“When you put a ring on my finger,” I joked back.
“I can do that tomorrow.”
“You know I was just playin’ right?”
“I wasn’t,” he let be known with a serious face.
Wow. Tango was very forward and rough around the edges, but once again, he made me feel wanted and beautiful. It was crazy. I knew what I was about to do with him, suck his dick and fuck him, but the way he went about it, not making me feel trashy and used, it stirred something gushy up inside of me.
He parked somewhere secluded. He killed the ignition, looked at me, and said, “I know your time is money, so how much do I owe you?”
“What do you want?”
“A half hour of your time. I just wanna be wit’ you; we ain’t even gotta fuck right now.”
“I charge a hundred for that,” I said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few twenties. He handed me a hundred dollars in twenties. I collected my fee and placed it somewhere safe. I could feel Tango’s eyes all over me, admiring my nice body in the attire I wore and yearning for me. I smiled. He was really making me smile and it was nothing fraudulent about it, like how I did my other dates.
“You got a nice smile, Diamond,” he said.
Diamond. I had him thinking my name was Diamond. I was tempted to be honest with him, but then common sense came to me and warned me that I still didn’t know this man. I just met him a few days ago and it would be idiotic to tell him my government name.
I leaned toward him and kissed the side of his neck while my touch fondled his crotch. I felt him growing hard. I felt the blood rushing inside of him. I felt his eagerness to have me. He undid his pants and whipped out his pleasure. It stood full staff, ready for me to please it with whatever tool, mouth or pussy.
“You missed me, huh?” I whispered sensually in his ear.
“I did.”
“You missed my good, tight, and wet punani?”
“I wanna feel every bit of you, Diamond. You turn me the fuck on.”
This time, he pulled out the condom, Magnum of course. He tore it opened and put it on. I lowered my lips to his big, fat and black dick and engulfed the mushroom tip with my full lips. He moaned the minute I tasted him. He reclined in the chair and allowed my lips to work his flesh. I sucked and sucked, feeling his penis throb inside my mouth.
“Ugh, ugh,” he moaned, as he massaged my backside.
My head bobbed up and down in his lap. I cupped his balls and worked my magic. I gave him good head for several minutes and then removed my jeans and panties and straddled him in the front seat, feeling his dick speared through me. Tango held me close and passionately, he kissed me all over with affection as he fucked me like a Mandingo warrior. I couldn’t help but to melt and coo in his grasp. He opened my pussy up with his big dick like a doorway.
When he came, it felt like the ground shook underneath us. He shuddered and thrust upward inside of me, releasing every bit of man juice into the latex. He huffed and puffed, feeling sexually satisfied. I didn’t climb off the dick right away. He held me in his arms, not wanting to let me go. Then he said, “I never wanna let you go.”
It was sweet, but this wasn’t the place or time to be romantic. He paid me for sex and it’s what he got. I wasn’t his boo and he wasn’t my man to cozy with. For a moment, he sucked on my nipples with his dick still rooted inside of me. The thrill was gone and I felt the dick becoming flaccid. I finally got off the dick and got dressed. I still had to make some money. Tango pulled up his jeans and said, “I wanna continue to see you.”
“You know where I’m always at,” I said.
“Nah, I mean, I wanna take you out.”
I looked his way. He was serious. “I don’t date my clients,” I frankly replied.
“Client? I’m not tryin’ to be ya client, luv. I wanna see you.”
“Look, Tango, ya sweet and all, but what’s the catch? The game you playin’ wit’ me?” I replied sternly.
“Ain’t no game, I’m always fo’ real. I like what I see and I want sumthin’ more. I just came home after doin’ a dime and I need sumthin’ real in my life,” he countered.
“And you think I’m real?”
“What, you ain’t?”
I sighed. “This is me, a whore, a fuckin’ prostitute workin’ Hunts Point. I ain’t got shit to my name. I just came out a shelter; I got a one-year-old daughter, no degree, and an uncertain future. This is what you want? A bitch suckin’ and fuckin’ niggas night after night, that’s the type of bitch you want in your life?”
“Ain’t nobody perfect, Diamond,” he firmly countered. “I’m fresh home tryin’ to make it and survive. I got several years of parole wit’ a dyke-ass parole officer up my ass just itchin’ fo’ me to fuck up so she could violate my ass. I got kids I don’t even see like that or know where they at, ’cause my baby mamas snatched them up and left the state. And what you do out here, it don’t faze me, ’cause you know why? If you wit’ me, I’ma make sure my woman is okay and taken care of. It’s what I do.”
He words were touching, but I heard it all before, especially with Rico.
“So I guess we both fucked up, huh?” I said, smiling.
“I guess we are. And one thing, Diamond, you ain’t no ho. I see it in ya eyes that this ain’t you. You just doin’ this to live, take care of ya seed. I don’t knock anybody’s hustle, ’cause at the end of the day, ain’t nobody tryin’ to pay our bills and take care of us. You do what you gotta do for you and yours,” he proclaimed.
I nodded. “You ain’t lying.”
“I been through hell and back, and I’m still here, still alive and tryin’ to climb this steep fuckin’ hill.”
I looked at him. He was attractive and into me. His eyes weren’t lying about his feelings for me, I assumed. When Tango looked at me, it was with intensity and passion. We talked and somewhat connected.
“I have to be honest wit’ you,” I started, hoping I wasn’t going to regret admitting this to him. “My name really isn’t Diamond; it’s Mouse.”
“Mouse. That’s cute. I like it.”
“Yeah, that’s my name.”
“Well, I’m still Tango.” He laughed.
I laughed too. It was always great when a man makes you laugh.
I felt something with him. Our chemistry was mixing strongly, and before I knew it, an hour had almost passed with us still talking in the car. He forgot about his friend on the corner and I forgot about working the track.
We hurried back to where he picked me up at, and his friend was still loitering on Longfellow and Drake Park Street. He was smoking a cigarette, talking on his cell phone, and didn’t seem to be upset that we took really long to come back.
“You sure he ain’t mad?” I said to Tango.
“That’s my dude; he ain’t mad. The nigga owe me a lot,” Tango replied.
“A’ight,” I said.
I was about to exit the car, but Tango gently took a hold of my forearm and gazed at me. He said to me, “I want you in my life, Mouse.”
It all sounded nice, but it needed to be more show than tell. “If you want me, make it happen,” I said to him.
“And I will.”
I got out the car with his friend walking our way. He looked at me and didn’t grimace or complain not one bit about standing almost an hour on the corner and in the cold. He actually smiled at me and got in on the passenger side. It was strange, but I didn’t object. I guessed Tango had it like that. He seemed like a boss nigga before he was locked up and still now when he was home.
I watched the red Accord drive away and didn’t know what to think of it. Was Tango really for real? Did he really like me that much? Would I be a fool to let an ex-con into my life? There were so many questions spinning around in my head. It was going on one in the morning and the night had been slow. Tango was the only live point of the night.
It would be another forty minutes until I caught another date. He was an ugly Hispanic
looking for a blowjob. Like routine, he parked somewhere secluded, the parking lot of a mechanic shop closed down for the night, and I threw the condom on and wrapped my lips around his small dick and pleased him. I didn’t want to do this anymore. I didn’t want to continue degrading myself over and over again. I didn’t want to feel trapped and burnt out in a year or two doing this. So if Tango was for real, which I hoped he was, and would be a man and rescue me from this world, I swore on everything I would be his loyal fuckin’ bitch until the day I died. That’s if he was man enough to become a one-woman man. I was tired of being lied to, used, and abused.
I just wanted to be loved.
I wanted to escape from this hell.
Chapter Thirteen
Sammy
Crazy Legs was so swelled with people on this particular night that I thought the place was going to explode due to overcapacity. It was a Friday night and lively from wall to wall. Every bitch was butt-ass naked and in some long heels in the place and the DJ had the place cranked up playing “I Luv This Shit,” by August Alsina:
And I luv this shit
It’s 2 o’clock and I’m faded
This kush feelin’ amazing
Got a voice mail on my phone
From a li’l breezy feelin’ X-rated
I worked the stage scantily clad in a three-piece set, a striped bra, tie side thong and matching stockings, with my black six-inch platform sandals. I had some silver glitter sprinkled on me and was well oiled up. I worked the pole like a professional, climbing all the way to the top and twirling myself around with my legs spread until I reached the bottom. I did gymnastics on the pole, being upside down, sideways, parallel to the stage, and contorted around it like I was a snake, having these niggas in complete awe. I moved my ass hypnotically. I had money thrown at me because I was entertainment. While these bitches did VIP in the back rooms, I learned to dance and entertain these niggas and money still came my way.
“I Luv This Shit” was one of my favorite songs to dance to. I would move my ass and hips to the beat and recite the lyrics while dancing. I had a crowd around the stage and they were aching to see my body nude. I undid my top and let my tits show and then I came out my side thong and showed my shaved pussy. These niggas were thirsty and ready to touch me in all kinds of places.
One face caught my attention in the crowd. It was Power. He stood there clutching a wad of money, at least three grand mostly in twenties and fifties and gawked at me intensely. I didn’t forget how he saved my ass in Brooklyn and I was very grateful. He had been coming to the club regularly and watching me dance and tipping me big time. He would make it rain on me; I’m talking about it would be a downpour of cash on the stage, money flying everywhere. He would only tip me hundreds of dollars and give me his undivided attention, making some of the girls jealous in the club. He was persistent in wooing me. He thought I was playing hard to get, but I really wasn’t interested in him. All the strippers in the club were on his dick, ready to fuck Power in a heartbeat; but myself, I was aloof to his status and reckless spending.
“Bitch, you crazy, you better get wit’ Power. That nigga is a boss muthafucka and he sweating you,” Kawanda had advised me. “That’s a type of nigga who will take care of you. Shit, I wish I had a nigga like that chasing me.”
She was a paper chaser; she wouldn’t understand.
I already had a boss nigga in my life, Rico, and he fucked it up for everyone. I was just too scared to date that type of nigga again. And I was stressed; Rico would call me collect at all kinds of crazy hours and steadily harass me. He wanted me to sneak drugs into the prison. I was against it. He wasn’t giving me a choice, something had to be done. And there was more shit adding on to my stress.
The other day, I got the scare of my life. One evening two homicide detectives came knocking at my door to ask me questions about Macky’s death. Detective English and Detective McGowan, two suit and tie white boys with a hard on for solving murders that were going cold case. It seemed that some new information had emerged from some new witness testimony and, out of the blue, my name came up in the investigation. My heart literally stopped beating for a minute. I’d allowed them inside my apartment for a minor interrogation.
“Your name is Sammy, right?” Detective English had asked me.
“Yes, it is,” I had replied.
“How did you know the victim, Macky?” he had asked.
I told him the truth. “We met once, in the studio in Manhattan. I was introduced to him by a friend of mines,” I had said.
“Search?”
“Yes. I was doing a recording session.”
“With a friend named Mouse?”
Damn, they knew everything and the more he kept bringing something up out of the blue, the more nervous I became and was sure they were going to charge me with murder and take me out of my apartment in handcuffs. But I kept a straight face and had answered their question as normal as I could.
“Yes, Mouse.”
“Do you know where we can find her?”
“We had a falling out and I haven’t spoken to her in months.”
Detective English was jotting everything down in his small notepad while his partner just stared at me. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Macky had been dead for months now, and only four people, including myself, knew who killed him. Why was my name coming up?
“When was the last time you saw or spoken to Macky?” Detective McGowan had asked.
“I told you, the day I first met him, when we were doing a recording session.”
“Well, from information given to us, did you go out on a date with him a few weeks before he was killed?” Detective English had chimed.
I wanted to gasp, but I had kept cool. “I told you, I didn’t know the man at all besides that one night in the studio, and it was only business between us.” I had lied.
They gawked at me, having their suspicions, but I knew if they had any hard evidence on me then I would have been arrested and charged right there on sight. The only thing the detectives had was suspicion and even I knew that wasn’t enough to indict anyone on. They had to leave my place. I answered their questions with the best of my knowledge. I wasn’t a stupid bitch. I wasn’t going to crack over a badge being shown to me and being asked about a murder.
“We’ll keep in contact,” Detective McGowan had said with his doubt about me showing on his face.
When they left my place, I had fallen to my knees and broke down in tears. Knowing it had to be Rico probably running his mouth, I couldn’t put up with his blackmail or his shit anymore. The nerve of him taunting me the way he did. He owed me everything because he took away everything. But I quickly collected myself and was ready to plot his downfall. I didn’t have the solution yet, but it was going to come to me.
I had to get my mind off the murder and I did that at work. I had to make money and Power was helping me with that; for a week straight, he showed me love and tipped me handsomely, also buying me drinks and talking to me.
After my routine to “I Luv This Shit,” before I could take one foot off the stage, Power was standing right there to greet me. I had a fistful of money and my scanty outfit in my other hand. I was getting used to being butt-ass naked in front of dozens of men. I needed to refresh, but Power wanted to holler at me.
“You the best, luv, for real,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Can I get a minute of your time and let me buy you a drink?” he suggested.
I did need one. Between the detectives questioning me, Rico blackmailing me, taking care of my son, niggas constantly trying to fuck me, and putting up with shit that went on in this club, it was enough to drive a bitch crazy.
“You remember my drink?” I asked.
“Cîroc Peach and Sprite. I can’t never forget that,” he said.
I smiled. Sometimes it was sweet when a man remembers the simple things about you. “Okay. Let me go freshen up and I’ll meet you at the bar.”
He smi
led. “You do that.”
I strutted toward the changing room. The minute I walked inside all eyes were on me and they weren’t trying to be my friend. It was all hate. I had Power’s attention. It was something these bitches been trying to do since the day he walked into the club. But these bitches didn’t have any class like me. They were whack. Power was a kingpin in the Bronx and his reputation preceded him. He was known in Brooklyn, Harlem, and most likely out of state. See, bitches run their mouths and always got the 411 on a nigga, especially a nigga with major paper and major street credibility. He was moving at least twenty to fifty kilos a week, making close to half a million a week. He was heavily affiliated with YGC and they say he had a house in the Poconos, Upstate New York, Long Island, and a penthouse in the city.
Parked outside the club was a black-on-black Bentley Continental GT with the black rims. It was one of the many cars he owned. Power wasn’t the finest man around, he wasn’t exactly eye candy or a teenage heartthrob, but he had status, he had clout, he was well known and rich. In a way, he was like Biggie Smalls: overweight, black, but his charisma, his style, and sense of humor made a bitch’s panties wet.
I was the envy of every bitch and here I was, not even liking Power like that, and it pissed bitches off knowing they wanted to be me.
I changed outfits, slipping my curvaceous body into an off-the-shoulder, pink fishnet minidress with long sleeves and a silver metallic bikini set with a triangle and G-string back. I was the shit. I looked good in anything I wore. I took time putting my outfits together. I wanted to stand out and I did.
I heard these bitches whispering, “She think she cute.”
“I don’t know what Power sees in her anyway, I’m the better bitch.”
“Fuck her!”
“I heard she stabbed Mouse in the back, fuckin’ her man.”
“I know right, fake bitch.”
I heard enough, I spun around on my heels with attitude, glared at every bitch in the changing room and exclaimed, “Y’all bitches got a problem wit’ me, then say it to my fuckin’ face. If not, then shut the fuck up and keep my fuckin’ name out y’all mouths.”
La Familia 2 Page 12
