Boss Bitch Swag Page 3

  “Mama, please go in the house!” Jasmine finally let her voice be heard. “Please, mama?”

  Jazz wasn’t too proud to beg, but she was too embarrassed to cry. All the neighbors were out; the hood loves a free show. Not only was her mother drunk as hell, but she was also outside wearing a very sheer night gown with only a small pair of panties on underneath; there were titties everywhere. Her mother was a large woman but still very fine for her age. It was too bad she couldn’t see the beauty in herself the way Jazz could. While we were sitting in Applebee’s, waiting for our steaks to arrive, she went on and on about how much she loved and admired her mother. I couldn’t help wondering if she regretted telling me that or if she was just that good-hearted that it didn’t even matter.

  “The rent’s due next week, so if you fucked that nigga you betta get yo money,” her mother yelled at Jazz. For some reason, she was still mean muggin’ me. I wasn’t too cool with being called a ‘nigga’ by some drunk-ass white bitch, but that white bitch was Jazz’s mother. She was also sick; she was an alcoholic.

  During dinner, Jasmine also revealed to me that her father had just filed for divorce and was living overseas with an Asian woman who was now seven months pregnant with his child. She hadn’t seen him since she was nine years old. The closest thing she had to communication with him was the Christmas cards he sent her every year with no return address. Her moms lost her job a few months ago because of her excessive drinking. Ever since then, they’d been living off Jasmine’s hustles; she learned a long time ago that her looks could get her just about anything she wanted. Niggas tricked off money, clothes, jewelry, and anything else of value they had just to get a piece of her; she figured she might as well get something out of the deal. I couldn’t knock her hustle - but there was no way any chick of mine was going to be turning tricks. I was too young to save my mother, but Jazz was another story.

  “Mama, I know you hurtin’.” She took her mother’s hand and looked deep into her glassy eyes. “He hurt me, too, but we all we got...and...and if you don’t stop this...you’re gonna lose me, too.” Her voice broke with almost every word she spoke. When she finally stopped fighting them, the tears fell down her face hard and continuous. They even made their way down to her dress, leaving a wet stain pattern that almost looked like tiny footprints. I turned my head away in the opposite direction. I had to; that shit was killing me.

  I drove away from Jasmine’s home that night with a whole new understanding of her. Once again in the hood, a childhood was cut short. At only fifteen, Jazz had to provide not only for herself but for her mother as well – and the load was getting much too heavy for her to carry alone; she was about to break. A blind man could see that. The hard questions I asked myself on the drive home were: Am I willing to let that go down? Am I just going to walk away, or am I going to be the kind of man that my mother and big sister would be proud of?

  Chapter 7

  I walked into my apartment and damn near didn’t recognize the place. Gina had scented candles burning, slow jams playing on the stereo, the TV off, and li’l man was nowhere to be found. She’d cleaned every square inch of the place from top to bottom, and I could still smell the scents of bleach and Lysol lingering in the air - along with something else: my stomach turned flips when it got a whiff of fried chicken, baked macaroni and cheese, greens, candied yams, corn bread, and peach cobbler for dessert. Fuck everything else; it was time to grub.

  I ate three big-ass plates before I finally had to stop myself; the shit was that good. I was starting to feel like a fat nigga. Gina could clown in the kitchen like nobody else. If she applied herself, that girl could have been a chef at one of those high-priced restaurants in the good part of town, but that was a big “if.” She liked kickin’ it too much to go to anybody’s school. I had tried to talk to her about it before, but she wasn’t trying to hear me. Later on, though, when I wanted to fuck - she heard a nigga loud and clear. I realized then that I couldn’t make her want better for herself. She was just fine with her life the way that it was, fucked all the way up.

  After a meal like that, all I could do was smoke a Newport and take my ass to bed. I thought about calling Jasmine. Since I’d never really had a girlfriend before, I really didn’t know how to handle the situation. Should I give her her space? Or was I supposed to comfort her? Talking on the phone really wasn’t my thing. If I had something to say, I liked to say it in person.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  “Boss.” Gina stuck her head inside my bedroom door. “You wanna smoke this blunt with me?”

  “That even a question?” I joked, then waved her in. “Where you get some green?”

  “From Kel,” she revealed, once again using her sweet little cartoon voice - which wasn’t fooling anybody.

  “You fuckin’ Kel now?”

  She didn’t answer me, but her silence spoke volumes. All I could do was shake my head. Here she was living with me - a nigga with more green than anybody else on 21st Street - and she was fucking a nigga like Kel for sacs. She didn’t know how to do shit, and unfortunately she couldn’t be taught. That was the difference between a chick like Gina and a chick like Jasmine: Gina was who she was, and that was all she was ever going to be; on the other hand, Jazz was who she was to - but she wanted more. I could work with a chick like that.

  Gina came over and sat down next to me on my bed. I watched her split the blunt, dump the insides out in the trash can, then replace them with the weed she’d gave up her body for. A part of me felt like I shouldn’t even smoke it with her; I felt guilty, like I was the nigga taking pussy for weed. That wasn’t my type of hustle. I never paid for water, and I never paid for pussy. It had a lot to do with my mother being a prostitute, but it also had a lot to do with how pitiful the shit was. Niggas who bargained for pussy were weak. I might have still been a teenager living in an apartment that was paid for with drug money, but I wasn’t weak. Life never even offered me that option.

  “Damn this some good shit,” Gina announced, having only hit the blunt twice and already half-blowed. “I felt so good, and so...so...so...you want a beer?” She lost her train of thought.

  “Yeah, Gina.” I cracked the fuck up laughing. “You always do that shit when we get blowed.”

  I took the blunt from her crazy ass and hit it hard. She was right: the shit was some fire. I made a mental note to get at that nigga Kel and find out who he got his work from.

  “Boss.” Gina stopped in the doorway and turned back around to face me. “I wanna make you happy.”

  My mind didn’t even have to wonder; I knew exactly what she meant. My eyes were chinky from the green, but they still worked. I watched her hips sway while she walked to me. She moved extra slow on purpose; it was like the opening scene of a good porno. Once she reached me, she fell down to her knees in front of me like I was king of the free world. I knew it was about to be fire.

  “I’m ‘bout to suck yo dick like it ain’t never been sucked before,” Gina bragged on her head and unbuckled my belt while looking me dead in the eyes.

  Once she pulled my dick out, it was all over. She sucked and slobbed on my knob like it was the last one left on earth. Her mouth was so warm, I could have built a home in that muthafucka. When she moved her tongue around the head in a circular motion the exact same way her babydaddy had taught her to - any problems I had with that nigga flew right out the window. The girl was bad. For fifteen minutes, she worked me over, controlling me with nothing but her tongue. I couldn’t even front. By the time I grabbed a handful of her hair and exploded in her mouth, I was done for. After that fabulous head, I felt I owed it to her to break her off, so I dicked her down one good time, then smoked another blunt as she slept like a baby on the other side of my bed. That shit wasn’t supposed to happen. I cared about Gina, but only as a friend - and I knew if she continued to stay with me, she was going to end up gettin’ hurt.

  Chapter 8

  Jasmine and I were together for almost a month before I fina
lly let her come back to my apartment. I said it was because I didn’t want to rush her, but in reality it was more because I knew Gina's ass would clown. Fucking her almost every night didn’t make things transition any smoother. I was wrong for that, and I knew it - but when a bitch keeps throwing the pussy in my direction, eventually a nigga like me is gonna catch it.

  Jazz was a good girl; she was just a little lost and confused, just like the rest of us. She turned to sex to survive, then turned to drugs to get through the sex. She wasn’t into anything heavy; just a blunt here and there. Since weed was also my drug of choice, we got along just fine. I usually smoked somewhere between five and ten blunts a day. When I was blowed, I didn’t think about my mother committing suicide, about Monica’s still unsolved murder, or about my son being stillborn. And if I got high enough, I forgot all about my other two sisters, who were both now living with their boyfriends and hadn’t talked to my ass in months. There were no visits or phone calls. It was like all the things I did for Monique and Michelle didn’t even matter; they got what they could out of me, then cut me off when something better came along. I wasn’t even mad at them; a nigga was just hurt.

  “Baby, I’ll be in yo room waitin’ on you,” Jasmine said, making sure to speak loud enough so Gina could hear her. “Don’t take too long; you know I get lonely without you.”

  I couldn’t help but watch her walk away; the view was spectacular – and all that ass in those jeans was mine. Her days of fucking weak niggas for cash were over. When she needed something, she came to me. It ain’t trickin’ if it’s your woman.

  “That bitch spendin’ the night?” Gina fucked up my good mood with her nasty-ass attitude. “’Cause if she is -”

  “First off, Gina, don’t be callin’ my gal a ‘bitch’ ‘cause she ain’t did shit to you. Second, if you don’t like it, you know what you can do.” I laid the cards all out on the table. Being nice got you nowhere with Gina. I let her and her son stay with me rent-free, but she still wanted more. I fed them and kept li’l man in pampers and clothes, but even that wasn’t enough. I finally had somebody in my life that appreciated me, and I wasn’t about to fuck that up for Gina or anybody else.

  “Don’t’ worry; I’ll be outta yo way soon,” she threatened me as tears formed in her eyes. “Me and Li’l Mike gettin’ the fuck outta here next month.”

  “Then so be it, Gina.” I raised my arms in the air as if I were calling a truce. “My gal’s waitin’ on me.”

  “Fuck her! I’m supposed to be yo gal!”

  That proved it: the bitch was delusional. I didn’t even stop to address her last comment; I just shook my head and continued on towards my bedroom door. I wasn’t forcing her to leave, but I also wasn’t asking her to stay. As long as li’l man had a roof over his head, then that was cool with me. I couldn’t live Gina’s life for her. I wished her the best, but it was time for both of us to move on.

  When I finally made it to my bedroom, Jasmine was lying on my bed butt-ass naked, smoking a fat blunt. My eyes slowly scanned her entire body from top to bottom; it was perfection. Even the hair on her pussy was neat and trim. I stepped inside the door and closed it shut behind me.

  “You like what you see?” my baby asked as she ran her manicured fingers across her beautiful breasts. “This the first time you’ve seen me completely naked.”

  She didn’t have to remind me. My eyes were glued to her. She had my full, undivided attention. It wasn’t our first time fucking, but quickies in the backseat of my truck or in her bedroom at home while her mother slept in the next room just weren’t getting it.

  She hit the blunt one last time, then raised it in the air as an offering to me. I went and sat down on the bed right next to her and took it out of her delicate hand. I hit that shit hard while going over her curves with my eyes. Jazz had that kill. Her pussy was like crack; every time I fucked her, I thought about the next time. No bitch had ever had me that far gone. I knew it - and unfortunately for me, she knew it, too.

  “What you want me to do, Daddy?” She was trying to entice me, and it worked. My dick was already hard, and all she had to do was just lay there. Before I even had a chance to answer her question, she licked her middle finger so very seductively, then slowly slid it down her chest and stomach until it met her warm, wet pussy. She then spread her legs open wide and began to play with herself. She moaned and arched her back as she put pressure on her clit, and I kept on smoking while my dick kept on growing harder and harder with every second that passed. Finally, she looked up at me, then closed her eyes tight and pleasured herself the same way she did late at night when she was all alone in her bed.

  “Uhm...” she purred. “Baby, I want you to come here and suck my titties. Pretty, pretty please?”

  How could I not when she asked so nicely? Fuck that blunt; I put it out in the small glass ashtray that I kept on my nightstand. Before I knew it, I was on top of Jazz - almost completely naked myself. Her body felt so good underneath mine. She was so soft, and she smelled so sweet. I pushed her breasts together and ran my tongue across her nipples. She shivered beneath me. The harder I licked, the more she gyrated. I wanted all of her. She had me gone in the head, and I wasn’t even trippin’.

  “Oh God, yes...yes, Boss, yes...” she squealed as my tongue made first contact with her pussy. Eating out was new to me, but her reaction made it obvious that a nigga was gifted at it. I licked her again and again, and with every stroke I got a little better. She was going crazy. Soon, my entire face was buried between her thighs.

  “Ooooh, Boss...ssssssss...uhm...that feels sooo good...”

  I loved watching her. She couldn't control herself – and it made me feel good, too. My dick was brick just from pleasing her. I never even knew that shit was possible.

  “You ready for this dick?” I slid two fingers inside her while I continued to lick her pussy. “You ready, huh? You ready for this dick, Ma?”

  “Ooooh yes, baby...baby...I’m about to cum...” She grabbed a hold of my head and lost complete control over her body.

  The way she came was like art. She was still for a moment, and I took that time to go to the kitchen and get a drink of water. A nigga’s mouth was on drought; eating pussy made me thirsty. I couldn’t front, though - I liked it, and my baby liked it, too. We were both freaks that way. Every single time we fucked, we pushed it to the limit. She gave me her all, and I gave her mine. I couldn’t control my dick around Jazz any more than I could control my heart. It was a dangerous game for a nigga like me to play, but I didn’t have a choice: I was falling fast, and there was nothing I could do or use to stop myself.

  Chapter 9

  Jasmine and I hadn’t even been together for two full months when we found out she was pregnant. We both knew it was coming; you don’t have sex all day, every day without using something and not get a baby out of the deal. As soon as Gina moved out, Jazz moved in. Her mother made us both promise that she was going to stay in school even after she had the baby. We did. When I made that promise to her mother, it meant a lot to me. Nobody’s moms had ever made me give them my word before. At that point, I really didn’t care how Jazz felt about the arrangement. Her ass was staying in school until she got her diploma; the only way she was quitting was over my dead body – and even then she’d still have to get through her mother. That was my baby and all, but if it came down to her or her moms - I was putting my money on the old bird.

  Jasmine was my pride and joy. I was definitely guilty of spoiling her. She got any and everything she wanted. If she just had to have a new outfit, she got a new outfit - no matter how much it cost. Her shoes were never less than a few hundred dollars, and her purses were ridiculous. I laid down almost two grand on a Fendi bag that she just had to have for a class trip to the Arch. Who the hell can’t go to the St. Louis Arch without a Fendi bag? My baby, that’s who. I complained about the shit, but it really didn’t bother me. When she was happy, it made me happy; her smile lit up even my darkest days. Jasmine may hav
e been the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on, but her compassion and her kind heart made her flawless. She made me believe in humanity again. I planned on building my future around her and our child; they were the only things that really mattered to me. As long as I had them, I knew I was going to be okay. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.

  That Friday night when I took Jasmine’s rotten ass to the mall to buy her a new outfit and new accessories to match, I ran right into an old acquaintance of mine. Ren was my nigga back in the day. From kindergarten on up, we were as thick as thieves. I was just a runt back then. Big niggas picked on me constantly, and I was too small to do anything about it. Ren was the only one that ever had my back. He was the biggest kid in the entire school. Nobody fucked with him - and as soon as he gave the word, nobody fucked with me again either. Ren was the brother I never had, the brother I always wanted. We lived in the same housing projects up until I was around twelve. At fifteen, Ren was a few years older me than me, but it didn’t matter. When his family got evicted that summer, they moved across the water to live with his grandmother in East St. Louis. They might as well have moved to Mexico; I lost touch with my boy, and once again I had to find my own way.