From the Streets to the Sheets

by Noire

  “Same time next week?” Braw asked after I sold him the fantasy of my watching him get fucked in the ass.

  “Damn, Braw, my man doesn’t even want to fuck me any-more because he’s so into you. But what the hell, same time next week.” I then ended the call.

  “That is some nasty shit,” Sam said. She had been sitting there listening to the thirteen-minute phone conversation.

  “You got some nerve seeing how we bump coochies every night,” I replied. “You are such a fish.”

  “I don’t know, it just seems different with women. Dudes are so big and beastly, and to be sticking their dicks in each other’s asses . . . I don’t know, man.”

  “We stick our tongues in each other,” I said, slithering my tongue in and out like a serpent.

  “Oooh, baby, don’t do that to me,” Sam said, watching my tongue and quivering as if just the thought of me eating her out sent chills up her spine.

  “Don’t do what? Don’t do this?” I said as I playfully continued slithering my tongue in and out of my mouth, while moving toward Sam.

  Instead of playing along and trying to move away, she spread her legs open, revealing the fact that she wasn’t wearing any panties under her chemise. Just the sight of her waxed triangle-shaped hair, with her clit peeking out at me, got my body hot. I immediately attempted to dive in with my tongue, but Sam stopped me by putting her hand out.

  “Let me stir it up for you, baby,” she said sensually, licking her lips and then sticking her index finger in her mouth, sliding it out slowly and then placing it into her pussy with one push. “Oooh, uhhh, ohhh,” she moaned as her finger went in and out of her. She closed her eyes and slowly her hips began to move, keeping pace with her finger.

  I laid in front of her watching before I followed suit by licking my finger and placing it inside her as well. Her wet pussy took in both of our fingers.

  “Sin, Sin, I love you,” Sam said as she opened her eyes and looked deeply into mine. With my finger still pleasing her, I sat up and began kissing her passionately. Sam took her finger out of herself and placed both hands on my face. “I do love you so much, Sin. You just don’t know.”

  Sam’s voice cracked and before she could hold back, as the cum filled my hand, tears filled her eyes.

  “I love you too, Samantha,” I said. “I love you too.”

  The next thing I knew Sam was in my arms, weeping. Without her saying a word I knew what was going on in her mind. She was thinking about Detail.

  “You saved me,” Sam said. “I could never repay you, Sin. You saved me from a life of hell when you—”

  “Shhh,” I said, placing my index finger, the same finger I had just fucked her with, over her lips. She then stuck her tongue out and began licking my finger up and down like it was a dick. I pulled her to me by the finger that was in her mouth and tongued her down. The harder I kissed her the more she cried.

  I knew what it was like to love someone so much that just thinking about that person stirred up uncontrollable emotions. I knew because I loved Sam that same way. I loved her so much that I would die for her. I would kill for her and she knew it. She knew it because I had proven it when I put that ten-inch butcher knife into Detail’s back. I don’t know what came over me that day. I just walked in the apartment and saw Detail beating Sam to a pulp, and she wouldn’t fight back. She just wouldn’t fight back, so I had to fight back for her.

  I was a project chick, and used to throwing them blows. After all, I’d fought muthafuckas over my stupid-ass name all the time. But even fighting over my name became secondary to all the blows I had to throw because of kids talking about my mother. You know how it was back in the day—you fight one sibling and you had to fight them all. But you best believe I caught them hoes slippin’ one by one and beat their asses. But the one time they caught me, I got suspended and sent home with a black eye and a busted nose. My moms had the nerve to fuss me out, talkin’ about all I ever did was fight and that I was out of school more for fighting than I was in school for learning.

  “Maybe if you go get on welfare like every other mother around here instead of laying on your back to feed us,” I spat at my moms, “then maybe I wouldn’t get into so many fights trying to defend you when the kids call you tramps and whores and stuff. I don’t even know why I’m fighting. Why should I get mad at them when all they spittin’ is the truth?”

  Even when I saw my moms laying in the casket at her funeral I thought about the slap she gave me after I said those words to her. I remember rubbing my right cheek, the one she slapped me on, as I stood over her casket crying. I’ll never forget the pain—not the pain of the smack, but the pain that was in my mother’s eyes when I said those words to her. I think deep down inside that’s why I stayed so angry with her for so long. If I stayed angry with her, then I didn’t have to be mad at myself for the life I chose to live. But no matter what life I chose to live, I knew that I wanted it to be with Sam and I wasn’t about to let Detail take her away from me.

  I hardly remember actually putting the knife into his back ten times. I remember dropping it, though. I sometimes have nightmares of the knife dropping down onto the white sheets. I see Sam’s hand picking it up and finishing what I started. Every time Detail moved, she stuck him. She had so much fear in her eyes, fear that if Detail got back up, he’d surely kill her, kill us.

  Once he finally stopped moving, I remember looking at Sam. She was covered in blood, but not her own. It was Detail’s blood. At that moment I lost it and just went into complete shock. I didn’t talk for weeks, ironic, because now I talk for a living. Sam was the levelheaded one. She’s the one who thought of taking up the floorboards in the closet of that cheap-ass bottom-floor apartment of ours. Together we dug, and we dug, and we dug, and we dug, until the hole was big enough to stuff Detail’s corpse into it. If we had hit a pipe or gas line or anything, we would have been fucked.

  Sam went to Home Depot and bought some lime and a couple of bags of quick cement. We mixed it in this five-gallon bucket and poured it over the body. I vomited until I was so dehydrated that Sam had to force juice down my throat.

  Sam replaced the floorboards. We stayed there for a few more months, hoping and praying that a stench would never surface or else we’d have to come up with a Plan B. Years from now, when they end up condemning that place, maybe they’ll find his body—but nine times out of ten, just like every other murder in the projects, it will be written off as gang-related. But until then, just like Braw’s homo-thug lifestyle, Sam and I will keep our little secret in the closet and continue our life of sin.

  TRAINING DAY

  Kweli Walker

  Have you ever . . . you know . . . fucked?” Dushawn asked softly, licking his fingers until they glistened in the last orange and lavender rays of the sun. Before I knew it, he had my jeans unzipped. “If you ain’t, you need to holla cuz I got a big, long, thick-ass dick, and if you ain’t used to dealin’ with that I’m gonna have to break you in easy.”

  It took every brain cell in my skull to help me nod my head yes.

  I said, “Uuuh . . . yeah.”

  I almost said no, cuz on a scale of one to ten, what I had really experienced was a fuckin’ zero. The guy I was with had been a straight fuckin’ zero. Zero skills, zero dick, and zero holdin’ power. The one time I gave it to him that fool had pulled outta me like a little bitch and squirted cum all over his mama’s fake-fur seat covers. The worst part was how long he had sweated me, and how much his ass had bragged on his skillz. I coulda done better with my own two hands. I really shoulda told Dushawn no. I’d said yeah just to keep it real.

  But Dushawn must’ve figured out by the look on my face that this was going to be my first real ride. He laughed and shook his head, “He wasn’t shit, huh?”

  “Unh-unh.” I shook my head, kinda laughin’.

  “Don’t worry, La La, I’m going to teach you how to ride Big Black, but first I’m gonna polish your phat saddle of an ass for the ride. Come ’
ere, girl.”

  I strolled over to him, trembling in excitement. “Bomb fuck” rumors spread through the ghetto like wildfire about Dushawn Lambert. Rumor had it that he was a guy who could get the job done. I couldn’t wait to see if the rumors were true. The shit was on!

  I gasped, “Sssshh . . .” as his cigar-like fingers slid down deep inside my panties, through my slippery pussy lips, and curled way up inside my body. Oooh! Having Dushawn’s hands strokin’ my soft cunt hair with his big fingers digging all up in my pussy was in-fuckin’-credible. After a couple of minutes of the ultimate massage, I spread my legs for more. Suddenly, he trapped my swollen clit on both sides with his knuckles and started kissing me again. Every kiss was longer and deeper than the next. The whole time he was kissing me, he was popping my slippery clit between his knuckles like a clit-popping machine. I felt myself bloom inside, wider than the Grand Canyon. I could barely catch my breath. Dushawn was breathing like a bull.

  “Lemme just look at it,” he gently commanded, with his soft deep voice. “That’s all, baby. I just want to see it.”

  I knew this was the tippin’ point. I knew that if I said yeah, wasn’t gon’ be no turning back. Outta all the men in the world, I was falling for the brother of my best friend, and the son of my mom’s worst enemy. I thought about that for a long, hard second. Unfortunately, my pussy overruled all that loyalty shit. I had fantasized about Dushawn for years, and now was the time for my first toe-curlin’ fuck.

  “Sure, take a look.” I smiled. Seduction at this level has a way of brangin’ out the bold in a sista—even a trainee. I had been feeling chilly just a few minutes earlier, but now I peeled out of my jeans and then BAM! I was standing in front of Dushawn feelin’ like it was the Fourth of July. I had on a lime green crop-top sweater, but was butt naked from my waist down to my lime green ankle-tie spikes. If it was cold outside I sure couldn’t feel it no more. I was straight on fiyah!

  Dushawn kept his word and just looked. It was late Friday afternoon. A dope beat was blastin’ from this apartment across the alley on Indigo Street, so I served it up for him to the music, nasty-girl style. I may not have fucked an army, but I could definitely slow roll my ass to the beat.

  “What you know ’bout shit like that, girl? Turn ’round and let me see you bounce that bubble.”

  You know I did.

  The longer he watched the hotter and juicier I got. He was feelin’ fire too. I could tell by the bulge in his jeans.

  He tossed his head back gently, and signaled for me to come over to where he was sittin’ against the wall. I strolled over to him slowly. He kept signaling me to come closer until my pussy was just ’bout an inch from his lips. I could feel the heat of his breath spread across my thighs. He crawled to his knees and this . . . is when I almost lost my whole goddamn mind.

  He had me spread my ankles apart, wider and wider, until I stood in a wide upside-down V. The cool air blasted in between my legs and up the crack of my ass. He pressed his nose into the soft damp curly fur surrounding my throbbing pussy. He took a few quick deep breaths of my spicy scent. All of a sudden, his hands went buck-the-fuck wild. They roamed up and down my body, from my ankles, and back up into the deepest folds of my ass and thighs.

  He said, “Damn yo shit is tight, li’l mama! Turn around and let me see that pretty ass you got, girl.” He was talkin’ straight to my pussy. His deep voice sank into my bones. I turned around with a quickness. He grabbed my ass cheek between his pretty white teeth and gave it some sexy love bites while he massaged my clit—wigglin’ his fingers up my split, over my clit, and then sliiiiiidin’ ’em back down real slow.

  “Let me see them nice big titties,” he said, turning me back toward his talented tongue.

  I was too ready to ride by now, but I obeyed. I was hoping he was as ready to fuck as I was, but he took his time. His hands worked their way up into my titties, but he didn’t miss nothin’ in between. He stopped and popped my bra loose. I pulled my tee-top back behind my neck and let ’em swing. He pulled me down and gave my big titties all his attention. He gently rolled and chewed my dark chunky nipples until I whimpered and moaned with pain and pleasure. Dushawn tenderly licked and sucked spots I never knew were hot. His large dark brown hands slid back down into my deepest pussy folds.

  He slowly spread my thick outer lips apart, and exposed my stiff clit from all shelter. At first he barely brushed it with the moist insides of his lips. When it was slick with his moisture and my own, he started tenderly sucking my whole clit, pushing back the hood with his skillful kisses and plunging it into ecstasy with his powerful tongue. When Dushawn started circling the hot mouth of my cunt with the tips of two thick fingers, my legs started to rattle violently in the extreme pleasure of my pre-cum climb. I held his strong neck to steady myself. The rapid rippling of his jaws sent chills through me. He stopped for a few seconds, to unleash his big hard dick from his pants. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. It was thicker and longer than I imagined. While he devoured my clit, I ran my fingers all over his well-shaped head and muscular neck. His freshly cut hair pricked the tender skin of my palms. Finally, I came. I came longer and harder than I had ever come in my life. Yes-s-s-s-s!!

  Dushawn lightened and slowed his sucks and kisses from a storm to a gentle breeze. He didn’t stop until I completely stopped shuddering. I begged him to fuck me. If his dick had gotten any harder it would have shattered. It looked like a big black satin pole. His eyes were crazy but he igged my pleas. He pulled me down into his lap, sidesaddle, on top of his bulging thigh.

  “Don’t turn down my gift, Dushawn,” I whispered into his thick sexy lips.

  “Z’hat whatchu really want, Nailah?” he whispered. I looked him dead in the face. He was still smiling but he looked kinda worried.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He said, “We fixin’ to cross the line. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “I like you way more than you think I do, La La. I been checkin’ you just like you been checkin’ me but . . .” He paused.

  “But what?” I snapped.

  “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

  “Hurt me how?”

  “You know this can’t really go nowhere right now. I mean . . . my mom and your mom had serious beef.”

  His words cut me to the bone but I shook it off with a quickness. I wasn’t gon’ let him fuck up the mood with other people’s bullshit . . . especially some old bullshit drama.

  “My mom been dead for two years, Dushawn. Your mom need to let it go. That mess was between them and we both know it was over some shit that never even happened.”

  Back in the day, when our moms were friends, me, Dushawn, and his lil’ sister, Camille, used to walk to school together. Me and Cami were tighter than tight. We did er’ything together. Sometimes in middle school we even dressed alike. We had matchin’ diaries when we were teens. Some kinda way our diaries got mixed up. Her nosy-ass mama called herself snoopin’ through Cami’s diary and ended up readin’ mine. At the time, I had a King Kong crush on Dushawn. Every page was covered with fuck fantasies about him and me, but we hadn’t even held hands. Mrs. Lambert invited my mom by—to talk. She was cool with her conversation at first, but she started dropping nasty lugs on my mom about gettin’ pregnant in high school and never gettin’ married, and living on the “rough” side of Compton. She ended up tellin’ Mom that if I was tryin’ to trap Dushawn the same way she had tried to trap my father, it wasn’t gonna work.

  Momma snapped into bitch mode and called her every kinda bitch/cunt/ho she could think of. When we left, Momma slammed their door so hard it sounded like a bomb went off, and it cracked their big front window. So much for the “nice” long talk to smooth things out.

  From then on, we weren’t supposed to see each other anymore, but me and Camille were like sisters. We did a lot of sneakin’ and we never lost friendship. Dushawn would wave but that was it. Back then, I lived just to see him wave from across the
street. When Cami told me he got shot in a drive-by at Campanella Park, I snuck by to see him every day on the way to school for two weeks. After that, whenever he saw me he would stop and talk if his mom wasn’t around. Whenever we talked, I could tell he was really feelin’ me. For the longest time, I waited for him to make a move and here we were—ready to finally get our fuck on—and he brings up that shit. I was pissed—actually more hurt than anything.

  I choked back a lump of disappointment the size of Texas and said, “Look, I don’t want no muthafucka who don’t want me. Either you want me—or ya don’t.”

  “You know I want you. I just don’t want you to get things twisted.”

  I threw up my hand. I spoke slow and clear. “If you want this pussy, you better jump the fuck on in this bitch! I’ll deal with tomorrow when it get here. Who knows, you might be the muthafucka that gets sprung.”

  That made him laugh. His hands was running all over my body again. He asked if I had some lotion. I quickly dug a tube out of the side pocket of my silver and lime green camouflage handbag. He gently scooped his hand between my legs and gathered the juice from my pussy and thighs. He mixed it with a big blob of lotion. He started stroking his dick until it stood out so stiff that it looked like a lethal weapon. It glistened in the amber glow spilling from a streetlight. “Work the tip for me. That’s where I can really feel it,” he said, climbing to a stand and leaning against the wall with his pants around his ankles. I grabbed him a little too tight at first. He scolded playfully, “Hold up, Killa!” At first I was embarrassed but we started laughin’ again and then he started showing me exactly how he liked it rubbed and stroked. I caught on quick. I could tell he liked my touch by the look in his pretty dark brown eyes—all sexy and dreamy-like.