by Sa'id Salaam
“It is,” she admitted lowering her head in shame and came clean. Well, almost since she did just pee. “It happened by accident once cuz I had to pee real bad. The guy I was with went crazy and told me to do it again so I did. Been peeing on dudes ever since.”
“Just nasty,” he chided and got off the bed. He looked around and found the bathroom and went in. He had worked up a good lather when Antoinette came in.
“Can I join you? I peed the bed,” she said sheepishly. Killa responded by moving forward so she could enter. She took the washcloth and said, “Let me.”
Killa grunted and allowed her to wash his body. After gently cleaning him, she used the soapy cloth to tug on his dick. Once it was erect once more, she rinsed it and knelt down. He closed his eyes and leaned back enjoying the feel of her hot mouth. It got even hotter when he filled it with pent up frustration. To her delight, he stayed hard.
Killa led her back to the bed and bent her over. They couldn’t get back in cuz it had pee on it. As soon as he rolled a condom on, he slid inside of her. He delivered firm back shots that echoed in the room. Antoinette’s knees buckled when she came causing her to collapse on the bed. Not the pee part, so Killa went with her and kept on stroking. After Killa bust a nut of his own, they ended up back in the shower.
After getting clean, dry, and dressed, Killa hit the door. Before he departed, he left a last word of advice. “Stop peeing on people!”
Chapter 10
As the age old adage goes, everyone will have his or her fifteen minutes of fame. Greg Williams was an exception and got his times three. You first heard of him when he starred in the public service announcement entitled 'The Lady Killer.'
In it, he detailed a year of his womanizing antics. He had unprotected sex with scores of women and at least one man. It culminated in him receiving some bad news. Or did he? That would be the million-dollar question.
His second fifteen minutes of fame came when he was arrested a year later for having reckless, unprotected sex after being diagnosed with HIV. He had infected fifty women and at least one man. The trial was national news and everyone was watching. Everyone.
The case was the proverbial open and shut, slam-dunk. The fifty victims at twenty years each meant a one thousand year sentence. The State of Georgia would leave his ass in there for a thousand years too. He would be eligible for parole in 750 years. In the end, it all came down to his testimony. The prosecutor couldn’t wait to get the crass, arrogant man on the stand.
“Did you have sex, unprotected sex, with all the women in the complaint?” he asked dramatically flailing the sheet of paper as he spoke. He handed it to the defendant who looked it over before speaking.
“Can’t really say, I don’t remember most of them hoes names,” Greg shrugged and handed it back. “I fucked all them,” he announced smugly as he pointed to the twenty victims in attendance.
The jury let out a collective gasp at the admission of guilt as well as the disrespect. It was going well until the prosecutor fucked up. He opened his mouth real wide and stuck his big ass foot right inside. It was support for the old saying “quit while you’re ahead.”
“So after being formally notified that you were HIV positive you continued having unprotected sex with women and…and him!”
“Actually I was never formally notified of nothing. Shit for all I know one of them bitches gave that shit to me! Or him,” Greg shot back causing the victims to gasp that time.
“Order! Order in the court,” the judge demanded to quell the murmurs. He was on their side but had to keep control of his courtroom. He wanted no errors that could be overturned on appeal.
“Oh no?” the prosecutor chuckled and produced his proof. “I submit exhibit 9-A. The transcript of the “Lady Killer” public service announcement!”
A hush fell over the courtroom as he leafed to the last page. He licked his thumb dramatically, cleared his throat, and began to read. “…’What kinda doctor is you anyway? Askin’ ‘bout who I fuck?’ The doctor, a state employee replied, ‘State law requires us to notify all sexual partners of new HIV infections.’ End quote.”
“Ok and? He ain’t say I had it did he?” Greg asked causing his lawyer to spring to his feet. He thought the case was lost so he pounced on this information.
“Objection! State protocol was not followed Your Honor! There is a standard script for notifications and record does not reflect that it was followed!” he cheered.
“Both sides approach!” the judge boomed down in frustration. The prosecutor and defense attorney met him at his throne for a heated yet muted debate.
“You better not!” Killa growled as he watched the proceedings live on his TV.
“It’s clear Your Honor, he was never formally notified. Not per state requirements,” the defense attorney argued.
“Um, I um…” was all the prosecutor could come up with. He knew he was right, the doctor fucked up.
“Fuck,” the judge grunted loud enough to be heard across the courtroom. He frowned at what was to come and dismissed the lawyers to go stand by their tables. When he opened his mouth to speak, the whole country listened.
“Due to the fact that the state protocol for HIV notification was not followed…the case is dismissed,” he croaked painfully.
The courtroom went wild. Not only did the victims in the pews wail and moan but the jury as well. Greg fueled the fire by triumphantly pumping his fist.
“Order in the court!” the judge demanded, banging his gavel. That did nothing to calm the grieving so he cleared the court.
Once the jury and spectators were cleared Greg was free to go infect more unsuspecting women and at least one man. Would have too, except along came a Killa.
****
Gregory laid low for a week or so after the trail. The whole business had taken a toll on him as well. He hung around his apartment for the most part, only venturing out for the occasional errand. Every time he left his house, he had the feeling he was being followed. That’s because he was, death was right on his ass. When he finally decided he needed some pussy death followed him to the club.
As usual, Greg scanned the crowded club for the baddest chick in the building. That’s how a real player starts and works his way down. The rest would get his number to be hit at a later date. A good club night can eventually net ten to twenty new kills. Literally in his case since he was The Lady Killer.
No fisherman throws his hook in the water alone hoping to catch a fish. You need bait. Killa was a good fisherman and he had some great bait.
“Hey handsome,” Antoinette sang seductively as she mounted the bar stool next to the fish. She and Killa had linked up on a regular since she stopped peeing on people.
Greg looked the pretty brown thing over and regulated her to his hit list. “Hey yourself pretty lady,” he replied showing his pretty white teeth and green eyes. He had his eyes on a pretty red bone he wanted to infect but this one could definitely get it down the line. The sick bastard came to the conclusion that since the virus was given to him; he might as well pass it along.
And pass it along he did. Besides, the known fifty victims there were fifty more who still didn’t know they were sick. That hundred infected became two hundred and that two hundred infected two hundred more. Talk about a social network!
“Can we go somewhere and chill?” she asked running her moist tongue over her full lips as a question mark. It was sign language for ‘I give good head.’ She had no idea why Killa wanted to lure the man out and didn’t care. He had been laying the pipe so well she would do anything he asked.
“I wish I could but I have something to do,” he said meaning the red bone. “Shoot me a number and I’ll hit you later, from the back.”
“Mmm, that’s how I like it! Only I don’t have a phone,” she offered sadly, poking her lip out. Suddenly a bright idea popped up and cheered her up. “Why don’t you just come by whenever you finish doing whatever you have to do? I’ll suck your dick.”
&nb
sp; “That’s what’s up!” he eagerly agreed just as she knew he would. That’s a nightcap most men wouldn’t pass up. He beamed brightly as she scribbled her address on a slip of paper.
Antoinette handed him the paper and stepped down from the stool. They exchanged smiles before she turned to walk away. Greg watched her ample ass shift from side to side, as she left. Had he looked up he might have seen her wink at Killa on the way out. Her mission was complete so she headed home to wait on her late night plumber’s visit. Killa would be coming to lay some pipe.
Killa watched Greg approach the pretty, light-skinned girl he had set his sights on. They smiled, chatted, laughed, and then stood up. He didn’t know what it was, but Greg’s game was A-1. Five minutes after meeting her, he was leading her off to slaughter, literally. Knowing he couldn’t allow him to leave with her, he had to think fast. Time for some good old fashion cockblocking.
“Gregory Williams, I’m Xavier Forrest from…Black Ink Magazine,” Killa announced holding his cell phone out as if recording. “How do you feel about being acquitted of fifty counts of aggravated assault?”
“Aggravated assault?” the pretty girl gushed. She liked bad boys but had no idea how bad the boy really was. She was about to find out though.
“That’s right. He infected fifty women and at least one man with HIV. Didn’t you see the trial?” Killa asked wondering how she missed the media circus.
“Was it on the video channel?” she asked explaining why she knew nothing of world events. If she couldn’t twerk to it, it didn’t concern her. Turn up.
“HIV!” she squawked, pulling her hand from his. She grimaced at her own hand hoping she hadn’t caught it and took off to the bathroom.
“See that’s some real bullshit right there!” Greg lamented coming face to face with his executioner. Another step and Killa would have beat him to death on the spot. He was relieved when he didn’t because he had something else in store for him.
“Lucky for you, I got another bitch on standby nigga! Or else I’d beat that ass,” Greg announced plainly.
“Sho you right, I’ll see you later,” Killa laughed as he marched out. Killa pulled up his phone and got Wali on the line. “Get everything ready. It’s almost show time!”
****
“Cock blocking ass! I should’ve whoop that nigga’s ass,” Greg muttered to himself as he drove to the address Antoinette gave him. He pulled up to the house and double-checked the address on the paper. The house looked abandoned and dark, but still, the promise of good head spurred him on. When he tapped on the unlocked door, it swung open.
“Hello?” Greg called as he stuck his head into the house. Suddenly the lights came on then went back out when Killa caught him with a vicious punch with his brass knuckles. That was bad enough, but when the lights came back on…
“What the fuck? Where am I? Where are my clothes? Ouch!” he rambled when he awoke. He shielded his eyes from the blaring light with one hand and gingerly touched his swollen face with the other.
“Not sure about the fuck. The where is a lion’s den and your clothes are the least of your concerns,” Killa said through the zoo’s P.A. system. On cue, Wali cut the spotlight so Greg could see. And oh to what he saw.
The first thing he noticed is that he was inside a real lion’s den. He grew up in Atlanta and had been going to the zoo his entire life. Luckily, there were no lions in sight. The next thing he noticed was twenty of his victims on the spectator side of the glass. Nineteen women and one man.
“Fuck y’all bitches want? Some more of this?” he taunted grabbing his infected dick and wagging at them. Yep, it was real funny, at the moment anyway.
“Showtime ladies and um…gentleman,” Killa announced.
The audience replied by hitting the record function on their smartphones and pointing them. Greg was about to say more slick shit until a door slid open and the lions sauntered in. Neither the lions nor Greg could believe their eyes. The dinner was just as surprised as the diners were.
“Help!” Greg screamed shrilly as the bitch in him came out. In his defense, he was about to be eaten.
The male lion sat, cocked his head, and watched as if amused. The spectators were clearly amused. They jumped at the chance to watch the man who changed their lives die. Some would never marry or bare children because of him and his dirty dick. Sure, they played a role in it and they would have to live with that bad decision.
Greg fought the good fight. First, he tried to climb out but kept slipping back down. If the expert climbing lion couldn’t climb out, he certainly couldn’t. Next, he tried to get through the glass. He pounded, kicked, and begged but got nowhere fast.
The male lion stood and inched forward as his women flanked their prey. They were only there to cut off any escape; this was his kill. The lion pounced and grabbed Greg by this throat. The bite sent a spray of blood into the air as it nearly severed his head. The victims captured every bite as the pride moved in and devoured the man.
“Thanks for coming out, God bless you, good night,” Killa announced through the speakers once the show had concluded. That marked the end of his chapter, and this one.
Chapter 11
Doc was a pretty sick dude and as a result, he did some pretty sick shit. I guess that’s bound to happen if you sit around talking to heads all day. Sooner or later, the heads start to talk back. It wasn’t unusual for Doc to pull out a head or two for a date. That night was one such night when he had a double date.
Of course, he brought out Bonita, his favorite. She sat at the head of the table while Janelle flanked her left. The black girl was his latest addition and arrived by luck. Good luck for him, but for her, not so much.
Doc had been out on the town head hunting and struck completely out. No one went for his pick-up lines so he went home alone. As he drove along a skinny, crack-stitute flagged him down. She was hardly his type, but curiosity killed the cat. He pulled over to see what she wanted.
“You want some head?” she offered generously.
“Do I? I want some head very much,” he shot back and hit the automatic locks. Doc had just received a package from China and couldn’t wait to try it out. He hoped it worked as well as they claimed. You wouldn’t believe what you can buy online these days.
“Oh this is ni…”
“Yeah, yeah, nice, I know,” Doc muttered impatiently as they entered the condo. He practically dragged the woman down the hall to his playroom. “Stand right…here.”
The crack head watched curiously as the doctor donned his mask and tore into the package. He came over, slipped it over her head, and read the directions. Janelle figured whatever was going on was worth another ten bucks. Her normal routine was suck, swallow, and smoke. This was extra.
“Shush!” Doc fussed when she began to speak, distracting him from the directions. One side of the sheet was written in Mandarin and the other in broken English. “Ok, position…hit switch…fuck!”
The BD 2000 was the bootleg version of the D.C. 2000 but worked just about as well. A little slower and not as smooth, but got the job done nonetheless. The crack head’s crack head popped off and fell at her feet. Crack heads are as tough as Tonka trucks so the frail body just stood there. It fell a minute later when Doc picked up the head.
“I do believe we spoke about some head?” he asked holding Janelle at eye level. Fresh heads are the best heads to get head from so he wasted no time. With his nasty ass. Once he finished he put her in a jar and added her to his collection. Her body was placed back in the same alley where he got her. It was found the next day.
Doc often cooked for the girls on date night but they never ate. Formal dates like that required wigs and make-up while Doc rocked a tux. The girls were great listeners and loved to hear his stories about his infamous former patient.
“So I told Killa that I…wait a second…what’s going on here? I see the way you guys are looking at each other,” Doc announced. Never mind that he positioned them that way. Doc tossed b
ack the rest of his wine and scooped the girls up. He whisked them into the living room so they could all get cozy.
“Hey Bonita,” Janelle said in her ghetto girl fashion. She would have moved her head like a ghetto girl too if she had a neck.
“Hola mamacita,” Bonita giggled. The girls bantered back and forth flirtatiously until Doc leaned them in for a kiss. He got rock hard, well pebble hard, watching them kiss.
“Can I get in on the action?” Doc asked.
Neither objected so he sat Janelle down and whipped out the wood. You couldn’t tell ol’ Doc nothing as he got head from the two heads. They even fought playfully over him at times. Doc was a good referee and let them share. Once he finished he let them share that as well. He then cleaned them up and put them back in their jars. With his nasty ass.
“Good night ladies,” Doc sang to the six women staring back at him. Yup, six and it was about to be a problem.
****
“In breaking news the headless body found last week was positively identified as that of Janelle Morris age 25. She brings the number of headless women to five in just over a month’s time. Islamic extremist are being blamed for the attacks…”
“Islamic extremist!” Doc screamed after spitting his coffee across the table. “What the fuck is an Islamic extremist?”
He was always amused and bewildered by the oxymoron favored by the media. Islam means peace and submission so an Islamic extremist would be someone who is extremely peaceful. He also wondered why the faith of other people who commit atrocities was never mentioned. It also made him wonder if news and media agencies had a hatred for Islam and Muslims.
“Those are my kills! Mine! Mine! Mine!” he raged at the reporter on the screen. She of course could not hear him so she continued lying on Muslims.
Doc was livid. He hated living in the shadows while everyone heard of Killa. He vowed again to kill him as soon as he found him. Luckily, he knew enough about the man to know where to find him. If not him, at least his grandmother.
