The Hood Life

by Meesha Mink

  I suck air between my teeth and roll my eyes. “That discussion is closed, Renee,” I tell her.

  She gives me a look like she wants to challenge me again but instead reaches for her drink and takes a long sip. “I never ask you for much,” she mumbles.

  I don’t actually hear the words over the music but I read her lips. What she says is true. Throughout the years, Renee has always done everything I’ve ever asked her to do and there’s not a single day I don’t wonder why. The only thing I can come up with is: when women love, they love hard.

  But I’m no good and she knows it.

  If Renee wants to quit this life and leave, she can, I won’t stop her. I’ll give her a kiss on the lips and a smack on the ass and wish her luck.

  Maybe she knows that, too. So instead, she chooses to stay by my side through thick and thin or rather through stacked cash and a long line of hos. All she asks is to remain my number one girl.

  And she is.

  And will always be.

  “Anytime you want to get off this ride, you can,” I tell her.

  Her eyes shoot up. “Is that what you really want?” she tosses back at me.

  Hell, naw! This conversation has grown more serious than I’m comfortable with because in the midst of all this craziness, Renee has always been the rock that centers me. Renee is and will forever be Home.

  “I want you to do you, boo,” I say, playing this shit off but hoping she reads in my eyes that I want her to stay and play her position.

  Slowly, she nods her head.

  Destiny wiggles impatiently beside me. “So are we going to do this shit or what? I’m all dressed up with nobody to fuck.”

  I lift a curious brow at my wife, letting her know that I’m down.

  Renee’s gaze shifts between the two of us. I know she’s battling her possessive nature. She’s not jealous of any of the other girls that float in and out of my bed, but Destiny is different and she knows it.

  “Fine,” she agrees and then drains the rest of her drink. “Let’s go.”

  My private office slash bedroom above the club has an excellent view of everything that’s going on from the bottom floor to the VIP section. It’s surrounded by glass but tinted so I can look out but no one can see inside.

  My space is furnished with top-of-the-line shit and even has a large round rotating bed for emergency fuck sessions and auditions, carpet that doubles as a mattress, mirrors strategically placed, funky lighting, and even the best AK-47 bud that can get you high after one toke.

  I follow the sway of my two best girls’ hips while two of my best bodyguards take post outside my door. I hit one button and the club’s music disappears; I hit another one and the best fuck music from Teddy Pendergrass flows from my private sound system.

  Renee is the first one to roll up into my arms and lay a fat wet one on me. I’m already in paradise sucking my number one girl’s fat lips and rubbing up on her firm diamond-studded breasts when Destiny wraps her strong and powerful mouth around my cock.

  Now why can’t I have this peace and harmony 24/ 7? This is how a pimp should always get down. In no time I peel Renee out of her clothes and plop one of her breasts back into my mouth.

  I’m sucking and biting while rocking my hips against Destiny’s mouth. Whenever she hits a particular sweet spot, I growl out oh shit! against Renee’s breasts. When it really gets good, I place my hand against the back of Destiny’s perfectly weaved head and grind my shit to the back of her tight-assed throat. Destiny is like a super power vacuum and sucks my nut up from the tips of my toes.

  In the spirit of competition, Renee pulls her succulent breast from my mouth and lowers onto her knees so she can get a taste of her baby as well. I plop down in the chair behind me and then watch my girls lick and stroke my dick like it’s the last candy cane on Christmas day. Each mouth feels different and off da chain.

  “My best girls,” I whisper, and lovin’ how my cock looks like a glazed chocolate éclair.

  My nut sac tingles and Renee finally gives up the ghost and starts polishing my balls. Shit. I need them to start doin’ this shit on the regular. Destiny hits my sweet spot just as Renee’s warm tongue drifts to the crack of my ass. The results: my gooey hot cum shoots out of my cock like Fourth of July fireworks. It splashes against Destiny’s face like an abstract painting and then drips down into Renee’s hair. But that doesn’t stop them from lapping my shit up and begging me for more.

  My ten inches remain rock hard and ready to go. On the side table, Renee pulls out a condom and slips that mutherfucka on me so she could be the first to ride. I know I’ve fucked this pussy a million times, but there’s something about the way Renee works her shit that gets me excited each and every time.

  And she knows it.

  The minute she stands, I see my diamond trademark above the slit of her pussy. That’s my shit. It will always be my shit. I smile and she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “Who’s your number one girl?”

  “You are, baby.”

  Renee eases down on me and I close my eyes relishing the feel of home. I know this pussy like I know the back of my hand. Her inner walls are like the finest silk and her body’s so hot my toes curl in ecstasy. In no time, she’s working that pussy like a pro and I’m concentrating like a mutherfucka to prolong this nut.

  It ain’t easy, especially when I feel Destiny’s mouth and tongue lapping at my and Renee’s sex juices while positioned in between us.

  After a while I gain control of my breathing and manage to open my eyes to enjoy the sights and sounds before me.

  Destiny moves back and starts to get undressed. When she finally frees her own thick eight-inch cock, Renee reaches out and strokes it while maintaining her bounce on my dick.

  Destiny just smiles. “You want some of this shit, don’t you, bitch?”

  Renee doesn’t answer, she just continues to pump Destiny’s cock and lick her lips.

  Destiny pulls back, grabs a condom and a stool and climbs up and then offers up her hard dick. Renee takes to it like a babe to a tit. Destiny throws her head back and pure bliss covers her face. Seeing Renee stuffed this way brings my second nut to a head.

  “Goddamn, bitches,” I groan and then shoot my shit off. But this party is just getting started.

  After a condom change, we tumble over to the bed where I get a good meal out of Renee’s pussy while Destiny continues to feed her his cock. It isn’t long before Renee’s squirting all over the place.

  Needing some more pussy, I climb up and order Destiny to fuck Renee from behind. We rock the shit out of her hard body while her inner cream coats our dicks.

  “Aw, shit,” Renee screams; her pussy starts smacking back.

  “Fuck. Goddamn. Mutherfucker!” I yell as my nut gushes out of me and supersoaks my condom and drips out of her body. Hours later, we drift off to sleep.

  Peace at last. Peace at last. Thank God Almighty a pimp has peace at last.

  11

  The Dealer

  “Call me sometime. My name is Jessica.”

  I look down at the ripped piece of register tape being pushed in my hand. My eyes lift up to the sweet, deep-brown face looking up at me. Looks like this salesgirl is looking for more from me than a boost in her Nordstrom’s commission. I smile at her as she gives my palm a little scratch before she walks away with a lick of her lips. That scratch let me know that she has an itch that she wants me to scratch.

  My eyes stay locked on that ass as she walks back over to Quilla, who is shopping it up…on my ass of course. Fuck it. My eyes stay locked on the salesgirl’s apple-bottom ass in the black dress pants she’s wearing. But even as I enjoy the view I ball the number up and toss it into the wastepaper basket by the register.

  The last thing I need is another female in my life. Between Quilla, the twins, and a few random chicks, my dick couldn’t take no more. Fuck that. There is such a thing as too much pussy. I got into the game to get girls but now I got too many bitc
hes.

  I glance at my camel-leather Gucci watch before I slip my hands into the pockets of my loose-fitting linen shorts. My ass is ready to be out. I only like shopping when I’m taking care of my own needs. Standing around just waiting to pay while somebody else spends my money ain’t a bit of fucking fun.

  Plus, I’m waiting on a call from Usher signaling me that he picked up the latest shipment of weight from our contact. With nearly a hundred grand in hard dope on his back, I didn’t trust none of our usual runners, so Usher volunteered to do it himself.

  I walk over to one of the mirrors on the wall and smooth a wrinkle out of the bright white Hilfiger T I wore over a wifebeater. I cup the bill of the linen cap and pull it down lower over my eyes. My jewelry is gleaming from my neck and wrist. My grille is shiny. My set is tight. A lot of bitches tell me I look like Nelly. I don’t really see it but fuck it. Whatever helps make the pussy wetter.

  “Uhm, excuse me, your wife wants you.”

  I frown as I turn around. There’s the sexy salesgirl still looking like she ready to fuck me on the spot. She slick as hell as she pulls her print blouse down slightly to flash me the tops of her cleavage. One full breast is tattooed Lick and the other one says Suck.

  I’m not even letting her bullshit blow up my head because bitches these days see a nigga like me with cash flow and that’s what make them so hot. It took my young ass a minute to get it but now I’m straight. She wants to be Quilla and have her nigga take her on a shopping spree because knowing Quilla she let it be known that I’m paying.

  “She’s not my wife,” I tell her as I follow her over to the line of dressing rooms.

  The salesgirl shrug like she didn’t care either way. The look she gives me lets me know she don’t give a fuck about Quilla and me and what kind of relationship we have. She want me for herself.

  I walk into the dressing room area and see Quilla peeking her head out from behind a wooden door in the back. She smiles at me, happy as hell.

  “So you my wife?” I ask her as I walk into the room with her. There are clothes everywhere and knowing Quilla she wants it all. Knowing me, she’ll get it.

  Quilla is a damn good girlfriend. My Queen. My First Lady. She’s about as close to getting married as I will get for a while. She puts up with my shit. She listens to me when I just want to talk. She fucks me like she my personal whore but reps me to the fullest in the streets. She’s smart as hell and works for the county as a court clerk. She can cook. Fuck me. Cherish me. King me. Love me the best she can. I know that sound all corny and shit but in this game, it’s hard to find someone to love you for you. I learned that the hard way with my last girl, but that’s the past. I’m not fucking with that shit.

  I know I’m wrong for how much I fuck around on Quilla. She’s a good girl and she don’t deserve it, but money brings on mad bitches and sometimes it’s hard as hell to ignore a big ass and a smile.

  I turn around just as the dressing room door clicks as she closes it. Quilla is dressed in nothing but a “fuck me” see-through teddy and her gold Gucci heels. She is looking cocky as hell as she slowly turns in front of me—knowing that she looks good from head to toe and front to back. “How much of my money you spending today?” I ask her, feeling just as fucking cocky as she do.

  She shakes her shoulder length curly weave and licks her glossy lips as she walks up to me. “I don’t know,” she says carelessly with a shrug before she wraps her arms around my neck and runs her teeth over my bottom grill with a purr. “I do know that the little bitch out there better not get herself hurt.”

  Uh-oh. “What you talkin’ ’bout, Quilla?”

  She slides her tongue inside my mouth just as she slides her hand down to massage my dick until it’s hard in her hand. “Don’t worry ’bout it, Boo,” she whispers into my mouth before she circles my tongue with hers. “It ain’t your fault she scandalous.”

  Quilla don’t miss shit. I’m still surprised she ain’t caught up with most of my shit. “You picked out everything you want?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Yup,” she says calm as hell as she pulls on her Donna Karan safari dress. Too calm.

  I open the door while she slides on her black Gucci stunner shades and puts her gold tote on her shoulder. She looks the role of my queen. The head bitch in charge. I ain’t gone lie. I like that about her.

  As soon as we step out the dressing room area, the salesgirl brings her ass over to us. Shee-it. I’m nervous as hell that Quilla about to straight-slap this chick.

  “Jessica, could you get everything out that last dressing room. We’ll take it all.” Quilla gives her a smile that is nothing but sweetness.

  Say what?

  Jessica the salesgirl’s eyes get big as shit and I know Quilla just hit my pockets hard. Just a few minutes later, Jessica rolls an entire rack filled with clothes out of the dressing room toward the register.

  My Nextel rings and I flip it open. Usher. “Whaddup.” I see Quilla’s eyes cut over to me as I turn and walk away from her. “Done?”

  “Done,” Usher answers.

  Enough said. As soon as I drop Quilla home, I’m headed straight to the spot to finish handling business.

  I walk back over to Quilla and I know she dying to ask me who was on the phone, but she don’t, thank God. Ain’t shit worse than a naggin’-ass, nosy-ass woman. I’ve told her ass that plenty of times. Maybe she finally fucking getting it.

  “Now, Jessica, I need to speak with your manager.”

  Jessica’s baby browns look at Quilla and then me and then back to Quilla again. “Is there a problem?” she asks, all nervous and shit.

  Quilla bends down and reaches into the wastepaper basket. She rises back up and flings the scrap of paper with Jessica’s name and number on it into her face. “If you think your little slick ass gone make a commission off this here sale, you crazy. Now go get your manager to ring…me…up and then I advise you to give me fifty feet.”

  I just drop my head and wipe my hand over my mouth to keep from smiling. Humph. Quilla don’t miss shit.

  Bentley Manor is important as hell to my business. All of these little foot soldiers out here work for me but they had to go through so many motherfuckers before they even got back to me that I know some of them don’t even know who really runs the show. Shit, most people don’t even know where I stay. I like it that way. Last thing I need is for one of these fools to get locked up and sign indictments against me.

  So far. So good. But Maleek thought he was above the law and now he doing ten, fed time. How long would my luck or my ability to stay ahead of the game last?

  I pull my black-on-black Tahoe through the open gates of Bentley Manor. I don’t bother to get out. I fuck with a couple tricks out here who don’t want nothing but a new pair of Uptowns or a whack-ass, fifty-dollar hairdo. I ain’t in the mood tonight. I got other shit on my mind.

  “You think she came up in here, Ush?” I look over at him sitting in the passenger seat, his eyes locked on the people hanging outside the complex through my black tint.

  He nods. His face is all serious because he know how serious the shit he told me is.

  By the time I made it to the spot, Usher had made sure the dope was cut, bagged up, and distributed. He didn’t waste any time pulling me outside to tell me that my ex, Candy, was on the block strung the fuck out and begging them hot boys for a free hit. That shit damn near knocked me off my feet.

  Candy and me went out for three years and I can’t front that I loved her…up until the day I walked in on her fucking some Mexican dude in my bed. I looked past her ass being a stripper before we met. I looked past her shady rep on the street. I looked past the way she used to run through my money. I looked past her clubbing damn near Thursday through fucking Sunday. I even looked past the way she could smoke a half ounce of weed by her damn self, but I couldn’t look past that.

  I tossed her ass the fuck out of my apartment and last I heard she moved to North Carolina with Paco, Taco, or what t
he fuck ever his name was.

  Have I thought about her in the last year? Hell, yeah.

  Have I wondered where her crazy ass was? Most def.

  But did I ever imagine her strung out on drugs? Never.

  I can’t front that its been fucking with me ever since Usher told me about it. Really, I shouldn’t give a damn about her, but I do. I shouldn’t want to see her, but I do.

  “I made sure the word was out to call me if they see her and not to sell her shit.”

  I nod at Usher’s words even as I reverse the Tahoe out of a parking spot. I use my free hand to turn up the radio and soon Shawty Lo’s “Dunn Dunn” fills every inch of the space. With all the kids running around here I had to be careful I didn’t run one the fuck over. I catch sight of the building Maleek and Aisha used to live in—the same building where one of her johns sliced her the fuck up because the pussy drove him crazy.

  I shake my head to get thoughts of her out of my mind. I got enough female drama popping off right now. Worrying about what Aisha is doing with herself is big-time unnecessary right now.

  As I roll out of Bentley Manor on my twenty-two-inch blacked-out rims, Usher lit a Newport. “Candy looked real bad, man. I mean bad. Like damn, what the fuck, you know?”

  “So all that flyness she was about…just gone?” As I pull the truck to a stop at the red light I look over at my friend.

  Usher locks his eyes with mine. “Gone,” he stresses.

  I shift my eyes to the Circle K gas station on the right. I frown when I see a tall skinny female holding a baby in one arm and swinging her other one like crazy in the face of one of my foot soldiers. Candy is tall. Tall enough to look my six-foot-one skinny ass dead in the eye whether we was fucking or fighting.

  “That’s her, Kaseem,” Usher says, reaching over to slap my arm with the back of his hand twice.

  “I already see her,” I tell him, shifting the Tahoe into the right lane and turning into the Circle K parking lot.

  As soon as Usher steps out of the Tahoe behind me he lights a fat blunt. I make a note to remind him later that not only didn’t I want nobody smoking that shit in my ride, I didn’t want nobody carrying that shit in my ride. It’s that kind of dumb shit—traffic stops, personal stash of weed, roadblocks—that gets a big-time nigga like me caught all the time for bigger shit. Major shit.