Desperate hoodwives: an urban tale Read online

Shit.

  I suck in a deep breath and will my tears to disappear. This can’t be happening. I played my cards right. I don’t act like some loose booty around him. I was careful to be aloof about his money and fame. I cared about him, not what he had.

  He ate that bullshit up because I served it on a silver tray with a smile. So where the fuck is he?

  Standing outside like an idiot, I gaze around at my old, red-brick prison, complete with a wrought iron security gate. A joke really, since the worst of the worst lived in Bentley Manor. Who exactly is the gate supposed to keep out…or keep in?

  I have to get out of this place.

  I know clinging to a nigga like he’s the Messiah is sorry as hell. I’ve tried to save myself, working three jobs to put myself through some sorry tech school that promised job placement after graduation. But that shit turned out to be a joke. Everybody and their mommas ended up with a computer degree. The motherfucker barely qualifies you to turn on a computer, let alone rake in the six-figure income the dot-comer revolutionists promised from every glossy-paged business magazine.

  “Yo, Devani!”

  I make a quick swipe at my tears, disgusted with myself for acting like a weak bitch in front of the whole damn neighborhood. I turn to see Junior lumbering up the cracked sidewalk. Junior, Tyrik’s cousin and struggling rapper — though he can’t flow for shit — bounces up the stoop and stops before me. “Whatcha know good, gurl?”

  “Nothing. Just hanging out.”

  His unkempt bushy eyebrows — which look like one long fuckin’ hairy caterpillar — leaps at this. “Since when does your bougie ass hang out wit us common Negroes?”

  I’m not in the mood for Junior’s needling and I flash him my DFWM glare and he quickly tosses up his arms. “I’m just sayin’. I figured you’d be over at Tyrik’s party, shakin’ dat fine ass before some other hood rat jumps on dat rich, NFL dick.”

  No shit. My heart drops to my Gucci knockoff shoes. “What party?”

  Junior looks at me as if I suddenly spouted an extra head, but then just as quickly his face cracks with an understanding smirk. “Ah, dat nigga didn’t tell you?”

  “Fuck!” I explode, tossing my hands up in the air. My mind scrambles for a plan, a move, or tactical military maneuver to get my ass back into the game. “Junior, I need a ride.”

  He scrunches up his face. “What the fuck? This ain’t Drivin’ Miss Daisy Incorporated.”

  “Nigga, you can’t spell incorporated.” Snatching his arm, I storm down the steps. Junior apparently knows I mean business since he doesn’t offer any further resistance. “What is Tyrik celebrating?” I ask under my breath, but the question was voiced loud enough to reach Junior’s ear.

  “Farewell party. He’s been traded to Pittsburgh.”

  If my heart wasn’t already in my shoes, I swear it would have fallen again. Still, it takes everything I have to keep my burning tears in check. Tyrik is planning to leave me in Bentley Manor.

  The realization is like fuel on a fire blazing inside of me. He’s not leaving me. Not if I have anything to say about it.

  I jerk open the passenger door on Junior’s long-ass Chevy Caprice and pray the mysterious odor wafting from inside wouldn’t kill me before we make it to Tyrik’s mansion out in the suburbs.

  Junior starts up the car and the damn thing roars to life like one of the city’s garbage trucks. If the engine isn’t sufficient enough to cause ear damage, his top-of-the-line stereo system — which is worth ten times more than the car — booms enough bass to rattle my teeth.

  “You know, you owe me for this one, right?” Junior asks, lighting a roach he retrieved from the car’s ashtray. He takes a hit and passes it over. I need something to calm my nerves so I hit it for a few puffs. It’s laced with something I can’t name, but at the same time I don’t care.

  “I’ll hook you up with some gas money later in the week,” I answer belatedly. I know that’s not what he wants. Hell, I can feel what he wants because his hand is on my thigh and is caressing it like it’s some long-lost friend of his.

  “C’mon, Devani. We got about twenty minutes before we reach dat nigga’s place. I’ve already hooked you up twice. You can’t tell me you ain’t feelin’ good right now.”

  Actually, I am feeling damn good.

  “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

  “Junior, cut the shit. I’m in a hurry.”

  Anger polishes Junior’s black eyes. To my surprise he pulls the car over into the emergency lane of I-285, and then reaches across my lap to open the car door. “Get the fuck out,” he barks.

  “What? We’re in the middle of the highway.”

  “Good. Then you’ll have no problems hitchin’ a ride,” he says unconcerned, and pulls out a fresh blunt from his shirt pocket.

  I glance around, noting all the cars rocketing down the dark highway to unknown destinations. No way am I going to hitchhike all the way to Alpharetta.

  “Fine.” I slam the door and turn toward him. “What do you want?”

  Junior crackles under his breath. “Do you really have to ask?”

  “I’m dating your cousin,” I inform him, unable to stop my face from twisting in disgust.

  “Doesn’t look dat way to me.”

  I’m not fucking him. I may have attended community college but I’m not jumping on community dick. Junior has a reputation of fucking everything that isn’t nailed down and I refuse to gamble with sexually transmitted diseases.

  “Forget it.” I open the car door. I’ll take my chances hitching a ride with a mass murderer.

  “All right. All right.” He takes another puff from his magic dragon and passes it to me.

  This time, I wave off the offer.

  “How about a hand job?” He unzips his jeans without waiting for an answer. What he pulls out shocks the shit out of me. His large — no, massive — nearly blue-black cock is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. This nigga is seriously missing out on a career in porno.

  “Let me see you,” he says, pushing my skirt up again with his rough, calloused hands.

  This time, I actually get a little wet, but I rein in my senses to push back his hand. “Drive.”

  Junior snickers, but does as I ask. “I just want a little peek.” His hand glides expertly up and down his pretty cock and I have to admit I’m more than a little fascinated.

  “C’mon, li’l ma. Let me see what you’re holdin’ out for only those niggas wit the fat wallets. I bet you keep dat shit shaved, don’t you?”

  Actually, I sport a cute little Mohawk straight down the center. A woman’s body is more than her temple…it’s her most powerful bargaining chip. That’s why I eat right, which is hard to do on my income. All the crap that’s bad for you is cheap and guaranteed to put you in an early grave. And, of course, I’m an exercise fanatic.

  Every woman should carry a compact, their favorite tube of lipstick, and a gym membership card. I don’t mean one to some rinky-dink gym that only obese people attend with enough clothing to cover every inch of their bodies. I mean a real gym where you’re not only inspired by the muscles rippling around you, but turned on as well.

  I met Tyrik at a Gold’s Gym.

  “Shit, baby. Let me take a peek,” Junior groans as irritation ripples across his features. If I don’t do something soon, he’s going to try to put my ass out on the side of the road again.

  I lean back a bit; ignoring the fact I’m drifting to the area with the mysterious odor, and hike up my dress to show him a little thong action.

  “Ah, pink.” Junior grins. “I love pink.” He reaches over and brushes his finger across the lacy material.

  I slap his hand back. “Don’t touch.”

  His grin only widens. “Open your legs so I get a good look.”

  I roll my eyes but do as he asks.

  “Move the thong,” he orders, snubbing out his blunt.

  Again, I obey.

  “Oh, look at you wit the pretty kitty.” He licks h
is fingers for a little lubrication and begins pumping his cock. Unbelievably the damn thing grows bigger.

  “Give me your hand, li’l ma.”

  I know I shouldn’t, but damn, I’m Curious George at the moment and I want to touch it. I inch closer to him and wrap my slender fingers around his exotic work of art and, no shit, my fingertips just barely touch each other. Now that’s a thick brother who can cause some damage.

  Junior moans as my fingers tighten and relax while I take over pumping his cock, and a few times I have to remind him to watch the road. Despite my warnings, two houses in Tyrik’s neighborhood lose their mailboxes.

  One thing for sure, Junior has impeccable timing. Just seconds before rolling to a stop outside of Tyrik’s mansion, Junior’s orgasm erupts like a California geyser.

  “Shit,” he gasps and then winks at me.

  I cringe at the thick gooey mess all over my hand, but before I can utter a complaint, Junior magically produces a dingy towel from the backseat and tosses it over. No, the damn thing isn’t clean, but it will do in a jam. I quickly clean up and scramble out the car just as one of the hired valets offers to park Junior’s monstrosity of a vehicle.

  Rufus, another one of Tyrik’s cousins, spots me and is a little slow to react when I jet past him without an invitation. When I enter the house, I realize this is more than just a party — this is the party of the year.

  “Devani,” Rufus calls, coming up behind me. “You can’t be in here.”

  “Where is he?” I ask, rounding on the four-hundred-pound man. My DFWM glare is in full effect and Rufus quickly drops his gaze.

  “Look, I’m just doing my job, Devani. Invite only.”

  “Fuck your job.” I turn and dart away again before the large man has the chance to react. I perform a quick walk-run sort of search in hopes of spotting Tyrik before another member of his sorry entourage kicks my ass to the curb.

  With no sight of Tyrik downstairs, I rush up the circular staircase. The atmosphere is a hell of a lot looser upstairs as women’s titties spill out of their dresses and men are planted here and there between their legs.

  Tyrik’s ass better not be up here.

  My fervent threat quickly becomes a soulful prayer, but when I open the door to Tyrik’s grand-size bedroom, God makes it clear he isn’t in the prayer-answering business tonight.

  There, sitting on the bed, with his head thrown back in ecstasy, is my one-way ticket out Bentley Manor and planted between his legs is an exotic Latina hoochie with her mouth wrapped possessively around Tyrik’s cock.

  Shit.

  3

  Lexi

  Good sex always messed me up.

  A good lay made a sistah like me forget a man was broke or cheating, using or abusing, lying and denying. There’s plenty of times I had sold my soul for good sex. I loved nothing more than climbing on ten good inches and riding it until I passed out.

  Yup, a good nut beat out good sense damn near all the damn time.

  Or at least it used to. But I knew I had to get over it because it wasn’t about just me. It took some time for me to buy a clue, but now I see everything quite clearly. Yes, I have five kids and four baby daddies, but I’m married now. Luther Mitchell stepped up and did what none of the fathers of my children would: he married my behind.

  Finally a good man. A loyal man. An honest man. A hardworking man. Finally.

  Luther makes me see more out of life than what I’m used to. Like getting out of Bentley Manor. I never really thought about moving out in the past, but he makes me see there is so much more to life. This brotha has dreams and he wants to share those dreams with me and my kids — well…our kids, like he always says.

  He works as a mechanic until he’s tired and grimy and then comes home and still makes time for us as a family. He takes the kids to the movies and stuff like that. He talks to them and tries to teach them wrong from right.

  After my baby girl was born I swore I wasn’t having any more kids, but after Luther came into our world I wished I hadn’t tied my tubes. I want nothing more than to have his baby.

  Not that we aren’t struggling. Between my stamps, our jobs, and my steady child support from one of my kids’ father, we doing all right. Still, clothes, shoes, toys, birthday gifts, Christmas gifts, and all the normal costs of five kids isn’t anything to play with. Luther is right there with me helping me get it all done. We’ll go lacking to make sure the kids don’t.

  I always knew there were good men in the world. I just knew it. And now I got one who is all mine. Finally.

  I’m sitting on my couch sipping on a glass of orange Kool-Aid and watching the Maury Povich show that I TiVoed earlier while I was on the cash register at Wal-Mart. I hear a child holler out in play. I damn near drop my drink as I jump off the couch, but then I remember my kids are spending the night at my sister WooWoo’s apartment over in Building 230. And there’s no way my kids are outside at ten at night. Now, some of the other mothers at Bentley don’t have rules and regulations for their children, but I have mine in check.

  When I speak all five of my kids freeze and listen. They know Momma don’t play. With five kids I have to check them before they gang up and check me.

  I love my children. They are mine. All mine. Even though each one is a symbol of yet another one of my failed relationships, I never put my feelings for their fathers onto them. They would catch plenty of hell if I did.

  I hear the metal door of our apartment swing open and slam shut. I look over my shoulder to see my oldest boy, Trey, stroll in. He’s growing up so fast. Thirteen. Already taller than my short self. Voice cracking. Pubic hairs growing. Two or three hairs on his upper lip. Girls calling my phone all time of the night and day.

  “Hey, Momma. I left my new game,” he hollers over his shoulder on the way to his bedroom.

  Just moments later he’s strolling right back out. “’Night, Ma.”

  “Straight back to WooWoo’s, Trey,” I call over my shoulder to him.

  “I am.”

  The metal door squeaks open and slams shut behind him.

  “Lord, don’t let him be like his no-good daddy,” I whisper, my words echoing inside my glass just before I take a deep sip and get lost in my memories.

  Sixteen years old. It’s 1994. Me, my grandmother, and my baby sister are just a week strong staying in Bentley Manor. It’s a Saturday and I had nothing on my mind but catching the eye of one of them hot boys sitting on the hood of an abandoned car in the parking lot. I always loved to get the attention of boys and usually I did. Petite, body tight, behind juicy in my jeans. I strolled right past them on my way to nowhere.

  “Damn, cutie, let me holla at you for a sec.”

  That was the first thing Calvin Jefferson III, aka Junior, ever said to me. One picky-head seventeen-year-old Negro telling me I was fine and one month later I was cutting school and giving up my virginity on my rickety twin bed.

  “I’m scared, Junior,” I admitted, as he kissed my neck while we laid on the bed.

  “I’m not gone hurt you, baby,” he whispered in my ear.

  I shivered but I wasn’t cold. In fact my whole body was warm. Very warm. The spot between my legs throbbed and my heart raced like crazy.

  Junior kissed his way up to my mouth and a moan escaped me as his tongue circled mine. I liked kissing him. It always felt so good and it always made me wet.

  My heart swelled with love for him.

  I gasped as he raised my Calvin Klein t-shirt over my head and looked down at my small plum-sized breasts in my white cotton bra. I closed my eyes as he raised the bra above my breasts. A cool draft made my nipples even harder.

  “Damn,” he swore.

  Seconds later, for the first time in my life, I knew how it felt to have my titties sucked. I squirmed and cried out.

  He stopped. “That hurt?”

  I opened my eyes and looked at him. “It felt good,” I admitted with a shy smile.

  He raised up to pull his white tee over h
is head. He lay down flat and worked his pants and boxers down his skinny legs.

  My mouth dropped as his thing stood straight up. Thick, dark as my favorite candy bar (Snickers), and hard as a bat. He want to put all that in me? I wondered.

  He laughed at the expression on my face. “Big motherfucker, ain’t it?”

  I swallowed over a lump in my throat and nodded.

  Junior shifted down to take my nipple into his mouth again.

  I raised my hands to his woolly short ’fro, pressing his square face closer as he licked away at my nipples.

  I didn’t resist as he unbuttoned my jeans and worked them and my moist panties off. I even raised my hips to help him. His fingers touched my stuff.

  “Damn, girl, you wet,” he said, sounding a little in awe.

  I tried to bury my face in his neck but he moved to squat on the bed between my open legs like he was looking for something he lost. “Stop, boy,” I complained, trying to close them.

  “Junior,” I snapped.

  He looked up at me and wiggled his thick eyebrows.

  I reached down to pull him back up to lay beside me.

  His head dipped and I felt his cool lips suck my stuff before his tongue circled some spot that caused my hips to fly up off the bed. My eyes bugged out and my heart slammed against my chest. My hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his head.

  Another first. Junior was eating me out! I couldn’t wait to tell my friend Red. It…felt…

  I cried out as first my toes and then my thighs started to tingle. I closed my eyes and I felt like stars were bursting before me. My body trembled but I felt like I was floating on waves and free-falling through space all at once.

  “Junior!” I cried out as he sucked harder.

  I was still trembling like a fiend as he moved up my body and used his hand to start pushing his big thing in me. I pushed at his shoulder. “Wait, Junior, wait.”

  “Okay, let me know when,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. He sucked my tongue like a lollipop.

  I relaxed and enjoyed the feel of his kisses.

  Junior raised his hips and pushed his thing inside me all at once. I cried out and nearly bit his tongue off. I felt nothing but pressure and the sting of pain. I started slapping him on his shoulders and all upside his head.