Secrets of a Side Bitch 2

by Jessica Watkins

  Without them bricks, I only had a thousand bucks and nowhere to live. I couldn’t afford to rent a room at even the shabbiest motel because I still had to eat. After a week, I would be broke.

  I had no other choice; I had to head back to Chicago.

  Omari

  After three months, I was finally ready to face Ching. I knew that he wouldn’t cop to killing Aeysha, especially at the County during visiting hours with so many guards and listening ears around. I just wanted to be able to look that son of a bitch in his eyes when I told him that I was going to make sure that, if he didn’t end up with life for killing Ron Johnson, my intent was on ending his.

  I waited along with damn near a hundred other people in a room that smelled like an old basement. The room was filled with young chicks, crying babies, bad ass toddlers, and elderly women with stress in their eyes because they were waiting to see their sons. I was the only person with a lack of remorse or sadness in my expression. I looked like death because I wanted to kill the motherfucker that came walking coolly towards me in a grey jumpsuit.

  I guess County food had gotten the best of Ching. He was much slimmer than the last time I saw him. I guess dry ass bologna sandwiches weren’t an acquired taste for a punk ass nigga like him.

  “Pretty Boy, whad up?”

  Ching tried to hide his surprise to see that I was the person there to visit him. It didn’t shock me at all that he had the balls to actually sit across from me at the table as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Funny seeing you here…”

  “Cut the bullshit, motherfucka.”

  Ching slightly laughed at my hostility. Yet, I could see a bit of shock behind his tired and weary eyes. “Damn. You done turned gangsta overnight?”

  “You know I never did claim to be a gangsta...”

  “But?”

  “But you definitely helped turn me into a killa.”

  Ching tried to act like my words didn’t faze him. He tried to continue to sit there looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. But I saw it. I saw the worry in the back of his mind that wondered what I was capable of. After Aeysha’s murder, I was a different motherfucker. The man that was sitting in front of him wasn’t the same nigga that was scared of getting his hands dirty. I was angrier, colder.

  He saw that shit.

  “What’s your point?”

  “Point is, if you get off on this murder, it’s a bullet on the other side of these walls waiting on yo’ ass for killing Aeysha.”

  There was a possibility that Ching might be released. Word on the street was that his attorney was trying to get the charges dropped because of lack of physical evidence.

  Ching’s eyes bucked in response to my deadly threat. He snickered, like I was a joke and had nerve to threaten him. Prior to his arrest, Ching had sold drugs for years without much trouble at all. He never had trouble with the law, never got caught for possession. The block boys rarely had trouble. There were robberies here and there, but they got swept under the rug quick by eliminating the problem at the head, like Ching did Ron.

  But he’d never had a nigga coming directly at his head.

  I planned to be that nigga if he ever saw the free world again.

  “Killing Aeysha? Man, I heard rumors that you were putting it in the streets that I killed her, but I never believed it. Nephew…”

  I interrupted him by leaning in closely and aggressively whispering, “Don’t call me that shit!”

  Quickly, I sat back because my suspicious movements caught the attention of one of the guards. Now, I had her full attention, and she was closely watching the exchange between me and Ching.

  “Man, dawg, are you serious?” Ching was looking at me like he couldn’t believe it. He was putting on a hell of a front.

  “Dead serious. You didn’t have to kill her. I wasn’t gon’ say shit. I gave you my word.”

  I couldn’t believe it when he calmly replied, “I know.”

  This nigga was such a stunt that it wasn’t even funny. It disgusted me that he had the balls to kill my woman, but those same balls were nonexistent when it came to fessing up to it.

  For weeks he called me a fuck boy and pussy ass nigga because he thought I would crumble under the pressure of the investigation of Ron’s murder. But now, here he was acting like a fuck boy when the pussy nigga in me had turned into an animal ready to attack his bitch ass for what he’d done.

  “I know I started actin’ fucked up towards you when the shit hit the fan about Ron’s murder. I said a lot of fucked up shit to you, but it was only to scare you. I wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t talk, so I put a little fear in you.”

  “By killing Aeysha!”

  “No. That wasn’t me. I …”

  Ching was still talking but I couldn’t hear him. The fact that he would fold into a coward was offending the shit outta me. He was tough enough to put me in the middle of a murder. He was heartless enough to kill my woman to keep me quiet. But suddenly he couldn’t be a man and tell me to my face that he killed Aeysha.

  I’d had enough. I stood from the table and walked away without another word.

  I could hear him calling after me. “Nephew! Nephew, come back. Real talk.”

  But I kept walking. I couldn’t afford to get into it with that nigga in that jail. Not only did I want to stay non-confrontational in front of the guards, but I had to remember that I was still an accessory to Ron’s murder. If I wanted to stay a free man, I couldn’t draw attention to myself by getting into an altercation with Ching.

  I knew that, since he had yet to do so, Ching wasn’t going to snitch on my involvement in Ron’s murder. He lived by a street code so intense that he would do a bid for that murder and allow me to walk the streets free. Unfortunately, it was that same code that made him feel like it was okay to kill the love of my life.

  The biting January air outside of the County building smacked me in the face, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as my heart. I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my Pelle and braced myself against the strong winds as I walked back to my Challenger with hatred in my heart for the man that practically raised me.

  Gia

  “This dick feel good to you, baby?”

  Rae was panting into my ear while delivering deliberate and extensive strokes inside my tight pussy. Rae was on top of me, missionary style, as my thick chocolate legs spread across the bed, allowing for deeper and more intense penetration.

  Rae had forced my arms above my head. To keep me from fighting the dick, Rae’s fingers were intertwined amongst mine as I was delivered steady profound strokes that, with a slow rhythm, reached the bottom of my pussy.

  “Huh? You like this dick?”

  Against my will, I surrendered to Rae’s shit talking for the sake of making this fuck session go swift and smooth.

  In a flirtatious tone, full of fake moans of pleasure, I allowed, “Yes, baby”, to escape my lips as convincingly as I could.

  “Tell me how much you like it.”

  Behind Rae’s head, I rolled my eyes. Again, I mustered up the sweetest sexiest voice as I replied, “I don’t like it. I love it.”

  “You love me?”

  “Of course, I love you.”

  Those three words were all that Rae needed to hear to just shut up and fuck. She, yes, she, then focused on fucking me with the fat eight-inch lambskin strap-on with such intensity that I could swear that she was trying to sexually assault this pussy.

  I made a mental note to fake an orgasm in two minutes.

  Sex with Rae use to be the bomb. Three years ago, when we met at Sunset, where I dance, the closest I had come to somebody else’s pussy was freak shit that I pretended to do on stage with another dancer. Yet, at the age of twenty-two, I was easily persuaded by this smooth soft stud that used her feminine beauty, plus masculine aggression, to turn me into a dyke that catered to her for the next three years.

  Rae had been my everything, and I hers. She was a beautiful fair-skinned wo
man with long locs dyed a dark brownish red. The color popped off her beautifully sculpted face perfectly. She had an awesome body that she often hid under baggy jeans, wife beaters, and Timberlands. Though a beautiful twenty-three year old woman, Rae had turned into a very ugly person over the years.

  As a teen, she tried to hide her interest in women. She wasn’t open about her interests; even though by looking at her, it was obvious. She wasn’t “out”. She didn’t have gay friends, and she wasn’t part of that community. I truly believed that she wasn’t comfortable being open about her sexuality because, the one time that she was, she was rejected. Her family disowned her at the age of sixteen, upon her admission of her sexuality and interest in being transgendered. That abandonment, coupled with the confusion of her sexuality, had slowly turned her into an individual that was very insecure, paranoid, and desperate for love.

  She was an adoring and loving man trapped in a beautiful woman’s body that was madly in love with a woman that had never even been in a lesbian relationship before. All of that ratchetness had taken the spontaneity out of this relationship for me.

  I was tired of her insecurities and ready for some real dick.

  Finally, I decided that it was time to fake my way out of Rae being on top of me.

  “Ooo, shit! I’m cumming,” was followed by a bunch of curse words, soft growling, and light scratches on Rae’s back until I lay still, huffing and puffing, as if that orgasm took everything out of me. I even made my body convulse suddenly, like the orgasm was still coming down and shocking me.

  Rae giggled in delight, kissed me quickly on the lips, and pulled the rubber dick out of me. After unfastening the strap-on and taking it off, she spooned with me so tightly that I could feel her perspiration leaking into my pores. I noticed that, like always, she wasn’t holding me in a loving or emotional way. I wasn’t lying intimately in her arms. She was holding me captive, wanting to know every time I moved or if I left the bed as she slept.

  Just the thought made me laugh at the situation in embarrassing humor.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Instantly, I replied, “Nothing, Rae. Just thought of something.”

  I could feel her sitting up and, even in the darkness, could see her staring at me. “Thought of what?”

  “Nothing, babe.”

  She grabbed me by the arm and forced me to turn over and look at her. Despite the fact that we were in the darkness, the moonlight shone on her face so I could see the fact that she was actually getting angry.

  I smacked my lips and snatched away from her. “Nothing damn! Go to bed.”

  She was crazy as hell!

  At first, it was cute. At first, Rae’s obsessive-compulsive attention and clinginess was perfect. Prior to meeting Rae, I had never been in a relationship that gave me real happiness. My only experience was being with men with no loyalty, honesty, or commitment, who eventually fucked me over to the point of unbelievable heartbreak.

  I was born and raised in the Cabrini Green Projects. As soon as I turned eighteen, I started dancing and moved to an apartment complex in Chatham. Living a hard life with niggas whose loyalty was only for the streets, and never for a woman, was embedded in me.

  When I met Rae, she was a breath of fresh air. She was the masculinity and protection that my single ass needed. Since she was a woman, she knew exactly what to give me in addition to that; loyalty, affection, and commitment.

  In turn, I had given Rae something that she’d never had either: love. I was the family that she got kicked out of. I was the lover that she could never find. I was the friend that she never had because she was so different in a world that didn’t understand her.

  The more I gave her that love and the more I gave her that family, the more she was erratically intent on keeping it. All while I was seriously ready for yet another breath of fresh air.

  Two

  Simone

  I danced in the mirror to “Bad” by Wale that played on the flat screen through one of the U-Verse Music Channels. I switched seductively while swinging twenty-six inches of virgin hair back and forth. I smiled at my reflection as my hands caressed curvaceous hips and squeezed a phat ass. Then I playfully smacked my ass through the True Religion straight legged jeans that I had just squeezed into.

  Ever since I got my new body, you couldn’t tell me shit. A few weeks after selling my mother’s house, I got some injections. I heard one of the girls at Lexington House talking about them. All year, I knew that little heifer had to be stripping or something. There was just no way that a ward of that state could afford the things that she was buying with a McDonald’s paycheck.

  At any rate, after pulling this so-called top secret information out of her, I hooked up with the fag from Miami that flew to Chicago once a month to give bitches ass and hips in a hotel room somewhere.

  Three sessions and forty-five hundred dollars later, I had forty-seven inches of hips and ass.

  For years, I’d envied women with curves that kept men at their every beck and call. Finally, I was that bitch. After hitting the gym, my body could compete with the best of them. I had the body that I always wanted all of my life and the man of my dreams.

  Presently, I was in Omari’s bedroom putting the finishing touches on my outfit. I was due to meet him at a bar and grill in Crete for lunch. Even though I’d purchased that condo, soon after Omari and I got together, I started to spend most of my time at his place in Riverdale.

  I even had a key.

  It’s crazy how I never once felt guilty for setting up Aeysha’s murder. It was even more insane that the more I settled into this relationship with Omari, the more I was assured that I had done what was best for me.

  Finally, I was no longer the side bitch waiting my turn to be in a committed relationship.

  As I finished the last touches of my make up, I could hear Dahlia crying in her room. On cue, my eyes rolled and my skin started to crawl.

  “Urgh,” I groaned as I left the bedroom and walked towards her room to shut her up.

  She was wailing and it was so fucking annoying. Omari spoiled this little bitch like she was the next coming of Jesus. Everything was centered around Dahlia. Everything was about Dahlia. She was the golden child.

  Though I’d gotten rid of Aeysha, it was like the bitch was still there! Every time I looked at Dahlia, I saw Aeysha. Not only did Dahlia look just like that bitch, but Omari treated her just like he treated Aeysha. Even though I was his girlfriend, Omari put Dahlia first.

  I’d won my man, but I was still sharing him with another bitch!

  “Would you shut the fuck up?! Urgh!!” I was livid as I smacked Dahlia out of anger across her little premature leg. I knew that she wasn’t big enough for a spanking to get through to her. It just made me feel better to take my anger out on her.

  But that only made her go from wailing to straight up hollering.

  “Oh, shut up!”

  I left the room, figuring that eventually she would shut up or Tiana, the babysitter, would finally arrive so that she could deal with that brat. Tiana was the younger sister of one of the block boys that served for Omari and Capone on the South Side of the city. She was a high school dropout with nothing else to do, so I hired her to babysit. Omari thought that I hired a sitter because I couldn’t juggle work while caring for two households and him. That was part of it, but mostly I didn’t want to deal with anything that had anything to do with Aeysha, unless it was him.

  Just as I was putting my ID and wallet into my Louis Vuitton, above Dahlia’s cries, I could hear the doorbell ringing. I grabbed the keys to my Benz, walked passed Dahlia’s room, where she was still wailing, and walked towards the front door.

  I had been able to upgrade many things since Omari and Capone took over that block on the South Side. After selling my mother’s house, giving Chance that twenty-five grand, and splurging a little on myself, I was wearing knockoff bags and barely making the payments on my Camaro. Now I was on Michigan Avenue making high-end pu
rchases with cash.

  Omari was far from a kingpin, but he was definitely flipping bricks way faster than he and Capone ever expected.

  Once I let Tiana in the house, she heard Dahlia crying and instantly went into Captain-Save-A-Dahlia mode. “Aaaaw! What’s wrong with my baby?!”

  I didn’t even hide the fact that I’d rolled my eyes in response to Tiana.

  “She’s fine,” I replied, not hiding my irritated tone. “She’s probably hungry.”

  “Does she have bottles in the refrigerator?”

  “If Omari left some in there,” I replied nonchalantly while going through my purse, looking for some cash to give Tiana.

  Tiana giggled before saying, “Miss Simone, don’t be treating Dahlia like that.”

  I smiled, while attempting to hide my hate as Dahlia’s cries ricocheted off of the walls. “You know I’m just playing. That’s my baby. Mommy just doesn’t have time to tend to her. I have to meet her daddy. Speaking of Omari, was he on the block when you left?”

  “He left right before me. He said he had to meet you for lunch.”

  “Okay, well let me get out of here.” I handed Tiana fifty dollars before walking out of the door. “I’ll be back.”

  “Take your time.”

  Just as those slick words left her lips, I stopped in the doorway and turned around to face her little fast ass. “Don’t have no niggas in my house.”

  Tiana couldn’t even hide her sly sneaky look. I knew that when she so graciously agreed to babysit for us that she was enjoying the amenities of the house way more than she enjoyed babysitting. We had everything any teenager could dream of; flat screens, stereos, stocked frig, and liquor. I knew that little bitch was drinking. If she was hot enough to hang out on the block and drop out of high school, I didn’t put shit past her little ratchet ass.

  She stood in the kitchen testing Dahlia’s milk on her wrists with a grin on her face that smelled like bullshit. In a synthetic weave, Rainbow jogging suit, and knock off Ugg boots, she looked every bit of ratchet. So I could only imagine what kinda nigga she would have in my house.