Dope Girl 2: Just like daddy

by Sa'id Salaam

  "Heads up, people. Subject has arrived in a white Acura. Nobody move until she has taken receipt of the package."

  Cameisha was bopping her head to the latest jam by Doobie Daddy as she pulled in. Being sober the last few days had her happier than being high. With this new clarity, she could see her friend had a drug problem. She needed an intervention not a killing which is what theft usually calls for. Besides, with her own recent problems, she couldn't be a hypocrite.

  The moment Meisha cut the engine, she went to high alert. Before she opened the door, she scanned the area. Her brain processed danger as she stepped out. Something was off. It was too still for so many people to be out and about. As she looked around, she counted at least four different sets of eyes looking back at her. None smiled or waved, just quickly averted their eyes when she made contact.

  Something wasn't right but the large pay day urged her on. As she crossed the parking lot, her father's voice rang in her head.

  "If you feel like something aint right, it aint…"

  Dope Girl 3 coming soon.

  Yung Pimpin

  Sa’id Salaam

  © 2013 Sa’id Salaam

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  Cover Design: Dynasty cover me

  Join me on facebook - saidsalaam fan page

  Twitter @ salaamsaid

  prologue

  An evil smirk twisted Yung Pimpins otherwise handsome face as he spotted his target. The notorious Sammy the pimp was posted up at the bar talking loud and dressed even louder; old school to death in a yellow three-piece suit complete with yellow gators and yellow hat, with the long yellow feather extending from it. He couldn't help but wonder for a second if it was actually some place in nature where yellow alligators or ostriches thrived; perhaps some gay ass enchanted swamp with bull frogs giving each other blow jobs. But now wasn't the time to ponder over it, now was the time to kill.

  Yung Pimpin represented the new era in pimpin. Instead of finger waves like his target, he wore an intricate array of braids running down to his shoulders. A crispy white wife beater showed off his lean muscular frame decorated with colorful tats. A diamond-laden 'YP' medallion hung to the middle of his chest on a diamond-crusted platinum chain. Expensive designer jeans low slung on his waist sat on top of exclusive sneakers.

  The patrons of the speedy after hours' club grew quiet at the arrival of the highly-anticipated showdown. Rumors of the battle had the P&H bar filled to capacity. The joint was named after proprietors Paul and Harold 20 years ago but those who know, knew P&H now stood for pimps and hoes. This was Ground Zero, Pimp Central, Hoe Headquarters.

  The sudden change in the air put Sammy the pimp on high alert. It was that eerie calm before the storm. The look in the soulless eyes of his bottom bitch confirmed the danger. There is no honor among thieves so the honorable thing would be for Yung Pimpin to bash the back of his head in then go shoot a game of pool until the cops came. No sense running because, again, there's no honor among thieves and someone was going to snitch on him.

  "Heard you was looking for me." Yung demanded, tapping the man on the shoulder, making two mistakes at once. The first was talking instead of swinging and the second was touching instead of swinging. He paid for them both at the same time.

  "I am!" Sammy said as he whirled around and swung. The open hand slap sounded like a thunder clap when it connected. A slap stings enough on its own but the razor blade concealed in his fingers made it burn. The slap was designed to humiliate but the blade served a more sinister purpose.

  "Pimp fight!" a broke down old hoe named Debbie announced with glee. Her raspy voice had a slight echo from years of cum shots knocking out her tonsils. Her black lips where shaped in a perfect 'O' from all the dicks sucked. They looked like an old tire on her worn face.

  The only thing better than a whore fight was a pimp fight and this bar had seen its share of both. Pimps when they do fight, fight to the death. Be the death literal or figurative, somebody had to die. Even if the loser lives, there will be no more pimpin for him around here. Lose a pimp fight and your stable and respect gets transferred to the winner. To the victor goes the spoils and in this case the booty is actual bootie. Pardon the oxymoron but no self-respecting hoe will whore for a pimp who gets punked.

  "Get him daddy." Sammy's bottom bitch hissed like the snake she was.

  Coming from her, it was another slap in the face and made Yung Pimpin hesitate. That hesitation cost him another slap in the face by the older pimp. This one was a Venus Williams backhand formally known as the pimp slap. It was the ultimate in disrespect. Even pimps don't like to be pimp slapped.

  "Miss that good Wet-Wet don't you boy?" Sammy teased.

  "You can take that bitch to hell with you." Yung snarled. He knew if he won she would be his again. This time he would do what he should have done many times over; kill her.

  Yung lifted his hand to his face and felt the blood. The hand then turned into a fist and threw a straight jab that popped the pimp in his slick talking mouth. It was quickly reciprocated by a two-piece.

  Both men shared the same height and weight among other things. The DJ cut the music and hit the lights so no one would miss the action. Camera phones began filming; this was going to be on world star.

  "They kind of favor each other?" a young whore said with a curious frown.

  "They should, they father and son." Wet-Wet reported. She should know, she was part of the problem. It really wasn't about her but then again it was.

  The pugnacious patriarch and progeny pimps went back and forth trading blows. The fight was pretty evenly matched with both lumped up and bloody when the inevitable happened.

  Just like male Rams run full speed into each other with their horns and giraffes use their long necks to fight, pimps use straight razors. Once they got tired of punching, out came the blades.

  "You know how to use that?" Sammy taunted and took a swipe.

  The blow opened the front of Yung Pimpin's shirt and into his skin. The pain reminded him of the pistol in his pocket. He answered the question when he swung back, opening a similar hole in his father's yellow jacket .

  Back and forth, blow for bloody blow, the father and son battled. It wasn't a battle of good versus evil, more like evil against more evil. You'll have to hear the whole story to determine which one was which.

  Getting nowhere with the razors suddenly both Parker pimps pulled pistols. Only one got off a shot. One died, the other killed, again.

  Chapter one

  Fourteen-year old Yancey glanced around the small section of the trailer that was designated the living room. The narrow aluminum box they called home was sectioned off into three bedrooms, a bathroom and kitchen. The flimsy material snitched on every move made within it. It creaked when you stepped or moved.

  The muted squeaks coming from down the hall meant the guest chose heads over tails. There was no coin toss but there was a difference in price. So Yancey paid attention to it. Two more customers waited patiently for their own trip down the hall. What awaited there was relief. Just like a chiropractor can release soreness and stress by cracking backs, the woman behind door number one could suck your problems away; if only for a moment.

  It mattered not that most of the patrons were married. Most live in the same run down trailer with wives and children. Only most wives wouldn’t do what the woman behind door number one would do. That’s why men paid Yancey to spend a few minutes down the hall. It was just like normal people pay to be entertained. Buy a book; rent a movie, Damita was Six Flags sexually. The Burger King of the bedroom, where you could have it your way.

  “Whew wee that bitch got some fiyah ass head!” Roscoe exclaimed as he burst from the bedroom. He made the proclamation with the enthusiasm of one striking gold or oil. “Oops, my bad.” He corrected, seeing a change on Yancey's face.


  Barely in his teens, the boy was over six feet tall and had a natural muscle bound build men twice his age worked hard for. His one act of violence was sufficient for him not to be disrespected. Oddly, he didn’t mind whatever Damita allowed men to do with her but didn’t stand for her being disrespected either.

  “My turn!” Fred cheered as if he made it to the front of the line in an amusement park; which in a way was accurate.

  Fred only lived a few doors away with his three-hundred pound wife. She certainly couldn’t get her legs up on his scrawny shoulders like Damita could. The wife was powerless to stop it so she pretended not to know.

  Fred forked over a twenty which meant he wanted tails. The crumpled bill was hot and moist from being clutched tightly as he eagerly waited his turn. He rushed his tall frame down the hall and disappeared behind the door. The bed started creaking a few seconds later.

  Yancey glanced up in frustration at the crooked ceiling fan. It too creaked and squeaked as it slowly rotated. The dusty device provided no relief from the brutal middle Georgia heat. Its only purpose was to circulate the menthol smoke of the customers. Still, it wasn’t the fan that had young Yancey in his feelings.

  He knew pimping a woman twice his age was wrong on so many levels. The fourteen-year old had only had sex once before and was hooked. The memory alone gave him wet dreams every night that left him frustrated and embarrassed. He was a farm boy and realized that pussy was a cash crop. The steady flow of customers provided plenty of money when before there was none. Yes, it was wrong but it felt better than an empty stomach.

  The bed groaned and squealed, then suddenly stopped. The two men in the room both sat up knowingly. After the time it took to pull his pants up, Fred emerged with that ‘I just bust a nut’ smile on his face. He made it quickly up the hall and out the door. He had to be home for supper. His wife turned a blind eye to his romps with the whore but made up for it if he was late for dinner.

  “Here you go.” Pastor Paul said smugly as he handed Yancey a ten dollar bill.

  The boy hated the man’s holier than thou attitude. It just didn’t fit with buying pussy. He knew that if you ran the prints on that money it came straight from some old lady's purse. The congregation just bought him the new caddie out front so why not buy him a piece of ass too. Actually the ten he was spending meant he didn’t plan on going any further than her tonsils. He only had sex with his wife; he was a pastor after all.

  A few minutes later, he slinked out looking like he was ready for a nap. A good nut will do that for you. A strong orgasm is nature’s number one sedative for both men and women. That’s why you’ll never hear this author's wife complaining she can’t sleep.

  Damita was right behind him. As he stepped out the door, she stepped to her pimp. She looked worn, well past the three score she had been on the planet. That’s because crack heads live on a faster clock. Their days are five to one compared to normal people. It’s like dog years in reverse. The sheer night gown she wore daily offered a view of what was left of her depleted figure. Yancey quickly snapped his head away not to see it.

  “Half please.” She demanded sweetly with her palm extended.

  Yancey pulled out, counted, then split the day’s receipts. She snatched hers eager to get to the dope boy, while his was going to keep bills paid and the fridge filled. She leaned down to kiss his cheek causing him to wince from her breath tart from semen, crack and Newports. Still he didn’t pull away, no that would have been disrespectful.

  “Want me to fix you something to eat ‘fo I go?” Damita offered sounding sincere as if she meant it. It wasn’t a lie; she just knew he would decline. She knew it was her duty to at least offer.

  “No momma, I’m fine.” Yancey told his mother's back, as she rushed to get dressed to go smoking.

  The Escorts

  Frank Lean & Buck Nasty

  Volume 1

  Playboi Nitty

  © 2013 Frank Gresham

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  Cover art by Zahrah Abdul-Malik sistasketch@gmail.com

  Prologue

  “Ahh yaa! This is the life Buck, and just imagine two years ago, I was barely getting by”.

  “Shits Crazy, I had no job, my bitch left me and I was driving a hooptie.” “Now look at me… Well us. Chilling on my very own Yacht, I got a bank account like Sean Puffy Combs, and not to mention we literally got hoes on deck."

  “Ya! Frank man, we living like two mutherfucken kings right now, surrounded by water and pussy”. Say Frank, how many hoes on the boat anyway? Everywhere I turn all I see is ass and titties."

  “Shit about twenty, and we’ll be out to sea for three whole days, think you can hang Buck?”

  “Fuck ya, I’m Big Dick Willie son. I just hope none of those hoe’s jump off the boat when they see what I’m packing."

  “Nigga you crazy, but why you bull shitting I do too, because I only have two life jackets aboard, one for me and one for you”.

  “Well a bitch better know how to swim!”

  “I know that’s right but just in case she don’t put that shit up.”

  “What shit?”

  “Yo! dick nigga, it’s hanging out your damn shorts.”

  “Oh! My bad, bruh”.

  After Buck Nasty tucked his dick in his Nautica shorts. Two video models Dominique and Danielle came over.

  “Heeey I’m Dominique.”

  “And I’m Danielle, and yes we’re identical.”

  “Damn talk about double mint, Baby, I’m Frank and this is my business partner James Dawn".

  “Nice to meet you fine gentleman, but the reason we came over, is because my sister and I made a bet.” See she thinks you guys are football players, and I said you were models.

  “Ha! Well ladies sorry you’re both wrong, but Danielle you was the closest”.

  “We’re actually male escorts, have you heard of BlackGenie.com?”

  “OH MY GOD!” I thought I recognized you! Your Frank Lean, you were on the cover of Playgirl last month”.

  “And you… I’ve seen you somewhere before, what’s your name again?”

  “James Dawn, you may remember me by my professional name Buck Nasty.”

  “OOH Shit!” I do remember. I saw you in a flick fucking the hell out of Pinky”. I was like…like dammmmmn! Now that’s a bad bitch!”

  “Think you can handle Buck Nasty Dominique?"

  “Huh? I don’t know ‘bout all that boo-boo, all my organs are intact, and I’d like to keep ‘em that way”.

  Danielle cut in the conversation and said “Damn! If it’s that big, I might want me some, let me see it.”

  “Ah you’re the aggressive one; okay I’ll let you see it, first answer this question. Can you swim?"

  “Yep! Like a mermaid now show me, what you working with.”

  “I tell ya what, get at me later on. We got three days and two nights to get to know each other no need to rush baby”.

  “Okay it’s a deal and I’ma hold you to that Buck Nasty”. Well it was nice meeting you two fine men, and we hate to rush off, but we’re trying to find the rich fucker that sent us the invitation and thank him”.

  “Well by you two beautiful ladies excepting my invitation that’s thanks enough.”

  “Hell, when I saw you two in Playboi Nitty’s uncut video “Pussy Trap” I just couldn’t resist, I had to hit him up and ask for your agent’s number, you feel me”.

  “So this rich fucker is glad to have you aboard his Yacht”.

  “Damn! You must be slanging a lot of dick! “

  “I guess you can say I’m doing alright for myself Danielle”

  “Okay, if this is what you call doing alright, maybe Dominique and I need to change professions. So how long have you been escorting, if you don’t mind me asking? And how did you get started?”


  “Let me see, I’d say about two years and some change. And how I got started well…"Buck Nasty cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me, I mean how Buck and I got started. Now that’s a long crazy ass story. I’m sure you girls have something better to do than listen to me though."

  Dominique sits in Frank’s lap.

  “Nope! Sure don’t, unless you have something, or someone you rather be doing. But I doubt it, ‘cause from the looks of these other women, you got the attention of the two baddest bitches on deck. So pretty please! You want me to beg baby?"

  “A submissive woman has always been my weakness you know, so you win Dominique, I got cha. Okay, well this is our success story.”

  Once upon a time in Athens, Georgia….

  Chapter 1- Frank Lean & Buck Nasty

  The football coach, thanked all the athletes for coming out for ‘tryouts’, then turned to his clipboard and asked them, if their name was called, please step forward.

  There were fifty eager young men standing at attention eyeing the short chubby coach. It was evident on his face that he hated this part, having to break a man’s heart and sometimes spirit by telling him he didn’t make the team. Until he thought about the $3000 he collected earlier, then his facial expression went back to normal.

  Out of the fifty, only four were left standing in the rear that had not made the team. Standing 6’3 225lbs was 25 year old Frank Lean from Charlotte, North Carolina. He was among the four. Frank was devastated, even though he was a walk-on, not making the team for the second year in a row was crushing.

  Hours after everyone had left the locker room he sat on the benches frustrated because he knew without a doubt that he was just as good, perhaps better than half the guys that did make it. The long hours at the gym, all the sacrifices Frank really went the extra mile this year, so he was bewildered as to what went wrong today.