by K'wan
“You know how I play.” She ground harder on his lap, while running her fingernails down the length of his body. Remo stood up while still inside her and cupped her ass cheeks.
“Yeah, I know how you play, so I’m gonna make sure you think twice about keeping this pussy away for so long, bitch.” Remo began to long stroke her, still holding her ass cheeks apart.
Every time he went inside her it felt like he was spearing her small intestines, but she was a glutton for punishment. “Is that all you’ve got? Remo, let me find out your ass is getting too old to handle all this good pussy.” She reached down and played with the exposed shaft of his dick until her hand was slick with both their juices and then licked her fingers clean. “Fuck me like you used to do in the back of that jeep, you big-dick muthafucka!” she demanded.
Remo pulled out and threw Tracy onto the couch. She opened her legs so he could get all the way inside her, but he flipped her over and smacked her on the ass. “You know what I want.” He spit on his hand and stroked his dick.
“Not yet; it’s been a minute and I don’t think I can take it.” She tried to flip back over, but he held her in place with one massive hand.
“Don’t worry, ma, it’s like riding a bike.” He lowered himself and began forcing the head into her ass. Tracy felt like she was giving birth as the massive penis penetrated her. Spots danced in front of her eyes and a time or two she felt like she was going to pass out, but Remo kept going. Blood and shit covered his dick, making it slicker and a little smoother on the entry, if messier. The farther in he was able to force himself, the more excited he became. Ignoring Tracy’s sobs, he crammed the entire length of his dick into her ass. After a few minutes of grunting like an animal, Remo finally exploded inside her ass, dripping blood and semen down the back of Tracy’s legs. Remo went into the bathroom and came back holding two soapy cloths, one of which he handed to Tracy.
“Remo, I should kill you for ripping me open like that,” she said, blotting her ass with the cloth. It came away such a mess that he would surely have to throw it in the trash.
“You used to like it like that,” he said, wiping his dick.
“That was ten years ago, Remo, and we always used a lubricant,” she said with attitude. Tracy started gathering her clothes to leave.
“Come on, baby, don’t cut out so soon when we’re just getting reacquainted.” He grabbed her arm.
Tracy scowled at him, like she was angrier than she really was. “And why should I stay, booty bandit?”
“You got jokes.” He laughed. “I was thinking that maybe we can lay around here for a couple of days and reminisce.” He played with his dick.
“Remo, you just wanna fuck and I ain’t got time to lay up in here getting my pussy and my asshole pounded to high hell. I got bills to pay, so I gotta be on the street getting that up, feel me?”
“Of course I do,” he said, catching what she was getting at. Remo grabbed his pants and retrieved a knot of money. “If it’s bread you’re worried about, I got you faded, so you ain’t gotta run no story on me about cash. Now, I’m gonna go in the bathroom and wash up so we can go out and put something on our stomachs. Then we’re gonna come back here and go at it until the sun comes up, like we used to. Let me make love to you.”
“Remo, making love and fucking are two different things and I don’t think you know the difference,” she told him.
“Then why don’t you teach me?”
She looked at his face to see if he was serious, and he was. Tracy weighed her options. All she had waiting for her at home were a cold bed and an empty refrigerator and more problems than she knew what to do with. “Hurry up in the bathroom so I can take a shower. And don’t think you’re gonna have me hostage in here, either; you’re taking me out,” she demanded.
“Whatever you need, baby.” Remo smiled. “Why don’t you twist us up some weed while I’m cleaning up. Everything you need is right on the table.” He disappeared into the bathroom.
“Indeed it is.” Tracy eyed the box of cocaine. She cleared two more lines and pinched her nostrils so she could get the full effect of the cold drip in the back of her throat. She had been polluting her nose with trash for so long that she’d almost forgotten how good a coke high could really be. Remo thought that by having Tracy over and inviting her to his stash, he was rekindling an old love affair, but all he’d really done was open Pandora’s box.
CHAPTER 25
Animal was in a pretty place where all was right with the world, as he stared out the picture window overlooking Times Square. Chip sat next to him on the love seat, exhaling a cloud of smoke that smelled like something out of Bath & Body Works. They’d dropped some groovy pills that morning before Animal was given the grand tour of one of Big Dawg’s recording studios. It was situated in a very unassuming building just off Broadway.
He’d been surprised to get Chip’s call, asking him if he wanted to sit in on a session with Left Coast to get a firsthand look at what they were capable of. He didn’t really feel like kicking it with Tech or the pups that day, so he decided the session would be a good change of pace. Don B. was thrilled to see him and immediately insisted that Animal hit the booth. Animal was reluctant at first, but after bit of prodding and a few Ls, he agreed.
The recording booth was the most magnificent thing that Animal had ever seen. He looked around at the padded room with its overhanging microphone and committed every detail to memory. Just beyond the glass divider, Don B. watched intently while Chip, No Doze, and an engineer named Joker played with the massive board that controlled everything in the room. It reminded him of the old episodes of Star Trek when Captain Kirk would be on his cool shit while Sulu and the guy who always gets killed steered the ship.
There wasn’t much that rattled Animal, but being in that booth did. There were only a few people in the room, but he felt like it was the halftime show at the Super Bowl. “Just let it flow natural,” Don B. said over the intercom. Natural, Animal thought, as if it were just that easy. He tensed when the first hints of static came through the headphones, but when one of Chip’s tracks came on, everything became crystal clear.
At first he was just playing around, putting together words that rhymed, but as the beat picked up, it got a firmer grip on his mind. Animal closed his eyes and envisioned himself riding the track like the Silver Surfer riding the tail of a comet. He could see every snare, and every change in its tempo before it occurred. The story he told was of a lady, street but sexy in her own unforgiving way. He went on to tell how this lady fed him when he was hungry and gave him shelter when he was cold. He was so emotionally caught up in the rapture of the song that everyone assumed he was talking about his mother or some other instrumental woman in his life, but by the end of the song they realized that he was speaking about the streets.
“That shit was amazing.” Don B. wiped a fake tear from his eye.
“You killed that track, bro.” Chip gave Animal dap when he came out of the booth. “You brought to life the exact emotions that we wanted to convey on this track.”
“It was pretty fucking intense.” No Doze gave him dap.
“It was a’ight,” Fully said with a crooked smile. He and Animal were still leery of each other, but even he knew that the boy had talent; it was just hard giving props to someone he thought could potentially be better than him.
“Joker, did you get all that?” Don B. asked the engineer, who was fumbling with the mouse on one of the computers.
“Yeah, Don. He killed that shit in one take. We don’t even need to do anything to it other than mix it down and add a hook.”
“I didn’t know y’all were recording me?” Animal looked from Don B. to the engineer. Joker moved back, but Don B. placed an arm reassuringly around Animal.
“Chill, son, ain’t nobody on no funny shit. I just wanted to see what you sounded like on an album. Yo, Joker, play it back one time,” he told the engineer. When Animal heard his voice coming through the speakers, over Chip�
�s track, he wanted to break down and cry. He knew they were his words, but it didn’t sound like him speaking. What he heard wasn’t some street thug, but an artist telling the most beautiful story about his special lady.
“You hear that shit, man?” Chip asked excitedly.
“Yeah, I hear it, but it don’t sound like me,” Animal said, mouthing along with the song . . . his song.
“It never does when you get that deep into the music.” Chip placed his hand on Animal’s shoulder.
Don B. took a CD out of the computer and handed it to Animal. “Just listen to it a few times. You got a gift kid, and I can bring the best outta you if you fuck with my team, son, but I can’t force it on you. I got somebody else coming in here to use this studio, but you’re more than welcome to sit in on it,” Don B. offered.
Animal stared at the CD in astonishment for a few seconds more before answering. “I think I will,” he said proudly.
Don B. went back to the board with Joker and cued up the session for the next artist who was coming, while the Left Coast busied themselves rolling blunts or pouring drinks. Animal was about to load the CD into one of the portable players when his cell phone went off. He stared at the caller ID quizzically because he didn’t recognize the number. “Who this?” he barked.
“Well, hello to you, too,” a familiar voice said on the other end.
“Is that you, Ms. Gucci?” He smiled.
“Ah, you caught my voice pretty quick, considering that we’ve never spoken on the phone.”
“I burned it in my brain the last time I saw you, in case it was the last time I saw you,” he told her.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Animal.”
“This is what I’m hoping. So what took you so long to call? I thought you forgot about me.”
“Boy, it’s only been a few days,” she reminded him.
“A few days can feel like a lifetime when you’re carrying around this kind of heartache,” he teased.
“Animal, I haven’t been around you enough to cause your heart anything.”
“This is what I’m trying to remedy, ma. When can a nigga see you?”
The line went silent for a minute. “What’re you doing tonight?” she asked.
“Picking you up, just give me a time,” he said, already thinking on what they would do tonight.
“About nine should be good,” she told him. “Oh, there’s just one problem.”
“Then call me the problem solver,” he said.
“I’m gonna be with my friend Tionna, the one Don B. was all up on. I don’t really wanna ditch her, because she’s going through the motions right now about something and she kinda needs a friend,” Gucci said sadly.
“I’d never have you abandon a friend in need, Gucci. I don’t mind going out as a threesome.” He honestly wouldn’t have cared if she brought the whole crew as long as he got to see Gucci again.
“I don’t wanna do it like that, because then my attention would be divided, and I’m really trying to get into you,” she said honestly. “I got an idea: why don’t you see if ya man Don B. wants to roll; they seemed to hit it off pretty good.”
“I’m sure she got his number, why don’t you have her call him?” he asked.
“I would, but Tionna’s ass is bullheaded. If I try to get her to call Don B. because we’re hooking up, she’s gonna look at it like a mercy date and flake out. I know it’s asking for a lot, Animal, but I really don’t wanna dis my friend.”
Animal weighed it for a minute. “A’ight, let me see what’s up. I’ll call you in a few.”
“Thanks, baby,” Gucci said, ending the call.
Animal suddenly felt very warm inside. He had been thinking about Gucci since the night they’d met and it made him uncomfortable. Animal had been with his fair share of women, but that had mostly been out of physical need or loneliness. Next to Officer Grady, he didn’t share a connection with any of them, and then in comes Ms. Gucci. There had been no mistaking the fact that she was a hood chick, but there was something more to her that was lurking just beneath the surface that he needed to uncover.
“You know you owe me for this, right?” Gucci glared at her friend.
“Gucci, stop acting like you didn’t wanna see Animal, too,” Tionna reminded her.
“Yeah, I wanna see him because I wanna get to know him. You wanna see Don B. because you’re looking for a come up!”
“And why shouldn’t I be, when niggaz do it all the time? You think a guy is gonna look at you and be like, ‘Damn, she got a nice-ass brain’? Hell no. They’re gonna look at you like, ‘She got a phat ass and I wanna hit it!’ Don’t get me wrong, I think Don B. is sexy-ass as hell, but Duhan is my man, so it ain’t gonna go but so far.”
“Tionna, any dude giving up cash is gonna want ass, especially a nigga like Don B., who has pussy being thrown at him left and right.”
“Gucci, you could put all them bum bitches together and they wouldn’t equal me. I got class, ass, and a shot of pussy that needs to be bottled and sold!” Tionna boasted.
“Oh, so you’re planning on fucking Don B.?” Gucci asked.
“I never said that, Gucci, but I plan on getting real close to him. Who knows, if his game is tight and he comes correct, I might let him smell it.”
“And what about Duhan?”
Tionna thought on it. She had factored Duhan into the whole equation, but it all amounted to something very simple. “Gucci, I love Duhan and I plan on being with him until we’re old and gray, but he ain’t out here trying to raise two kids and maintain an apartment with nothing coming in but them bullshit food stamps they give me every month. I’m gonna go out there and do me, but I’m doing it for Duhan,” Tionna reasoned.
Gucci laughed, seeing the old spark back in her friend’s eyes. “T, if you like it, then I love it. Now, let’s get our shit right because they’ll be here to get us around nine.”
CHAPTER 26
Animal was quite surprised when he saw the kid he was going to slap inside the club walk into the Big Dawg studio. Don B. had wasted no time in opening his studio doors to Hollywood in an attempt to fleece him out of some more tracks. The aspiring rapper had managed to sell Don B. several beats in the week since he’d seen him and Don B. was looking to buy more, which brought Hollywood untold joy. He finally saw his dream of going to the top coming true.
Don B. was content to have Hollywood stick to making tracks, but the youngster was determined to get in the booth so he could spit something for him. Hollywood was in the booth, screaming into the microphone, while Don B., Animal, and the Left Coast sat behind the boards, watching him in amusement.
“This nigga can’t rap worth shit,” Fully said, lighting the blunt dangling between his lips.
“We don’t agree on much, but we can agree on that. This muthafucka sounds like MC Hammer on steroids,” Chip agreed.
“Man, I know I ain’t much of a rapper, but this nigga is worse than them cats they use for cannon fodder on the Smack DVDs.” Animal laughed, sipping something Chip had concocted for him in a Styrofoam cup. It had the sweet aftertaste of licorice but the punch of a kamikaze.
“He might not be very lyrically talented, but he can lay some tracks,” Don B. said, turning down the volume in the booth. Hollywood’s off beat rhymes and whack punch lines were working his nerves.
“And the jury is still out on that,” No Doze said, browsing through the list of tracks. “This nigga comes in here with all these tracks he was supposed to have composed, but for the two hours you had him on the boards, he couldn’t come up with shit. The engineer had to show that fool how to work the damn volume controls on the board. Something is funny about this kid and his whole pitch.”
“Funny or not, I bought five tracks from this nigga over the last two weeks to use for y’all album,” Don B. announced.
“Don, I thought that the Coast was gonna get final say on the production?” Doze asked, not really feeling Don B. approving tracks without them.
“It’s a small thing, Doze. I just heard some fire that I thought would sound good. I sent it to Tone at the main office to let Mr. Zappa hear the joints to get his take on them,” he said, referring to the vice president of Big Dawg’s parent company, Dope Beat Records. “Hopefully, when he hears the tracks he’ll be willing to shell out more bread for the marketing side of it. This album is guaranteed to make the Billboard Top 100.”
“Speak of the devil.” Fully pointed one of the closed-circuit monitors. Tone had just walked into the lobby, and from the look on his face you could tell something was wrong. The quartet waited in anticipation for Tone to make it upstairs to where they were.
“Yo, we’ve got a problem,” Tone said as soon as he walked into the studio. His bald head was sweating like he had just run the New York marathon.
“What’s the matter, didn’t Mr. Zappa like the tracks?” Fully asked.
“Oh, he loved them, he just ain’t gonna use them,” Tone broke the news to the group.
“What the fuck do you mean? He ain’t trying to use them when I already paid for them? Tone, you’re A and R for Big Dawg, so you need to help me to understand what’s going on before I send Remo and Devil to find out,” Don B. ranted.
“Don, don’t shoot the messenger; I’m just telling you what he told me. Look, I took the tracks to Zappa like you told me, but when I got there he was in a meeting with that German cat from Telescope Records. I was gonna wait until the meeting was over, but Zappa wanted to stunt for the competition, so he told me to play the beats while the dude was still there. Zappa loved what he heard, but the German is sitting there all sour like. The next thing you know, this big muthafucka is going on about how we’re a bunch of thieves and how he’s gonna sue Big Dawg and Dope Beat.”
“Sue us, what the fuck for?” Don B. wanted to know. It was bad enough that he already had the wrongful-death lawsuits pending from the deceased members of Bad Blood’s families cutting into his pockets, but the situation with Telescope could put a serious cramp in his style.
