’t. However, I wasn’t like other muthafuckas where I’d sit up and pretend I didn’t make Kharla feel special occasionally, because I definitely fucking did. And I knew that played a part in why she felt she was gon’ eventually be my wife or some shit.
As I explained before, I loved women. I just didn’t want the same bitch all day, every day, and her trying to clock my fucking moves. Shit like that would make a nigga catch a domestic violence charge.
“I have to book my ticket home.” Kharla finally looked to me, but then her eyes darted to her lap.
If I ever did claim a female and try some shit, which I would never do, it wouldn’t be Kharla despite how much I fucked with baby girl. When I met her, she was just starting out in the video shit, and had two small ass babies, one of them belonging to a nigga she was with.
In no time, I was fucking her regularly, and she was done with his ass. And once I started to have to travel for fights and shit, or go places late at night, she abandoned her children pretty much to trail me. I truthfully didn’t give a fuck about any of that shit because I was just fucking her, still am, but any female that could leave her kids pretty much just to fuck with me, would never be someone I even thought about trying to do right by.
Only time Kharla spent with her kids was when I’d send her on her fucking way so I could lay up with one of my other hoes. She’d be all over social media posting cryptic messages about finding someone who appreciated her, and videos with her kids as if she was a good mother. None of it bothered me. Shit, I actually hoped she did find the nigga she was pretending she wanted, because Cortez Khalil would never be that shit for her. Not for her and not for the next bitch. I didn’t care how long I’d been rearranging ya guts. I’d been having sex since I was ten years old, so the shit yielded no feelings for a nigga.
Nobody Can Love You Like Them Roughnecks Do Page 3
