The People vs. Cashmere

by Karen P. Williams

  Then we tag-teamed his ass, throwing blows all over his ass, kicking him in his dick and nuts, and shoving him all around his office.

  “We ain’t no fucking prostitutes, punk ass!” I screamed.

  “Bitches!”

  “Yo mama!” I yelled.

  “Bastard!” Desiree yelled.

  I grabbed Desiree before she could go after him again, crouched in the corner of his office like a chump, and we ran out of the office like some runaway slaves.

  We didn’t stop running until we were five blocks free of that place. We stopped in front of a liquor store to catch our breath.

  “Just what the fuck we gonna do now?”

  Desiree took a deep breath, which didn’t slow her breathing. “Shit,” she panted, “you know we can’t go back there, now we beat the supervisor’s ass.”

  “Desiree, you think he was telling the truth about what he said about Mama?”

  “Who gives a fuck! Wait, I’m sorry, Cashmere—No, naw, fuck this! I’m not gonna sugarcoat this no more. Wake the fuck up! You fourteen now—She ain’t shit. Yes, I believe him. He only one of many. You know damn well she was fucking around on Daddy. And I’ll tell you this too—She knew about all the guys I was fucking. And in case you ain’t realized, she ain’t comin’ back, so it’s gonna be up to us to get that money for Daddy and pay that fat bitch her share to get her off of our backs. Then when I’m eighteen, we can split.”

  “But we ain’t gonna go back there now. How we gonna get the money in a couple weeks?”

  “Shit, you really wanna know, little sister? Hustling—that’s what we gonna have to do. We ain’t got no other choice. Let’s go. I already got a plan.”

  Chapter 8

  Stripping didn’t bother me. In fact, for some crazy reason, I enjoyed the shit. I just didn’t like niggas thinking they could touch on me, but niggas admiring me and giving me money, that was cool, since the last person that admired me was Daddy. The only problem was, since we were both under the age of eighteen, we ended up stripping at underground spots.

  Since we were in the rinky-dink stripping, which was usually at somebody’s house or some shit like that or at a private party, the money wasn’t much of shit. So at night we took to doing something really horrible—selling dope for some dude name Keefee.

  “We ain’t gonna do this shit forever, so stop your fucking whining!” Desiree yelled one night when we were on the corner slinging some rocks.

  We even had to cook the shit, using some jar to boil it in, then, after we let it set, we had to cut it up in cubes of different sizes. And I’ll be damned if I wanted my hands in that shit. We was contributing to the whole drug epidemic, people getting robbed, people dying, crack babies being born, mothers and fathers neglecting or abusing their kids. I hated doing the shit.

  But one day turned to several, and we really did have to look out for ourselves, since our aunt didn’t supply us with shit and she always had her greasy, fat-ass hands out.

  Once we gave her her dough, she’d shake her head at us. “I don’t even need to know how y’all got this shit. Y’all ain’t going to be shit, you know.”

  And we’d nod in agreement and watch her fat ass waddle on, like she shitted out some kids that were so damn perfect.

  “Desiree. You said we only had to do this shit until we got up enough money to pay that deposit.”

  “Well, shit! I thought so too. Hell, Cash, in two more weeks his monthly bill is due, and wide ass upped her price on us. So we need to at least get enough for his bill for next month then we can stop.”

  I sighed.

  “I know it’s hard to stomach, but at least you don’t gotta touch the shit. I do that for us.”

  “You a damn lie.You made me cut the shit.” I changed the subject. “We can get a regular job. We ain’t gotta be out here.”

  “Bitch, you fourteen. That ain’t old enough. Ain’t nobody gonna hire you. And, yeah, I can get a job at McDonald’s or Burger King and we can quit dealing, but that won’t do shit for Daddy’s bill. And it would only be part-time, ’cause of school. Shit, and I wouldn’t bring enough home for nothing after taxes. But, like I said, we won’t be doing this shit forever. But the stripping, little sister, we ain’t giving that shit up.”

  “We ain’t got to, but I don’t like being out here. It ain’t safe.”

  “One more week, that’s it. We’ll sell off this last zone then we’ll put a fork in this shit, I promise.”

  I nodded as a dopey approached us and asked for a rock. “Ten,” I said absently, the rock clutched in my fingers.

  “Ten, damn!” the man said, his ashy-purple lips poked out.

  “Ten, or step the fuck off!” Desiree yelled.

  He tossed it her way, and I threw it at him. He rushed away, looking behind him.

  “I wished we could do it at a classier spot, the stripping.” I said.

  “We ain’t old enough, boo boo. But, before I forget, I heard the manager at the Velvet Fox is on vacation, so we can sneak in there and give lap dances tomorrow night. But we can’t work the stage.”

  “Cool,” I said. “And if we make enough to pay off the bill for next month, can we stop selling this bullshit?”

  Desiree laughed. “Cashmere, you hold people to their word, don’t you?”

  I laughed too. “Hell yeah!”

  “Well, you need to stop, ’cause they’ll disappointment you time and time again.”

  Now the Velvet Fox was a cool little spot. Wished we could work the poles there. It was clean even in the bathrooms. The clientele was more upscale than the niggas I was used to who wanted you to stick bottles up your pussy and lick your own asshole. My sister and I had on our sexy getup. She wore her hair up, and I wore mine down, giving me an exotic look, like I was from Brazil. While my sister managed to captivate niggas with her pretty titties, it was my face that got their attention and my big ass that managed to keep it. We went to one man after the other, rubbing our titties in their face. I just pretended I was rubbing all over Omarion’s fine ass and not men old enough to be my father.

  They told me I was so fine, so innocent, young-looking, and how much they wanted to eat my pussy and fuck me, or whichever one I was willing to give their nasty ass, I just continued humping them and shit, getting twenty-five bucks for each one. Some gave me more. One nigga gave me twenty-five for the lap dance, a hundred as tip, and offered five hundred to fuck me. When I told him I was a virgin, his eyes widened, and he offered me a thousand. I got away from his ass real quick and moved on to another nigga.

  I had done a total of four, and Desiree had done two. Her ass moved slow as hell.

  I had just emerged from the lap dance when Desiree motioned for me to come over to where she was. I adjusted my tube top, smoothed down my booty shorts, and closed the distance between us.

  She was standing near two men. One was in his early twenties, and the other looked like he was too young to be in there. And despite where my focus should have been, I noticed he was cute as hell. He was tall, with a caramel complexion, had full lips, a medium-straight nose, and some sexy-ass bedroom eyes. And he had some muscles too. Um-um-um.

  “Hello? Cash!” Desiree looked at me, an annoyed look on her face.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “We got a birthday boy here. Caesar is celebrating his eighteenth birthday, and this is his friend Martin. She leaned over and slid an arm around Martin’s waist, her way of letting me know she had dibs on him, probably assuming that since he was older, he would be a bigger tipper. But the whole time the brother was watching me.

  And so was Caesar. I avoided gazing back. He was so fine. Then I almost hit myself, ’cause my hot ass was putting my focus in the wrong things.

  “Well, hello, Caesar. My name is Cashmere, and I am going to give you a very special lap dance.”

  He scanned my body and licked his lips like he was nervous.

  I led him by one of his hands to the room where lap dances were given. (They call
ed it “the satin room.”) I noticed as I walked that his hands shook the whole way.

  Once we got there and I stepped inside, he stood in the doorway frozen. I turned around confused then laughed at him. I jerked my head toward him. When he still didn’t step into the room, I laughed softly and said, “Come in, baby.”

  He still wouldn’t budge.

  I strolled over to him and pulled him by his hands all the way into the room. I shoved him gently on the couch, pushed the play button on the CD player, and E40’s voice blared into the room.

  In a seductive way I slid between his legs and pushed my body down, so my ass could rub up against his dick. When I did this, his dick sprang forward.

  When I glanced back at him he looked embarrassed and tried to push me off of him. “Maybe.” He tried to stand.

  I shoved his ass back down. “No maybe, my ass. You came your ass in this room and you gonna get this lap dance. You took away from somebody else, so sit your ass there and enjoy it,” I ordered. “I need the dough, bottom line.”

  He raised his hands in peace, and I continued what I was doing. I was on him backward and continued my grind as his dick continued to slap against me. “You like that puddin’ pop?” Daddy used to call me that when I was little. So don’t get mad, Daddy. I’m doing this for you.

  He smiled finally and relaxed. “Yeah.”

  I chuckled. I turned and faced him, and trailed my fingertips down his head, I slid one finger in his mouth, while grinding on top of his dick and told him, “Suck.”

  He opened his mouth and sucked it like it was my nipple.

  I smiled. “Can I have my finger back?”

  He nodded and I slid it out.

  “You know this song?” I asked him.

  He nodded and smiled again. “Yeah.”

  “Then sing it to me.”

  “Naw.”

  I pushed my pussy into his crotch. “Please sing it to me. It gets me going.”

  “Girl, I been shaking, sticking and moving

  Tryin’a get to you and that booty

  I twisted my body in the shape of a C, whipping my hair all up in his face. I knew he was aching to touch me, but he didn’t.

  I rose and pulled myself from his lap and put my booty all up in his face. “Now here my part on the song:

  Yeah, I see you looking

  But my ass in these jeans got you shook (and)

  I bit my lip and eyed him from between my legs. Then I pulled off my top, so my titties were free. “Touch it,” I commanded. As my booty jiggled in his face, his eyes were wide as golf balls. He didn’t know what to do with all that ass in his face.

  He used the tip of one of his fingers.

  “Rub it.”

  He tried his best to, his fingers rippling across my behind as the song continued,

  “Slap it!”

  He tried, but he wasn’t no suave type of dude.

  I almost busted up laughing at him. I was used to smooth niggas, even though they wasn’t getting shit.

  But I found Caesar to be cute, maybe because he had the innocence I used to have. I mean, I was still innocent, to a certain extent. I mean, I hadn’t had sex yet. But I was selling my body, so I was far from being a saint. I was doing dirt, selling a fantasy to these dudes, putting my pussy all up in their face. And half of them had wives and girlfriends. They could be spending that money on them. Or even their fucking kids. I was cold for using my body to seduce them into dropping what was in their pockets. And on top of that I was helping my sister sell crack. So some of my innocence—naw, a lot of it was gone. I just hoped it stopped there.

  I shook those thoughts out of my head and tried to focus on the task at hand. “Don’t be scared. Cash, taking good care of you, aren’t I?” I crooned as I grinded my breast up in his face.

  He nodded between his ragged breathing.

  I scooted out of my shorts and wiggled my body in my thong. By the time I was done, his dick was poking straight through his pants. I gave my ass one last clap. “Okay, homie, that’s a rap. I truly hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.” I looked at his crotch.

  He cracked another smile. He looked so cute, I wanted to kiss him, but that was a no-no. So I stopped. Instead, I winked at him and pulled on my clothes.

  “Thank you.” He handed me a fifty.

  Humph, not bad for someone so young. I tucked it in my bra. “No problem.” Then I hightailed it to the door before I did or said something I’d regret. Like, “Do you have a girl?” or “You wanna call me sometime?

  I reached for the doorknob, and before I could turn it, another stripper named Spice was pulling in her date by his hand. I nodded at her and backed up against the wall to let them both pass.

  I could have shrunk into the wall when I got a good look at the dude who she was pulling inside. Shit, it was my uncle, Aunt Ruby’s husband.

  His eyes widened when he recognized me. That was after he was done checking me out—my legs, thighs, pussy, waist, titties, and then he went to my face—his eyes stretched to the muthafuckin’ ceiling.

  I brushed past him, embarrassed as hell, hoping he wouldn’t say shit to me or my aunt at home.

  Did my aunt know that he was there? Whether he was here or not, it wouldn’t hold no weight with her. Her fat ass wasn’t leaving him no way, even if he turned her house into a strip club. And it wasn’t so much about her knowing about me and Desiree stripping, it was more of her judgment if she found out, her feeling justified in saying that we wasn’t shit.

  Chapter 9

  My only salvation from the shit me and Desiree were doing was my monthly visits to this café located down the street from my aunt’s house. I always squeezed an extra twenty out of my stash that went to my aunt and to Daddy’s rent at the home, to allow myself something sweet from there. Sweet Tooth Café had the best desserts I’d ever had, and they weren’t cheap. I only stopped by there once a month, my time of the month, when I had some serious cravings for something sweet. Usually I got their strawberry shortcake or their chocolate pound cake.

  I glanced inside the café. It was empty, except for an older woman sipping coffee. It was still early out, which explained why it was so empty in there. And now was as good a time as any to chew on something sweet to get my mind off my uncle.

  I walked in and stared at all the desserts displayed in the glass. Even though my ass always got the same thing, I still looked at all the other desserts. There was cheesecake, strawberry and blueberry, lemon custard, something called soufflé, apple strudel, chocolate mousse, and some other shit I couldn’t pronounce.

  “I’ll be with you in just a second.”

  I jumped and turned to catch the person behind the voice. When I did, I wanted to run the fuck out of the café, despite how much I wanted something sweet and knowing nothing could give me the fix Sweet Tooth Café could.

  It was Caesar, the dude from the strip club, the one who came in for his birthday. He must have not seen me or recognized me at first, ’cause he was balancing two plastic bags along with a box. He rushed behind the counter to sit the stuff down, and when he finally looked up and got a good look at my face, he stuttered and bumped into the counter.

  I laughed, my embarrassment gone, and shook my head. “You know what,” I started, “I’ll go somewhere else.” I regretted the shit even as I said it. This was the only real fucking luxury I had in my life, and I didn’t want to give it up. Come to think of it, I had never seen him there before anyway.

  I turned to leave when his voice stopped me.

  “No, don’t,” he said. “I don’t want you to leave, and I’m okay with you being here, if you’re okay with it.”

  I smiled, showing him that I definitely was, and he smiled back, making me wanna blush. He was so damn cute. Why couldn’t I have met his ass under different circumstances? Like on my way from school, at a dance, the movies, maybe the park, anywhere but the fucking strip club.

  “What would you like?”

  I stared at all the yummy de
sserts then I laughed at myself.

  Confused, he smiled at me again. “What are you laughing at?”

  “I have the same problem every time I come here. I can’t make up my mind between the strawberry shortcake or the chocolate pound cake.”

  He chuckled in a sexy way that rolled off his tongue.

  I giggled happily when he made the choice for me. He handed me a slice of both on a tray and said, “The only catch is this—Cashmere, right?”

  My smile dropped. Catch? I thought he was just going to be cool, just on GP. The last time a nigga had a “catch,” he had his dick out in front of me and my sister. He didn’t get shit, except an ass-whipping, and this nigga wasn’t getting shit from me either.

  I shoved the tray away. “Forget it.”

  He narrowed his eyes, confused, not quite knowing how to respond. I didn’t wait for him to. I slid off the stool and rushed out of the café.

  I was half a block from the café, when I heard him calling my name and chasing after me with a bag in his hand. I heard his feet hitting the pavement behind me. “Stop!” He reached for my shoulder.

  I spun around with my fist. “Boy, you done lost your damn mind. When did I say you could touch me?”

  Caesar held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”

  I grimaced. “What do you want? I got shit to do.”

  “I just wanted to apologize for whatever I said to offend you, but, before I do, I want to know what I did wrong.”

  “What you did?” I got all up in his face. “Muthafucka, I may be a damn stripper, but I’m not a ho. And you just treated me like one, a cheap one at that, trying to pimp me for some damn cake!”

  His eyes widened, and his voice went up an octave. “How did I do that?”

  I mimicked what he said about “catch.”

  “I didn’t”—he shook his head. “Look, Cashmere, all I was going to say was, if you sit and keep me company while I stock the shelves. I wasn’t trying to get you to sleep with me.”

  I was considering what he was saying, but even as I did, I wouldn’t stop frowning at him, even though silently I admitted to myself that I looked like a damn fool because what I was thinking wasn’t what he meant at all. Still I wasn’t just going to make it easy.