by Xuri Foxx
I turned toward the other side of the room where they all stood watching me. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the fuckin’ police were still there when they should’ve been somewhere doing their damn jobs to find whoever did this.
“Why didn’t you call me, Eva?! When did this happen?” I asked, standing from my spot on the floor, and walking back to the sofas.
“It happened tonight,” Eva offered. “Derrick was coming back from Oakland, but he was taking a while to get here and I’d tried calling him several times to see where he was and when he’d be home. I even called Khalil who hadn’t spoken to him either. After a series of frantic phone calls, these officers showed up with the news. I’m surprised I’m holding up so well,” she admitted. “Because God knows I want to break into a million pieces. I just don’t know how I’ll—”
Then while she was talking, a thought hit me that I was hoping with everything in me was misplaced. “From Oakland…” I interrupted. “You said that he was coming from Oakland? Where was this accident?!”
“Not far from the house. Near the Eleventh Street exit.”
As I was engaging in my own interrogation, the younger officer redirected a question at me. “Ma’am, I hate to ask you this again. But, do you know anyone who might want to bring harm to your uncle?”
Instinctively, I shot that fool a daggered stare that would’ve had him deaded him on the spot, if looks could kill; but then I just exploded. “Are you serious?! Look around! Look what my uncle has! What he built! Of course, basic, broke ass niggas will want to bring my uncle harm! That’s who you’re looking for! Broke . . . basic . . . do-nothin’ ass niggas! Look around!” I was irate and angry and hurt! And in the middle of my outburst, something hit me. When I say it felt like somebody kicked me hard enough to knock the wind from me, that’s just what it felt like. “Wait…! Wait…! Not far from here! I think I just drove past it! I was right behind the coroner’s truck! Nooo! Eva, nooo! Oh God, no! Please!”
3
2005
Jazzmina
I stood in the bathroom mirror staring back at myself. I loved the dark brown of my skin because it matched everything about me—from my full lips to the structure of my cheekbones, and the mahogany-chestnut brown of my hair. I looked at my eyes and how bright and pretty they were. They were like a golden brown color—kinda like honey; they earned me the nickname, “Honey”, because of it. I didn’t mind, especially because the person that gave me that name was my uncle DJ. It was a nickname that I only let him call me.
I didn’t get to see him that much, but I knew he loved me. He loved me more than anyone had ever loved me in my life and I knew that one day he would come to get me from my foster mother’s house, just like he said he would. I hated it here. Nobody in the house liked me and it was fine because I couldn’t stand their asses either. A whole year had gone by and this was the longest I had stayed in one foster home. From the time I was nine years old, when my mother first left me, until now, I had been in the homes of other people. The only thing good about this house was that it was clean. Myra, my foster mother was one of those wannabe bourgeois ass bitches who thought she was better than everybody else, so had to have the best house on the block. The money she got from fostering me helped with that. It didn’t hurt that the bitch had eighty percent of her rent paid by Section 8.
It was exactly eight o’clock AM when I came out the bathroom from getting ready for school, and I knew that Myra’s trick ass would be calling me any minute now because I was already late for my first period class. Not that Myra gave a fuck; she just wanted to know that all of us were gone so that she could get fucked by her friend’s husband. Watching Myra showed me a lot about how dirty bitches could be for dick. A woman would play her own mama for a fine man. He didn’t even have to have shit either. All the nigga needed to be was claimed by another woman and that was enough to go on. That stick drew hoes in like fuckin’ moths to a flame. I grew up swearing that niggas around the world had to be laughing at how dumb they had hoes behind their asses. I vowed that I would never be that female. Hell no.
And just like I thought, when I came out the bathroom, Myra’s desperate ass was standing right at the door with a pair of shorts up her ass and a too-tight ass graphic tee shirt. I wanted to tell her to pull her damn shorts down before she ended asking one of us to run inside Kaiser for another Monistat prescription, but I just smiled at her.
“You got two more years of school and you insist on being late every morning,” she spat, sarcastically. “I’m sure they mark your ass down for that in grades, don’t they?”
Bitch! Like you care!
“No idea,” I responded with my back to her, already headed down the hall and to the front door.
“Your smart ass mouth is gonna get you busted in it.”
I want you to try it, hoe. We’ll see just how quick you would be about lifting your hand to me again.
“You have a good day, Myra.”
Maaan! I wanted to yell out so badly, “Be sure to tell Denise’s husband I said hi!” Of course I didn’t though because she would probably bring all my shit and sit it outside the classroom—the classroom that I wasn’t going to—before the end of the day.
When I left the duplex, I headed down the driveway, and past Myra’s shiny black, newer model Lexus LS, that she made sure to park on the street whenever she was due for her unit’s inspection. When I was at the end, I looked back to make sure Myra was nowhere around, and walked left to the instead of the right…which would’ve been my path to school. I had already decided the minute I woke up that I wasn’t fuckin’ with school today. When I got far enough down the block, I put on my iPod earbuds and blasted “Soldier” in my ear and set about my way. My head bobbed to the beat as I headed to the bus stop, singing along to the lyrics:
♫
We like dem boys that be in them lac's leanin' (Leanin')
Open their mouth their grill gleamin' (Gleamin')
Candy paint, keep that whip clean and (Clean and)
(They always be talkin that country slang, we like)
They keep that beat that be in the back beatin' (Beatin')
Eyes be so low from there chiefin (chiefin)
I love how he keep my body screamin' (Screamin')
A rude boy that's good to me, with street credi—”
♫
I was all into the song when all of a sudden mid-verse, I felt hands wrap around my waist. I spun around and swung with closed fists, sending my earbuds slinging out of my ears. I was set to go into full fight mode when I looked up into Monty’s pretty ass eyes. “Boy!” I yelled, half yelling and half relieved. “What the hell is wrong wit’chu?!” He had already dived into full on laughter to the point that he was holding his stomach. “You got me so fucked up right now!” I grabbed my dangling earbuds and put them around my neck and swung on him again. “Ain’t shit funny about that shit, Monty!”
“I know, girl!” he said, pulling me to him and kissing me on my cheek. “Yo’ ass was singing hella loud! You shoulda seen yo’ face though! My baby was ‘noid! Out here wearing my favorite color and shit!”
I smacked my lips, softening at the compliment. “Pssh, you know pink ain’t none of yo’ favorite color. And if it, we got problems,” I teased.
“It is my favorite though; when all this is up in it,” he remarked smiling, as he palmed my ass. His entire bottom grill showed and I loved it. He was the only dude that I thought looked good with grill in his mouth. Some of these niggas just wasn’t pretty enough to pull it off. But Monty was. Brown-skinned, with pretty brown eyes to match, and perfect teeth at the top made it look right. Then the way he dressed just said a whole lot. He could pull off anything. And he was the perfect height to my five-four-inch frame, standing at five-ten…an inch taller if you let him tell it. Like one inch even made a difference.
“You’re so sweet, driving out here to come get me. I was just about to hop on the bus.”
“I know. But since
I was already coming this way, I thought I would try to catch you before you got on.”
I flashed him a playful smile. “Well, you caught me,” I said, rubbing my hand down his cocaine white t-shirt. He always wore one over an even whiter beater with dark denim jeans and all-white K-Swiss or Jordans. All the bitches wanted him and I had him. The little youngin’ pulling a dude that was almost twenty. “Where we goin’?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout all that. Come on,” he instructed as we walked to his Chevy Impala that sat idling against the curb.
Twenty minutes later, we were in North Oakland and rolling around on Monty’s bed in the bootleg apartment he had in his mama’s garage. I knew he wanted to fuck. He had been hinting at it a lot, but I was determined to wait until I was sixteen. All the girls I knew had been spreading far and wide for dick since they were about twelve or thirteen, but I just didn’t feel like I was ready. I had my urges, especially when I was around Monty; I was just scared for some reason. But it seemed like every time Monty got hold of my ass, the urge became stronger.
“You know if a nigga wanted to he coulda been with one’a these ripe broads out here, right? They stay at a nigga on some aggressive shit. But I chose you. So, it ain’t about all that. I been holdin’ out for the whole year I been with you, and all you let me do so far was taste that sweet ass butter cream between them pretty ass thighs.” He smiled, raising my shirt to kiss on my navel.
I squirmed a little bit. A part of me felt uncomfortable, but a part of me felt like I was ready to let him all the way in. “I know you coulda been with one of those older chicks if you—”
“But I want you though,” he said, laying the guilt on thick. “So…” he continued, “…you telling me that all the times I licked the pearl tongue that the shit ain’t never felt good enough for you to wanna open wide for ya man?” He came up from my stomach and laid his weight on me so I could feel his bulge through my pants.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “But what if I don’t do it right, Monty?” I asked bashfully. The only time I was ever shy with him was when conversations about sex came up.
“It’s all on me. If the shit goes wrong, that’s my fault. I’m the nigga; I’m s’posed to make that shit right for you. Is that what you been afraid of all this time?” He traced his finger along my cheek and leaned down to grab my bottom lip in between his. “All you gotta do is lay there and be beautiful. Let me do the driving.”
Without waiting for a response from me, Monty rolled over to the side of me and put an open palm against my mound and began to rub. At first softly, then he sped up. I closed my eyes and let the feeling take over. I couldn’t deny that it felt good and I could feel my panties begin to moisten more than they ever had before. Before long, he had all my clothes off and was deep inside of me with long, hard, painful strokes that I couldn’t fight against. They came with fury and without mercy, but the whole time that he asked me how it felt, I lied and told him with limited breathing supply, that it was good.
As sore as I was, I started to get the hang of it, and reached for his face so he could lean down to kiss me. As soon as his lips touched mine, the pain stopped and I found his rhythm and began to pump in sync with his movements. I kept his face close to mine because kissing him intensified the feeling. But minutes later, I stiffened. My pelvis began to contract in the same way it did whenever I had to pee, and I began to panic. I started to think that I was about to pee in this man’s bed, and I tried to wriggle free, but it was too late. My eyes flew open, my heart rate sped up, and then slowed down, my pussy went numb, and my legs felt weak, and I began to see stars. I had never felt anything like that in my life. I couldn’t describe it at all. I just knew that I wanted to feel it again and again.
In the middle of my bliss, Monty began to moan loudly, almost like grunts. His head jerked toward the ceiling and his body shook against mine. “Awww…s-shiiit…fuuuck…girl…gawd damn!” he shouted, right before I felt him pull his entire dick from inside me. He rolled over onto his back and grabbed his dick in his hand and started jacking it off, allowing hella white cream to go sprouting out of the tip. It was thick and foamy and looked like a little fountain or something. He continued to hold onto his dick until the cream was down to a little drip. When his one-man show was over, he reached over to the side of the bed and grabbed the wife beater that he’d worn earlier, and cleaned up the cum that had fallen onto his abdomen and thigh. He balled the shirt up and tossed it to the side, and then he turned to me.
“You got some good ass pussy, lil’ mama. You held yo’ own on that ride. This a lotta dick to take,” he boasted. “And you did that shit. I knew you wanted a nigga,” he smiled.
As good as the sex felt, something hit me when he called me “lil’ mama,” and it didn’t feel right. “Don’t call me that, Monty,” I snapped. “That lil’ mama shit. Don’t call me that.”
He ran his finger along my bare thigh and then around the area he had just pulled out of. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because I don’t like it, that’s why.”
“All good then. I won’t call you that no more.”
“Cool,” I responded, starting to reach for my clothes to get dressed. “I think I need to get back since school is about to be out in a little bit.”
“It ain’t that late, Jazzy. It’s not even one o’clock yet.”
“Yeah, but today is Wednesday; school is out early. I need to leave.”
“Alright,” he surrendered. “What’s up though? You seem out of it. I thought you enjoyed ya’self.”
“Yeah . . . I did.”
“So what’s wrong then? You still trippin’ because I called you lil’ mama?”
“No,” I lied. The truth of the matter is that I was mad. When he said that shit, it made what we did sound like some perv ass shit. I was about to be sixteen in another month, and he was right at twenty. But I had been letting this nigga lick on my pussy since I was fourteen. Something didn’t seem right about that shit and I didn’t even trip until he called me, “lil’ mama;” so I kinda wanted out at that point. “I just don’t need trouble from this lady. She already be fuckin’ with me and talkin’ about how she’ll put me out for this or put me out for that. I ain’t got nowhere else to go until my uncle is ready for me. So, I need to live by her rules, until I ain’t gotta live by her rules.”
“I feel you,” he said, starting to get his shit on. Not once did he say, “Oh, it’s cool, you know I got you”; Or, “You got me. You ain’t gotta sweat that”.
Yeah, it was time to go and get the fuck away from this bum ass nigga. This nigga didn’t have my back or my front, his ass only wanted what was in the middle. After he was dressed, he tossed me the keys to his car. “I’ll be right back. Let me run in the house real quick.”
I walked to the car slowly, and when I got there, I sat in the passenger seat just as slow to keep from pressing down on my battered spot. I closed my eyes and laid my head against the headrest. I couldn’t believe that I had just lost my virginity. But, I did better than most girls I knew. I didn’t even notice any blood either so maybe I was more ready than I thought; or maybe there would be some when I got home. Blood or not though, that throbbing wasn’t no joke. If I ever wanted to forget, it wouldn’t be anytime soon. I was glad that he pulled out because shit got serious real quick and the last thing I would’ve needed was to come up pregnant!
When Monty finally got in the car about twenty minutes later, he didn’t say anything. He leaned over me, put a bag underneath my seat, then turned on the car and headed toward the freeway. Right as we got ready to take the Seventh Street exit to go through the tunnel back to Alameda, Monty lowered the music and slowed down. “Fuck!” he whispered in a panicked voice. “Fuck!”
“What?!” I asked, looking over at him, slightly alarmed.
“Five-O is ridin’ me. Fuck . . . and them niggas just hit the lights.”
4
2005
Jazzmina
My uncle
started roaring as soon as his car doors closed. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Jazzmina?!” I knew he was mad at me when he called me by my name instead of ‘Honey’. He had just picked me up from juvenile hall, where I had to stay for a week due to Monty having dope underneath the front seat. It didn’t help matters that his ass also had a gat in the car too. He was gonna be gone for a minute, but since I was a minor with no priors, they kinda just put me on probation. “The fuck was you doin’ with that grown ass nigga in the middle of the damn day? Answer me!”
The tears were flowing down my cheeks like a rushing river. I never cried. I mean, never. But I never wanted for my uncle to be disappointed in me and that was what had happened. And all behind a nigga. I hated that shit with a passion and my whole heart hurt because I didn’t know if he would forgive me. I sobbed so hard it was difficult for me to respond. We left San Leandro and made it back to his apartment near Lake Merritt in about ten minutes flat because he was driving so fast. When we pulled up, he got out, and slammed his door.
“Hurry up and get in the house,” he instructed.
When we got inside, he grabbed a roll of paper towels from his kitchen counter and tossed it onto the coffee table. He sat on the bigger couch and I sat on the loveseat with my head down. I looked over and through blurry eyes, saw white garbage bags near the kitchen entrance. They were the same kind of white bags with the blue drawstrings that Myra used at her house. Then as I focused a little more, I realized that DJ had gotten my stuff from her. It only took a second to realize that she had put me out and probably told the County. I just hoped that they wouldn’t send me to live with nobody else.
