by Styles, Toy
"Listen, shawty," he snaps, snatching his hand from me, "I told you I'm not wit' all that romance shit. We straight fuckin', that's it! When I come over here I want to see that ass naked and bent over on the sink. Fuck this dress and dem rose petals and shit."
"I know, it's just that ..."
He cuts me off, grabs my face and says, "Don't fuckin' fall in love wit' me, Parade. You'll get your feelings hurt. Sky's the only woman for me." I know, I should be mad at how he grabs my face and yells hateful shit at me, but you know what I am thinking? At least he's touching my face. With all my scars and all my bumps, he's still touching me. In a way, it makes me want to do something about my skin.
Maybe next time he touches me, he'll see a clearer face and want me.
"I know, baby," I speak real softly. "I know it's not cool to fall in love with you, and I'll try my hardest not to. It's just that ... I wanted to make things nice for you."
"Naw, lada for dat. Make shit nice for me by doin'
what the fuck I ask you."
"It wasn't any trouble. You can fuck me the same way you would over the sink but on my bed."
"Yeah, a'ight," he says as he follows me.
I have the candles lit, the room clean and the air 8
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fresh, but he doesn't notice.
"Bend the fuck over and grab your ankles." I bend over.
He unzips his pants, pulls up my dress and rips off my panties. Damn! There goes seven dollars down the drain. For me that is a big deal, considerin' I ain't got no job.
My panty set could be an electric fence and he still wouldn't care. But at ten inches of hard good dick with a nice mushroom-shaped head and thick green vein running down the shaft, it's worth it. I do as he instructs and yell his name as if it matters. I feel his warm, hard rod inside me. Damn, fuckin' him always feels sooo good. As usual, I am imagining that I'm Sky and that we live together and the sex feels even better.
"Take me, baby. It's all for you," I yell, backing up against his dick.
"I will, you black, ugly bitch. I'm gonna bang this black-ass ugly pussy out."
His comment brings me back to reality. I take a deep breath and then I'm black, ugly Parade again.
Don't be alarmed. He always talks to me like that. Does it hurt? Yes, it does. But, didn't I say this man is fine?
And didn't I tell you I am ugly? I should be grateful he's even over here. I'd never get a man like this otherwise.
Honestly, I always wonder why he wastes his time on me and what he sees in me, besides the fact that I sex him the way he likes it. He can fuck anybody he wants. I know girls like me have to take what we can T. Styles
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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
get. Daffany and Miss Wayne tell me I'm pretty all the time. They love my eyes and always compliment my smile. I don't believe them, though. Sky and my mother keep it real about how I look. They tell me the truth so I won't go out there believing I'm anything but a dark-skinned ugly girl. The only time I even consider believing Miss Wayne and Daffany is when Jay walks through my door. But still, he eventually reminds me of who I am.
Anyway, this is how most men talk to me and sometimes it turns me on. Maybe I feel like I am doing something for them their women won't. In my mind, they need to be with me. They need someone less attractive to make them feel appreciated and loved. To me, this is the caviar of sex and the Moet of life, and it can't get any better than this. So, until my soulmate comes along, don't ask me to think otherwise.
"Get on your knees and open your mouth," he demands as he shakes his dick, on the verge of busting a nut.
I am on my knees and my mouth is open. I feel a big glob of his cum in the back of my throat.
"Ummmmm," I moan then swallow. "You taste so good."
He zips his pants, drops fifty dollars on my bed and walks out. I wonder how much Sky gets.
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2
Sky Taylor
"WELL HURRY THE FUCK UP!" I yell at my late-ass boyfriend over my cell phone. "I've been waitin' for over an hour on your bitch ass!"
"Man, calm the fuck down!" he screams. "I'm on my way."
I slam my pink RAZR shut and throw it in the passenger seat of my car. Here I am, sitting outside of Arundel Mills Mall in Maryland, waiting for my so-called man to meet me. We are supposed to be going to the movies and he's late. Although I want to stab his ass sometimes, he's everything to me. Well, he's everything to me financially. Lately I've had a strange feeling that he's cheating on me. He comes late, talks to me how he wants to and doesn't want to fuck me that much. And trust me, I need dick like I need food and water. I can't tell you the number of times that I've gone to the store to replace my electronic butterfly vibrator just to bust a nut.
If I tell my friends I have to beg for sex from him T. Styles
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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
they won't believe me. You don't understand. I'm Sky Taylor! I am the prettiest, sexiest and sassiest redbone known to man. When I walk into a room, everybody stops and looks, women included. If you see my best friends, especially Parade, you'll appreciate me walkin'
into the room, too.
To say that girl is ugly is an understatement. They make pet asses that look better than Parade. I try to give her the clothes I don't wear, but even top designers can't help that face of hers. And when we're out, I stand as close to her as possible so that my prettiness will rub off on her. I'm doing her a favor by being her friend and people ask me why all the time. I tell them straight up that we've lived together in ghetto-ass Quincy Manor Apartments since we were kids. Along with Miss Wayne and Daffany, I've known Parade all my life.
I'm like the diamond and my friends are the rough.
It's easy to understand. My mother and my father are both models. They're in their late thirties, and even now they stay out of town on assignments for Sean John, Rocawear and Baby Phat. We don't stay in the hood because we have to. We stay there because we can stash our money, buy the stuff we want and pay dirt-cheap prices for rent. For now, I'm okay with where I live, but eventually I do wanna leave - I just hope it's with Jay.
I glance down at my Movado and realize fifteen more minutes have passed and he's still not here. I can only listen to so many CDs before I start getting irri-12
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tated sitting in this 2005 red Honda Accord that he bought for me.
~~~~
"Jay, you're late!" I yell at him from my window as his white Yukon pulls up next to me. "Where in the fuck have you been?!"
"Look, I had business to take care of," he says as he gets out of his truck, slams the car door and opens mine.
He has his own clothing store in DC, which is a front for the drug operation he runs. Money is not a problem. One thing I can say about him is this - if he thinks he's hurt me, he'll drop some cash on me in a heartbeat. Watch this.
"Did it really take you all night?" I ask as I get out of my car and activate the alarm.
"Yes, it did."
He reaches in and kisses me. Mmmmm. His lips are always so sweet.
"If I don't run my shit," he continues, "how you gonna get all that loot I give you?"
"What kind of business you got tonight that's so important it couldn't wait? You know I hate to be late, and the movie's about to start. I was sitting in my car by myself, Jay. What if somebody tried to hurt me? You had me looking stupid for over an hour."
"You survived, Sky."
"Yeah, but you know these dudes out here were tryin' to holla at me, right?" I'm lying, but I know it will piss him off.
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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
"Come on, Sky. Why you always gotta give me shit?
I'm here now, a'ight? And if you wanted them weak-ass niggas - 'cuz I'm sure they were some
bitches tryin'
to holla at a girl in a car - then you shoulda went wit'
'em."
He's mad. Internally, I smile. He looks sexy when he's mad, too. Just lookin' at this black-and-Spanish mixed mothafucka makes anybody wanna say, "Neva mind. I ain't even mad no more."
"Well it's obvious you don't give a fuck about my feelings," I whine. "I might as well go home," I continue like I am getting ready to cry and walk back to my car.
"A'ight, ma, you got it," he says as he grabs me.
"Hold out your hand." He's reaching in his pocket for the roll.
I love the roll. When he comes to my house and puts it on my dresser next to the bed where we make love, I admire it when he goes to sleep. I pick it up, feel it, smell it and pretend it is all mine.
"Okay," I respond with my arms folded, pretending I ain't wanna hear nothing he is tryin' to say. But, he peels off five hundred and I can't help but smile.
"Thanks, daddy," I chime as he bends down, kisses me and I gently grab his dick. "You know I'm hittin'
that in the theater, right?"
"Hell yeah, girl." He touches my face gently with his hand. I take one of his fingers and place it in my mouth rotating my tongue around it. It drives him crazy. I smell a faint odor and figure he didn't wash his 14
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hands.
"Damn, Sky," he says looking into my eyes. "I broke my neck to get over here to you. That's the only reason I stay comin' wit' you to the movies. I don't give a fuck what be playin'. You tryin' to get a nigga sprung," he continues as he grabs my ass. "I'm feelin'
that outfit, too, ma. That shit's hot. Don't have me break a nigga's jaw out here for starin' at yo' ass."
"Boy, stop playin'." I blush.
I am givin' it up, too. He ain't lying, and I love when he gets a little violent by threatenin' to beat my ass and shit. It only means he cares. Men don't trip unless they feel threatened or are afraid they may lose you. That's right, baby. Get a good look at this ass so you can see what you'll miss if you fuck up.
~~~~
We walk through Arundel Mills Mall toward the theater and all eyes are on us. The atmosphere at night is more like a club than anything, partially because Dave and Buster's is inside the mall, too. We really do look like a fly-ass couple. I have on my three-and-a-quarter inch boots and my one-piece sleeveless black jumper that complements my calves, cleavage and ass.
I completed my look with the Tiffany diamond collec-tion set Jay bought me, which includes the earrings, necklace, bracelet and ring. The niggas is on me and the bitches is on him. The haters are on the sidelines hatin' as usual. I kinda like the haters, though. They let you know you're really doin' the damn thing.
"You get the tickets, ma?"
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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
"Yeah, papi. I know you hate standing in line," I tell him as I grab his hand to let the redbone in the corner staring know that this one belongs to me. See, I ain't worried about the darkies 'cuz Jay hates chocolate. He once told me a dark-skinned girl can't even get his dick hard. But he loves them redbones with a passion.
~~~~
We move through the theater, it's packed and people are everywhere. I hate going to see a movie on opening night, but I love the attention. We are elbow to elbow with strangers, and now they are so close that nobody can really see my outfit.
We are waitin' in the line to get some snacks and this one dude behind me is starin' me down like I am the last chicken wing on the plate. He has his girlfriend with him and everything. Or maybe it's his wife. Who knows? He ain't even lookin' at my face, just focusing on my body and my ass. I turn around slightly, pretending to give a fuck about the crowd behind me so he can get a good look at my face. I want him to see I'm a total package.
I recognize him from around the way. He smiles, suggesting he recognizes me, too. I'm sure he knows who I am because I'm definitely popular, but for some reason I can't remember his name. If my memory serves me correctly, he is the owner of a 2006 silver Mercedes Benz CLS55 with charcoal interior.
Outside of his car, I can tell he is caked up by the looks of his girl. She has diamonds so big that they put my Tiffany set to shame, and trust me, it's hard to put 16
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my set to shame. The thing that really cracks my head is the canary-yellow diamond pendant necklace she's flossing. I can also tell her tracks are laid professional-ly because they move every time she does. Bitch! You know how good a nigga's eatin' by the bitch he puts on his arm.
Maybe I'm mad or maybe I just want to start shit but I'm about to fuck with him a little. Plus, if he sees me again, I want him to know that he has an open invitation to approach me. With Jay actin' up lately, I can never tell how long he'll be around. Who knows, maybe this dude can be my other option? I mean, Jay takes care of me because I damn sure ain't got no job, but lately he's been slackin' in the attention depart-ment.
"What you doin', girl?" Jay says, sensing I am up to something.
"Nothing, baby," I lie as I reach for a kiss and put one finger through the belt loop on his jeans.
I look at the line ahead of me and see there are three people in front of us. Our server is extremely slow, and this is the only time I am happy with poor service. It gives me time to play out my game a little.
I should feel bad because Jay stay puttin' niggas in their place when we go out. One time I cut up and he had to pull his heat out on this dude. But for some reason, I don't care about startin' shit tonight. As far as I'm concerned, I'm keeping him on his toes. He needs to be reminded that he is lucky to be with me. I'm a bad bitch and he knows it.
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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
I'm seductively swaying my hips to get the other man's attention, as if that's hard to do. You know, like I'm so tired of standing in the line that I gotta move otherwise I'll drive myself crazy. It's working, too, because I turn around to say, "This place is getting more and more packed, Jay," just to prevent him from suspecting something else. Dude is still looking at me.
"Let's go to the line over there. It's shorter," his girl says.
I guess she can't take it no more. But he can because he says, "Naw, we good right here." Just for that bitch, I'ma do extra. I drop the ticket stub on the floor and bend down real slowly to pick it up. My ass is inches away from her man's dick. Even though it's packed, I can tell he wants to be really close to me because he doesn't move.
"Damn," he says real low but loud enough for me to hear him.
I didn't expect him to say that. I would knock Jay out for that shit.
"I'ma smack one of these freak bitches in here," the girl mumbles as she walks away.
He follows her, asking what's wrong. Poor thing.
She don't even know how to keep her man in check.
And smack me? I wish she would. I'd beat her ass.
"What you want, ma?" Jay asks as he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer to him at the concession stand.
He must know I'm up to somethin'. He tells me all the time I need to get along with women more and stop 18
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being so catty.
"Somebody gonna fuck you up one day," he used to tell me. "Mark my words."
I think that's funny because Parade will stomp somebody out for fuckin' with me. All I have to do is give the word and it's on. Besides, I told him I get along with women just fine. But I was talking about Miss Wayne, Daffany and Parade. He said they don't count because they look up to me. What's wrong with that?
Anyway, I love when he grabs me instead of me grabbing him all the time when we're out in public.
This way I don't look all insecure and pressed.
"Umm, I just want a soda."
"You don't want no popcorn? You must be bug-gin'."
"
No, boy. I ate at home. Mommy made a big-ass meal, fried chicken and everything." I'm lying again. She did cook but I didn't eat because there was no way I was squeezing my ass into this outfit with a potbelly. He reaches down and kisses me again and a fucked-up feeling comes over me. I smell him. What is that scent?
"Jay, what you wearing?"
He acts like he doesn't hear me, but I know he does.
People are not talking so loud that he can't hear. This only makes me more suspicious.
"Jay! What are you wearing?!" I yell, reminding him that I'm the same ghetto bitch he met in the mall parking lot two years ago who don't mind actin' real stupid if provoked.
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Triple Crown Publications presents . . .
"Girl, I don't know. Deodorant. Why?" he snaps, all pissed off and shit.
He grabs his popcorn and hands me my soda. We are in the movie theater and I remember exactly how I know the smell. It's the Bebe perfume I gave Parade on account of her askin' me for it over and over. She wears it every day. I used to love that perfume, too, but she wore it so much that it started to remind me of her.
Cheap. It was a catalog purchase, so ain't a lot of girls got it.
I grab his shirt and sniff it again.
"What you doin', girl?!" he yells, like I give a fuck.
"Stop actin' dumb and watch the movie."
"Whatever, you sneaky mothafucka!" I yell back.
The smell on his clothes almost makes me queasy.
I'm happy the theater is dark, because it helps me to play shit out in my head. I mean, why would he be with Parade? He hates black bitches. But why is the smell so strong on his shirt? Maybe it's another girl. Yeah, it has to be another girl. I should slap the fuck out of him right now. I cut my eyes at him.
"What, girl?" he says as he gives me the look that usually means he's getting ready to fuck me up. "Stop trippin' and watch the movie."
"Fuck that movie," I shout back.
I don't think he'd fuck with Parade. Her body is nice, but her skin is fucked up because she doesn't take care of her shit. Miss Wayne gave her some of that Proactiv stuff a while back to clear up her face. I told her I knew somebody who used it and it didn't work, 20
