You grow up fast in the hood. Everything happens around you. Whether you want it to be a part of your surroundings or not, it becomes a part of you.
Life is just one big cycle. The same things go on at Lakes Park now that were going on back in the day, when I was a child. The only change is that the park is more run-down, but since they put a police station right next to it the dealers are selling less dope out of it.
Walking to school in fifth grade, I saw drug dealers on the street corners waiting for the next crack addict to come and spend their kid’s welfare checks. During school hours, the rich folks’ kids that lived in Palm Beach would drive across the bridge to buy drugs. When the hustlers saw the Bentleys, Mercedes, or limousines coming over the bridge, they would literally kill to make the sell. They knew that at least a thousand dollars would be spent in one transaction. With N.W.A., Kool G Rap, and Ice-T banging out of everybody’s radio, the whole vibe was like New Jack City or something.
By the time I was in high school, I was friends with most of the hustlers on the streets. They watched out for me. I never had any girlfriends back home. They all hated me, because I excelled at everything I did and accomplished every goal I had set for myself. They expected me to fail since my mother was on crack, but I used her problems to strengthen and encourage me. Watching my mom fall apart helped me to know at an early age what I didn’t want in my life. Compared to the kids in my hood, I stood out like a basketball player in Japan. I was taller than most girls, red-skinned, and had a head full of curly locks. I made all A’s in school and was captain of the track team. I wasn’t afraid to take or give a butt whipping. I looked like a pushover, but everyone knew that I would fight if I had to and win by any means necessary.
The older I became, the more the hustlers tried to make me one of their “girls.” It’s funny; I never fell into the trap. I didn’t give up the coochie easy, but I did get money from them. I made them think that if they were good to me, then maybe they would get to paradise. I had what they wanted, a tight virgin twat. And they definitely had what I wanted—money.
Don’t get me wrong, my life at home wasn’t exactly horrible. I had the mere basics needed to survive. I ate one meal a day instead of three. I wore store brand clothes and shoes, instead of name brand. That was more than my mom could afford when she was living and before she got on crack, but I wanted more. I wanted what the superstars seemed to have, everything. No, “I wanted it all.” And then some.
Hanging out with hustlers made me realize that there had to be a better way out. I wanted more for my mom and me. I knew that one day I would have all that I wanted. It upset me that my mom died before she could enjoy my success with me.
Ambition is a mother. If you desire something enough, there isn’t nothing that can stop you from getting it.
I would drive across the bridge to Palm Beach and cruise Ocean Boulevard just to look at the huge mansions on the coast. Everyone had a mansion over there—John F. Kennedy’s family, the Kellogg’s cereal owner, Donald Trump, and a lot more people I can’t think of right now. The huge iron gates that opened on demand, with the long driveways lined with hundreds of pine trees leading up to the main house, excited me.
I wanted to live like the people in Palm Beach and I wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop me.
I had to make a plan that ensured my success. No matter what it took, I was going to have it all.
During my college years, I didn’t give it up for free and love wasn’t in my vocabulary. I learned how to play the street game at an early age. I knew how to get the money I needed without compromising my self-respect. I drove a new Camaro at Florida A&M University and owned a three-bedroom house by the end of my first year.
Not bad for an average girl from the hood, huh?
I rented two of the rooms out, one to Amber and the other to Toi. We have been best friends ever since those days, though I have different friendships with each of them.
I remember Amber talking to someone on the phone one night; she didn’t know I was listening. I never had girls around me that weren’t jealous of me, so her description was surprising. She said, “She’s beautiful, sexy and classy.” The person she was talking to must have asked her to describe me in more detail, because she continued, “Well, she’s tall and statuesque, has a body like a model with curves, nice full breasts, exotic striking features with big brown eyes that tantalize those who come in contact with her. She knows what she wants and is not afraid to go and get it. She always has a master plan and backup plans. The word ‘can’t’ is not a part of her vocabulary. She is very confident, but not cocky. She doesn’t try to prove herself because she says that she knows who she is. She’s outgoing and some might consider her aggressive. She loves a good challenge. She is kindhearted and sweet, but no punk.”
Damn, I thought I was the only one who knew I was that tight. I’m just joking, but I was flattered by her compliments.
As I listened to Amber, I knew that we would be friends. Most women can’t say anything positive about another woman, but she made me sound almost perfect.
My hard work was finally paying off. People were beginning to see me as a success already.
I worked hard in college. I knew that my books came first and fun later. I schemed money from hustlers to buy my house and pay my bills. I made each one of them feel special, like they were the one who had my heart. I was adamant about finishing college. I did not hesitate to let them know that if they could not contribute, then, “Hey, see ya.” I tried to work when I first got to school, but after three months of working ten hours a day and going to school full-time just to bring home a check worth only eight hundred dollars after taxes, I knew I had to do something different. I could hustle up in a few days the money I had made in a month. So I quit my job.
Oh no, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t sell myself. I got inside their heads, then I took control of their minds. I just made a nigga think that if he was good to me, then he just might get to candy land. However, only a select few were granted access to my private paradise.
Sitting alone in this room filled with so many different voices allowed me to reminisce more about how beautiful and therapeutic last night had been. I needed that. I needed everything Mike had given me. He relaxed me and pampered me. He was very sensual, and he gave me all of him, every seemingly perfect part. I can’t think of anything that would have made last night better than it was. Tell me, what’s better than a nigga who screws you good? One who can hold an intelligent conversation, loves your entire body, eats you like a bowl of melting ice cream, then makes love to you with a hard stiff cock like there’s no tomorrow. Damn, it was good!
As I allowed my mind to wander off, Amber and Toi finally showed up. “What’s up, girlfriend? All a diva wanna know before we even start our conversation is . . . was the dick good?” Toi being her loud usual self came in asking questions before she could even sit down good.
One thing that trips me out about Toi is that she can be so ghetto at times. But if you catch her during business hours, she transforms to Ms. Corporate America.
Toi is an entrepreneur, self-made, and will not let anything or anyone stop her. Money drives her; the more she make the more she wants. She lives to make the next dollar and does. She doesn’t hesitate to use all the resources at her disposal to get what she wants. She will even sacrifice her body. She often said that if most women had a dollar for every man they screwed, most of them would be millionaires. She has an awesome physique, five-eight, has an athletic build, nice-sized breasts, bowed legs, and a very sexy walk. She is pecan tan and has attitude out of this world. Most women think they are God’s gift to men, but don’t admit it. Toi thinks she’s God’s gift to men and women and has no trouble letting you know this. Let’s just say she has a lot of confidence.
“I don’t believe she gave up the cat. Now if you said that she let a nigga eat the coot, I’d believe that. You know that if a sista ain’t getting the D, she still needs a good licking ever
y now and then.”
“Candice likes her cat ate, but she ain’t screwing a thang. That’s what happens to those liberated ‘I don’t need a man in my life’ females who masturbate all the time. They forget how good the D really feels,” Amber added.
Amber’s comment made me pause.
In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘What the hell had I done?’ I just screwed a man that I didn’t even know; was I really being a hoe? Nah, I just got what I wanted at that time. Anyway I’m long overdue for taking control of me and some good lovin’ from a tall dark and beautiful handsome stranger was what I needed to release all the pressure.
The repercussions may be good or cause pain, but I’ve learned that sometimes in life you do things that don’t necessarily make sense, but they make you feel good. Sometimes you have to hurt in order to really learn how to appreciate life’s pleasures.
After quietly thinking for a moment, I replied, “Girls, I can’t give this good stuff to just anybody, nigga gotta earn it. Men don’t want to do what it takes to get a taste of the ‘almighty.’ ”
Regardless of my doubts, I refuse to let anyone know. It seems like when a person comes into your inner space . . . that inner you, that only you know, you get hurt.
Amber asked, “Well, what did the nigga do last night to get it?”
I don’t give a damn about that, what a female really wanna know is why you sexed a nigga you don’t even know when you have hundreds of them that will do anything to get with you.
“That nigga must have some strong game or something. Was it the game or was it the big chocolate pole that he stuck deep down in yo hole,” Toi amusingly said as she and Amber gave each other a high-five.
As I told them all the juicy details about my night, they both sat in silent awe. Ladies, you know we want to hear every little detail, so I had to make sure I didn’t leave anything out. When I finished, Toi said, “Damn, that nigga laid that pipe down on you. Girl, it ain’t many out there that knows how to work what they got and give it to you just like you want it. Damn, I know it was real good.”
Amber said, “Damn, I need a man to take care of me like that! The last two I’ve had were a waste of time. Honey, one nigga did not know how to work what he had and he did not last five minutes.”
Toi interrupted and said, “Two minutes . . . two minutes and counting,” meaning that he came as soon as he put it in.
Women, y’all already know that those “I’m a Mandingo slinging D” niggas usually are knocked out before round one gets going good. Most of us wish we could find a minute, at least we could have a decent chance of getting some satisfaction out of being a throw pillow with a wet hole for some grunting and groaning fool.
Amber continued, “And the other couldn’t lick the kitty to save his life.”
“I can testify to that,” I said. I was walking past her room door at her house when all I heard was “smaa, smaaa.” It sounded like a dog licking and smacking at the same time. Me being the pervert I am, I had to peek in. Amber was lying on the bed, spread-eagled, looking disgusted, as if she wanted to ask the dude with his mouth between her thighs, “What are you doing?” His head was moving up and down, and he was making a loud smacking noise. I stood there laughing quietly because from the look on her face he hadn’t licked the right spot yet. I wanted to tell him, “Open it up and lick the clit, more tongue action, less head moving.” But, instead I just walked out.
Amber then commented, “I wish you would have. The only reason I went to bed with him anyway is because he bragged about how good he can eat the cat, and girl, was he a BIG disappointment. His tongue felt like a wet piece of sandpaper.”
Out the blue, Toi asked me, “Did you cum?”
“Yeah I did, more than once.”
“No, I don’t mean while he was eating the kitty, but while he was inside of you?”
I swear to you, when she said that I could feel him inside me. I damn near nutted trying to answer her.
“That nigga’s like the bomb uuh, did I!”
“Stop lying, girl, stop it, you never come like that! Damn, I would’ve paid anythang to see that there! So the nigga broke you down. He laid that pipe down, huh girl? It must’ve been one of those good hard ones? Damn, how many years has it been since you bust a nut like that?”
Then it dawned upon me: I had never experienced an orgasm like that before. I thought people were just playing when they say as you get older, you can control your body better. I guess I had control . . . control of me.
“Girl, I can’t remember, but that thang was good, and we were somehow emotionally connected. I ain’t gon’ lie, I can’t explain it.”
“Did you suck his D? ”
Don’t front, you know you do it too. How can you expect to be done up proper if you don’t return the favor? I think everybody gotta little freak in them.
“No, but I wanted to because his sweat was so sweet. I licked him dry and, girl, did he taste good.”
“Well, did you get the digits?”
“No.”
“Why not girl, that’s the kind of man you keep on call because you know he can deliver with a guarantee.”
“That’s the problem, it was too good and something that good can be dangerous. I’m not ready for the challenge. I wasn’t looking for a man or lover, I just needed to be made love to.”
“No girl, you just needed some good, nasty lovin’.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but I knew that she was right.
“And you better believe that I did get what I wanted and needed.”
Our waiter came over and asked us if we had decided on our order. “Yes, we’ll have two nuts,” Toi said jokingly.
Looking confused, the young unshaven waiter said, “Nuts? What kind do you . . .”
“No, girl. We need sweat to go with that. . . . We’ll have two nuts on sweat,” I said. We all started laughing.
Amber said, “It’s something about the smell of a clean man’s sweaty balls that turn me on. Make me want to just get on him and start riding . . . heee haw.” Amber started turning her hand in the air like she was roping a horse.
The waiter looked at us like we were crazy and said, “Tell me when y’all wanna order food.” Then he walked off.
“Girls, look who’s walking in. Look at that hoe Shaniqua,” Toi said.
Shaniqua hated us. There’s nothing worse than having a sour whore in your business. She just made up stuff about us to talk about, and she can’t stand Amber. She knows Amber is screwing her man, Randy. But Randy is screwing everybody, he’s everybody’s man.
I’ll tell you more about this sorry nigga a bit later.
When Shaniqua saw us, she really put on the fake walk. When she twisted past our table, she started throwing her hips from side to side and swinging that weave like it was her hair.
Well, she paid for it so it was hers for a while.
When she walked past, Amber said very loudly, “Hate it, wouldn’t want to be it.” We all started to laugh very loudly.
She turned around, rolled her eyes, and said, “Stupid hoes.”
Amber replied, “You the stupid hoe because that sweetness you taste on ya man’s tongue is my honey sweet juices!”
Shaniqua got so upset that she couldn’t order. She said, “Dykes,” and walked out the restaurant. We blew her kisses as she sped off in her car.
Although I know that Shaniqua hated on us every chance she could with whoever would listen, I knew how she felt. Always trying to get ahead but never can because she don’t have enough willpower to keep going when thing get stuff. She just gives up and accepts the defeat. With that attitude and low self-esteem she will never get ahead; that is why I felt kinda bad for her and what we had done. Oh well, that’s life. Maybe she had done something in a former life that made her deserve this treatment, or maybe she should stop doing what she’s doin’. Always in bed wit somebody’s man.
Toi said in a half giggle, “Look at ya divas, that’s why them hoe
s don’t like ya now.” Me, Toi, and Amber were as thick as glue. We did almost everything together. When women see us out together they get jealous. I never understood why people hated on us so much because, believe me, we worked hard for what we have. No one gave us a damn thing. We grew up in the ghetto, went to college together, and did what we had to do to start our own businesses. We understood that business came first; then, and only then, can we afford to have fun. All it takes is a dream, ambition, and dedication to achieve what most might feel is unattainable.
A lot of folks fall victim to that Cinderella complex crap. You know—a great prince will come someday to give you everything you ever wanted. In reality, the only thing that’s free is problems. You have to make opportunities, not wait on them. Ladies, keep that in mind.
I especially worked damn hard because I never wanted to depend on a man. I don’t need no man telling me when to come, when to go, what to say and not say. I don’t need a nigga who goes out all week, and only comes home when he wants to screw. But when a man is taking care of you, he feels like he can do that. And, you know what? He can, because he’s calling the shots. You’re a piece of furniture . . . he uses you when he gets ready . . . and when he’s not, you are expected to be quiet, and wait until he wants to use you again. Who needs that bull?
As I was saying before, we go through a lot in the business world. Just dealing with the dirty old men in corporate America who want some fresh young cat is enough in itself.
Women have to earn respect, no, demand it, in the corporate realm because it’s not given freely. This is definitely a fact when you are black, successful, know what you want out of life, and are willing to do what it takes to get it.
Yeah, women hated us because we had money and enjoyed life. But like Toi always said, “I don’t know why those hoes are jealous. They don’t know how many dicks I had to suck to drive this Rover. Shit, put them hoes in my shoes, and they won’t last a day.”
Toi worked long hours. She was dedicated to her success and making her money. She would stay up for days if she had to meet a deadline. However, she did not have a problem using her womanhood for favors.
Sins & Secrets Page 2
