CHAPTER 4
“How much this is?” asked Ant D, as he held the clear plastic baggy full of that white girl in his hand. He had become infatuated with her ever since they had been formally introduced a few months back by a stripper named Chanel. It had happened when he and his best friend Mike had taken some freak bitches that stripped at Platinum Plus back to a hotel suite downtown. In the midst of an orgy, Chanel had convinced Ant that it would make his sex game better and increase the pleasure. Not wanting to seem like a lame, he took a small line up his nose and she had placed a small amount on the tip of his dick. That was the beginning of a not so beautiful relationship. Ant D wouldn’t admit it of course, but he was in love and it was becoming increasingly impossible for him to go a day without his new bitch.
“C’mon Ant, you already know that’s an eight, my nigga” responded Mont. Mont was a midlevel dope boy who got his work from the Mexicans who were not so quietly taking over the drug trade in Greenville. Their prices were cheaper than Zulu’s and their coke was more pure. This meant their product could be stepped on more for a better stretch. Ultimately, this meant more profit. So Mont had started coppin’ heavy from them and trappin’ out of his baby mama’s apartment in Piedmont Manor.
Ant looked at the baggy, and then held it up to the light. “I don’t know Mont. This shit lookin’ real Gary Coleman, right here nigga!”
Mont was used to customers trying to get a little extra weight by saying slick shit like that, but he wasn’t new to this, he was true to this. He’d been hustling since childhood. Mont kept a handheld digital scale on deck just for situations like this. He put the small, but extremely accurate, device on the counter top in the kitchen. Then he took the baggy from Ant and placed it flat on the scale. It read 3.5 grams.
“You said you wanted an eight ball. You see the scale Ant. You been fuckin’ wit me long enough to know my points always add up nigga.”
Begrudgingly, Ant handed Mont three hundred dollars and took the baggy back. He opened it up and used his pinky nail (which he’d let grow long just for this purpose) to take a snort up each nostril.
“C’mon Ant, you know I got my ol’ lady and my baby up in here,” said Mont, asking Ant to leave, without actually saying the words. Ant started to make his way to the door when Mont’s cell phone chirped. The phone was his throwaway so he didn’t bother answering it. He already knew what it was. Somebody was tryna cop.
As they exited the apartment, it dawned on Mont what he’d been hearing all day and night from different people. The streets were talking. “Yo, you ain’t heard the news nigga?” he asked.
Ant D looked at Mont incredulously. What the fuck is this nigga talking about? He wondered. The coke already had him in a zone.
“I forgot to even tell you, man. Muhfuckas sayin’ they seen Mike’s truck on the news and that bitch was swiss cheesed up! Shay said she seen that shit too, and knew it had to be Mike’s truck ‘cause ain’t nobody else got no Escalade like that but him. Then they started talkin’ ‘bout how there was a pregnant female passenger in the truck so I knew—“
“Huh?! Fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout Mont? You tryna tell me somebody shot my dog up?!” asked Ant D, in disbelief. “Nigga, you talkin’ out yo’ muh’fuckin ass! I was just kickin’ it wit’ that nigga earlier today.” Anthony Davis had just received the word that his right hand and best friend of eight years had been riddled with bullets, alongside Mike’s pregnant girlfriend Nikki earlier that day. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. He took his pinky, dipped it inside the plastic baggy, and took another strong snort up his nose. He was starting to feel a little better already.
“I’m just tellin’ you what the word is in the street Ant,” stated Mont, now regretting the fact that he had even bothered saying anything at all. It was late night, early morning and he had moves to make. “Shay’s cousin’s, best friend’s sister said she was out there and muh’fuckas was talkin’ ‘bout how somebody pulled up beside that shit and just started lettin’ off…”
Ant was quiet as his brain attempted to process the information he’d just been given. It just wouldn’t compute. Hadn’t it just been earlier that day that he’d been arguing with Mike when Mike had started talking that dumb shit about wanting to get out of the game? And now somebody had shot him up?
Ant and Mont stood in the dimly lit breezeway of the projects as Mont continued to ramble on, but Ant D wasn’t hearing anything that was coming out of his mouth. The coke had him in another place right now and all he could see over and over in his head was the image of his brother from another mother laid up in a hospital bed full of holes, or even possibly dead. Damn! Had to be that fuck nigga Zulu, he thought to himself. That nigga gotta go!
While he stood there contemplating the different ways to retaliate, Ant noticed some movement in his peripheral vision. “Hey, y’all got any–” Before the man could finish his question Ant D had pulled his chrome .45 ACP from his waistband and aimed it at the disheveled stranger.
“Fuck you want, nigga? Huh?! Who the fuck is you? Who sent yo’ ass nigga!? Huh? Huh?!” Without bothering to wait for an answer, Ant D cocked the pistol back, automatically loading a slug into the chamber. Slowly, he began to apply pressure to the trigger. Paranoid and unable to determine if he was a friend or a foe, Ant was ready to blow this dude’s head off his fucking shoulders.
Hesitantly, Mont spoke up. “Yo Ant, that nigga just lookin for some hard man. He a smoker dog. He ain’t finna hurt –”Ant D turned the pistol on Mont. Whatever explanation he was getting ready to give died in his throat. Beads of sweat began to form involuntarily upon his forehead. He was staring down the barrel of a gun being held by a man who obviously wasn’t playing with all of the fifty-two cards that came in a deck.
“Oh, you wit’ this nigga?!” Ant said, with a slight smirk on his face. “Mont, you tryna set me up muhfucka? That’s what that lil chirp was ‘bout? A lil’ signal. You tryna set me up nigga? Get me like they did Mike? That’s what this shit all about?!” Ant had a crazed look in his eyes as he pointed his weapon of mass destruction threateningly back and forth between the two men. Finally he decided to settle his aim directly at Mont’s forehead. The crack head who had come merely looking to get a little bump or some shake to get high, now stood as still as a statue. He was afraid to move for fear that he’d be shot. He had a huge stain in his pants where he’d peed on himself.
Mont now chose his words and tone very carefully, not knowing what would set off the ticking time bomb that stood in front of him. “Man, Ant D, me and you ain’t never had no problems. We been cool for a minute, my nigga. You know I wouldn’t even try to play you like that dog…” Mont fell silent. He was at a complete loss for words as he stared into the infinite black hole of the barrel. The tension in the air was extremely thick.
Slowly, Ant D lowered his pistol to his side and chuckled. “Maaan, you know I was just fuckin’ wit’ you Mont.” The intense look in his eyes said otherwise, but he extended the hand that wasn’t holding the pistol and Mont gave him dap anyway.
Mont laughed nervously and said, “Yeah, I know that my nigga.” He knew nothing of the sort, but if that’s what this crazy muh’fucka wanted to hear then that’s damn sure what he’d tell him. The smoker had already vanished into thin air around the corner, like a magician.
“So, anyway who you got in the playoff’s?” Ant D asked Mont nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just had a fully loaded semi-automatic pistol cocked and aimed directly at his head; as if he hadn’t been seconds away from squeezing the trigger and leaving him dead right where he fucking stood.
This nigga is definitely gone with the fucking wind, thought Mont. “Aww nigga, you know I’m part of that Steeler nation homey,” he replied, playing along. “But, uhh Ant, you might wanna get light dog. You know shit already on fire out here. Ain’t no tellin’ when them boys might come through.” Mont was right. It was late and Piedmont Manor was definitely a hot spot. It was one of the most notorio
us hoods in Greenville. Something crazy stayed going down in “The Manor”, or either up the road in a neighborhood called The Valley.
Combine a poor educational system with little to no job opportunities, because of that poor education. Then mix in a sense of desperation, hopelessness, drugs (which helped one to forget about the former ailments; if only for a moment) and an easy access to guns. Then throw those same desperate, angry residents into one big ass bucket. And just like some crabs, watch as they do anything (including pull one another down) in their desperation to get out. Top it all off with a racially oppressive criminal justice system and a corrupt government. Now you have the perfect ingredients for a violent neighborhood. Of course, the media never took the time to look at the ingredients though. Instead they preferred to just place the focus and bright lights of the news cameras onto the inhabitants and act like they were like this simply because they chose to be. It was so much deeper than that.
Crime was definitely on the rise, but instead of looking at the root cause, the media would rather sensationalize the effect for a nice juicy story. Over the past few months, the police had intensified their patrols at night in response to all of the negative publicity they had been receiving lately; essentially turning the already oppressed occupants of poor neighborhoods into prisoners in their own communities.
Ant thought about it for a second, then began to back away from Mont with the chrome .45 still by his side. “Alright, nigga. I’ma get up wit’ you later then.”
“Bet,” replied Mont, as he watched Ant D back down the steps. As soon as Ant was out of sight Mont quickly threw open his door and slammed it shut behind him. He locked all the locks on it and then leaned his back up against it, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before sinking to the floor of his apartment.
$$$
Meka was laying back on the satin sheets of a king sized bed, completely nude. Her thick, voluptuous, brown skinned body was illuminated by the flickering lights of the scented vanilla candles which had been strategically placed around the bedroom. Lying naked on the bed with their face buried between her thighs was Meka’s latest sexual conquest. A beautiful, slender, dark skinned woman by the name of Desireé. She was the color of dark mocha and her skin was as smooth as the finest silk.
Desireé was a sergeant at Perry C.I. (located right outside of Greenville) that Meka had met when visiting her younger cousin who’d just been given thirty-five years for armed robbery. Meka had been on her way out of the visiting room, when Desireé (against prison regulations) had slipped her a number on a folded piece of paper. They’d started talking a few days later and eventually began going out together. Desireé had her own place, made a nice living for herself, and was extremely sexy. She was a dime in more ways than one, but Meka was far from the commitment type. She didn’t like the feeling of being tied down to one particular girl, so she always kept a few bad bitches only a call away for fulfilling her sexual desires.
It had been whispered around town that after being gang raped, tortured and left for dead, that Meka had started fucking with girls, but nobody really knew for sure. Meka neither confirmed nor denied the rumors about her sexuality because honestly she could give two fucks what anybody thought about her. Yeah she liked girls now. So what? She loved the psychological feeling of being in control of a relationship and dominating another woman in bed just like a man. She loved the softness of another woman’s flesh in her hands and the emotional connection.
But don’t get it fucked up though. Meka was still a bad bitch! Just because she had started having sex with girls didn’t mean she had turned into some hardcore butch. Hell naw! Meka wasn’t having that. She liked girls now, sure, but she was still very meticulous about her appearance. She still got her hair (now kept stylishly short), nails, and toes done religiously. Not to mention the fact that her curvaceous body stayed laced in the latest fashions. On the outside, she was definitely still very feminine. But on the inside, she had become even more ruthless and more heartless.
After the horrifying near death experience that she had endured at the hands of Rico and his goons a few months ago, Meka had made two sacred vows to herself. While she lay up in that hospital bed recuperating from her injuries, she swore to herself that one: she would never allow herself to be in a position of weakness again. And two: that she would never let another man touch her sexually in any way. Of course in the end, Rico had gotten his just desserts. Meka smiled fondly at the memory.
Nevertheless, the experience had brought back vivid meémories of molestation from her childhood that she’d tried her best to forget about. This latest incident had merely re-opened a deep wound that had never properly healed in the first place; and then poured salt in it. Now, as time passed, and the wound began to scab, it was obvious that Meka had been scarred for life, both physically and psychologically.
She had grown to despise the touch of a man, but Meka went against her promise for one person and one person only. He was the exception to the rule; the only exception. Not because of his looks or his money or anything superficial like that. No, their relationship was on a level way deeper than anything materialistic. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he genuinely loved and cared for her. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill… or die for her, if it came to that. They had been through everything together and knew each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. With him, she felt safe. With him, she was able to let her guard down and be vulnerable in ways nobody else would ever know. It made no difference to her that they shared the same blood.
With her eyes closed and her legs spread, Meka enjoyed the pleasurable sensations that her new lover’s experienced tongue was giving her. “Mmmm,” she moaned, as her lover pulled the hood of her clit back with her thumb and slowly sucked and hummed on her swollen pearl. Meka squirmed and twisted her body in ecstasy. “Mmmm,” she moaned again, while biting her bottom lip. She loved getting her pussy eaten out. And nobody could eat her out better than another woman who knew exactly how it felt.
Meka used her hands to caress her own breasts, then placed each nipple between her fingers and pinched them hard enough for the pain to give her pleasure. Her wetness was beginning to ooze between her ass cheeks. Desireé let her tongue travel down Meka’s increasingly wet ass crack until it was touching the entrance to her chocolate tunnel. The tip of her tongue briefly penetrated her new lover’s tight hole. Meka jumped in surprise, and delight. Desi slowly let her tongue slide back up to her lover’s swollen clit.
Desireé continued to devour her meal, sucks and slurps resonated loudly throughout the room as Meka continued to pinch, pull and rub on her own sensitive nipples. She bucked and thrust her thick hips back and forth into Desireé’s increasingly wet face. Meka placed her feet flat on the bed and spread her legs even wider so her lover could get a little bit more up close and personal with her hot box. She grabbed Desireé by her naturally long hair and aggressively pulled her face into her snatch. She continued to grind on her tongue until she could feel herself beginning to cream. “Ahhh, Shiiiiiit!” Damn she loved cumming on another bitch’s tongue!
When Desireé finally came up for air, her face was so wet that her chin was dripping with Meka’s sexual juices. She licked her lips, wiped her chin with her hand, and stared into Meka’s eyes lustfully. Like a cat in heat, Desireé crawled up the bed until she was alongside her lover. She leaned in closer and allowed her soft lips to brush intimately against Meka’s ear as she whispered into it. “You taste soooo fucking good on my tongue,” she breathed. Meka smiled. Her four permanent gold teeth reflecting the flicker of the candles as she did so. She had smiled because she’d heard that same thing said about her so many times (from both men and women), in so many ways that it had started to become amusing. Besides, she knew she tasted good… she’d tasted herself on enough occasions to know.
Meka leaned forward and aggressively stuck her tongue inside of Desireé’s mouth as she cupped one of her
small but full c-cup breasts in her hand. Her nipples were fully erect as she rubbed and played with them. The taste of her own pussy was still fresh inside of her partner’s mouth as they shared a kiss full of passion and lust.
Suddenly, the multi-platinum rapper T.I.’s hit song “You Don’t Know Me” interrupted the ambience as Meka’s phone rang and vibrated loudly on the nightstand beside the bed. “You mighta seen me in the streets but nigga you don’t know me/When you holla when you speak remember you don’t know me” She tried to ignore it at first, but it kept going off! She loved T.I. but damn he was fucking up her flow! Irritated, she reached over in the semi-darkness, and turned her phone off. She didn’t know who the fuck was calling her at two in the morning, but whoever it was would have to wait.
Meka opened up the top drawer of the dresser that was beside the bed. It was full of everything erotic. Underneath an assortment of undergarments was everything from edible panties to anal beads, and a plethora of other sexual goodies. Meka reached for the 12 inch, black strap on. Desireé watched as she put it on and then immediately assumed the position with her face down and her small but firm ass up in the air with her back arched. She looked back in anticipation as Meka got directly behind her. Desireé was dripping wet as Meka entered her and began to slowly fuck her from the back. She moaned softly with contentment. Within seconds Meka had increased the speed and intensity of her thrusts as she began to aggressively fuck Desireé harder and harder. She penetrated deeper and deeper. Her soft moans had now turned into loud screams of pleasure mixed with pain as the dildo filled and stretched her insides.
Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose Page 3
