Up The Way
By
Benjamin Janey
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Published by DC Bookdiva Publications
Copyright © 2009 by Benjamin Janey
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recordings or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book; except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN-10: 0615-23655-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-615-23655-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2008941602
First Edition, April 2009
Printed in the United States of America
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is without a cover, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold” or “destroyed” and neither the author(s) nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
Publisher’s Note
This is a work of fiction. Any names historical events, real people, living and dead, or the locales are intended only to give the fiction a setting in historic reality. Other names, characters, places, businesses and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
Cover Concept by: Tiah Short
Edited by: Dolly Lopez, L. Martin Pratt Johnson
Graphic Designer: Oddball Dsgn
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Dedication
A very special dedication to my eldest daughter, Najah George. This first page represents my first step in the right direction. Thank you for allowing me back into your life.
Love,
Daddy
A Promise Kept
My very first book I'd like to dedicate to Annie Lorine Allen, the wonderful mother of our two children. Thank you for sharing this dream years ago, and for all I've put you through, this is my sorry for 2009. Even though we're not together, why are we so far apart…?
To my son, Shekeem, and daughter, Shamik. You've made my life worth living, having been the glue to help me hold on to love when at times I didn't love myself.
Mae Harriet Janey, known to me simply as "Mom". Take a bow, because you deserve it. Thank you for having me, and I hope you'll be proud to witness that against all odds I've finally found myself.
Preston Price, you played a role in my life that reminded me today that "Dad" is a verb, and it's about what you did, not what you didn't do. Thank you especially for putting up my first basketball hoop, and although this isn't the NBA, we ballin'!
I have two of the best sisters in the world. They believed in me just because I'm their brother. Thanks, Chantel and Leslie! My Aunt Valerie has been a sister to me more so than an aunt. So, please accept this dedication, as well, because as doors open, we all can fit…
Also,
In loving memory of my grandparents, Herman and Ruby Watkins, my uncle Walter Watkins, his soul mate Mary Hunter, and their daughter (my cousin) Sonya "Pigeon" Watkins. And last but not least, my cousin Lisa Watkins. Rest in peace, Dwight Hooten.
Love you, Family,
Bro. Benjamin
Acknowledgements
All praises due to Allah for blessing me with the ability to push my pen with authority. I thank Allah for allowing me to partake in the urban novel literary movement. A few words may be profane; however, I must speak today the language of the masses I've intended to reach. I write for the unlettered man and woman, just like the Good Shepherd came for the lost sheep. I pray that my sole intention to increase literacy participation is fulfilled, and may Allah accept my intention with just rewards.
I would like to thank Tiah Short and DC Bookdiva Publications, who saw me as a fallen star just needing the power to shine. Also, to all of you behind the scenes that helped to make this book possible. Although none of us have yet to meet in person, we all took it personally to let it do what it do! The world is your stage. I applaud you, so please take your bow. Dolly Lopez and Linda Williams, good lookin'!
Shout out to my niece, Cassie Wilcox. She's my vice-president for life. At thirteen and pretty swift with a pen, I'm expecting big things from her. Thank you for your love and support, because you and I kept dreaming until it came true.
To my youngest nephews, Dajai and Casson, I'm proud of the way you're both growing up into fine young men. Always make your next move your best move, and lead your own way so you'll end up where you want to be.
Also coming to the page, a big shout-out to my other two nephews getting their grown-man on, Mike and Cullen Mason, "reppin' the Gee" in Millville, New Jersey. We gonna get on it and do big things! Nothing is ever accomplished without a dream of something or someone better. Therefore, the only thing we quit is doing dumb shit.
Bro. Casey, the door is open to build another chapter in our lives. Bro. Captain (Keith) told us to make things happen, not wait for things to happen. He said, "Come on, brothers. Y'all got the damn teachings!" So fall in, sir, and let's move out. Stars shine brighter together.
To my uncles, (Herman, Jr.) Horace and Butch. See, everyone has a gift. It just took me longer to unwrap mine. I thank you in advance for helping me bring our family together. I may be the black sheep, but we come from the same flock, remember?
To the rest of my family and friends, I assure you life is a constant grind. I thank you all, because in some form or fashion, you were part of the thought process.
To "Ms. G." (Counselor J. Garris) and Lieutenant Bernard, both at New Haven County Correctional Center in New Haven. CT, I thank you for everything.
Nonetheless, I thank R&B for setting the mood; Hip-Hop for the creative attitude; and Reggae for setting me free.
Thank you all,
Bro. Benjamin
Chapter One
Now here's a story. It's Friday, the first of October. I'm on a crowded city bus ready to do me. What better way to make moves than to be in the thick of things, ya heard?
My up-top attire had me looking like a youngin’. You know, my Eddie Bauer, a white T, my sagging jeans, and my crisp wheat Timbs. I had to sag with the matching fitted, while my ears and neckpiece gave haters the chills.
I guess jail does preserve a nigga, because I looked damn good for twenty-four. Plus, keeping up with my "gorilla" and not wearing the stress that meat gives you was a given. Real recognizes real, and hood niggas and bitches respected the "gorilla" because jail muscles for real, be having a brotha on swole, you feel me?
It seemed like just one of those days. The sun was shining, causing my light brown skin to glisten. The mailman was poppin' and the EBT bitches with their seeds were strollin' already. You see, at this time, the state and Feds were still in transition to make all funds electronically available. Therefore, on a day like today, the mailman was still "that nigga!"
My baby-momma called me early in the game. She was doing her first-of-the-month regular, wanting cash and flippin'. I was like, "Damn! I don’t get a check!" Then I hit her with the usual, like a dummy. "Be easy. I gotta catch some sales first," I said.
Hell, that didn't fly too well, because she wasn't tryin' to hear shit. It was like the slightest thing sent her into flip-mode. She blew my phone up with, "I hope you die! You gonna go to jail, motherfucka!" She could even say all of this with one breath and include me going to hell!
I knew I shouldn't have answered the phone, but I’m damned if I do and damned if I don't. Until she gets dough, she'll hate to the extreme, telling my P.O. I don't live there with her, like that shit's funny – although I don't live there, you know.
I'm sayin' though, the bus was crowded. The hustlers were out today. You had the boosters with their foil-laced bags ready to hit the mall up. Since it's the first of the month, they'll be selling everything for at least half-price – but no more than 30% – because money was out there to get.
Then you got the "pick out the red card" nigga in the back of the bus. With cash in hand and imaginary velvet rope, his game would appear exclusive to VIP status. "Where is it? Where is it?" That's all you heard as he flipped and flopped three cards – two black and one red – doing his thing. The only winner for his sake would be his man that he has planted in the crowd. He was the decoy/hype man to get the game cookin'.
Always expect to see, "Oh, hell no " and his twin, "Can’t get right" Their hook was, "Since you're peoples, you can buy brand- new jewelry 75% off the price tag or better." They had watches, rings, and chains that hung low. They were the first to have ice grills. One size fits all made it suspect. Everyone supported them because niggas be frontin'.
Now me, besides the business at hand, the bus gave me pleasure. There was always a cutie with a big fat booty. It was like heaven opened up for a minute. There she was, sitting there, with brown skin, brown eyes, and juicy-ass lips. I could tell she was sitting on a fat ass because her legs were the truth. Titties dead right and a little hairdo. "That's me, son!" I convinced myself.
The blinging from my chain and the sincerity of my gaze must have caught her attention. We exchanged smiles and I asked in my most seductive voice, "Ma, can I holla?"
She smiled and responded, "I might go to jail for messin' with you."
Wow! She really thought I was a youngin’. That book bag shit be working! I seized the moment and stepped to her. I kicked, "That's what's really good because I'm actually twenty-four, and that's how old I am and the hours in the day you got me open. Feel me?"
Pure radiance was revealed as she respected my swagger, responding, "Oh, really!"
We began small talk, as I stood over her trying to absorb her every word and heartbeat. With all the noise, I assumed she was talking about coming from a job interview and taking a physical. Once I heard the word "physical", in my mind, I began undressing her, forcing myself, however, to maintain. Real talk, physical was definitely a type of way I'd go real hard with her!
I added to the broken up conversation that I was off of work today, and what a lucky day for the both of us it had been, being that I had her undivided attention. I just had to mention that I'm into sales and plan to retire at the age of forty. Also, I was on my way from dropping my Benz off at the dealership to get it detailed and didn't need a loaner car because I'd be outdoors enjoying the nice weather today.
Main Street to the Ave. was guaranteed traffic. Then suddenly we were bumper-to-bumper at a standstill. That's when shorty noticed a roadblock ahead and flashing lights everywhere. I took a deep, hard swallow and eased my book bag next to her. As the police began to board the bus, I explained to her quickly that I may have a warrant for a parole violation, and for her to hold me down.
Now shorty was hood and understood without a whole big explanation. I eased away from her and the book bag, anticipating my turn to be quizzed for my government.
Sure enough, the detectives were looking for a purse-snatcher, while the patrolmen just fucked with anybody while trying to look official. Out of all the people on the bus, me and "Old School" had warrants and were escorted off to an awaiting cruiser.
I winked at shorty, blew her a kiss, and then off in the sled I went. It was a tight squeeze on the way to the North Pole (police station). To Old School it didn't seem to matter. He smelled drunk as hell anyway. Then it dawned on me. Yo, I didn't know shorty's name or nothin'! All I knew was that she was fine as hell with my three bricks of yay! This was some ugly math. Two years left on parole to serve minus three bricks of yay definitely equals a negative situation.
At Central Booking, it was the same old bullshit. One by one they called our names for mug shots, as if they didn't already have one on file. When it was my turn, I knew it was about to be a problem.
"Henry Roundtree," the officer called.
I didn't answer because that was my slave name my blessed name is Malik Muhammad. Most people including the police knew that the majority of South Jersey was God body and rid themselves of the burden of a slave name. Plus, with the tattooed star, crescent-seven, he knew to respect Malik Muhammad or get disrespected.
"Hey, Roundtree, your black ass ain't hear me call you, boy?"
As usual, I gave the officer-jackass just what he was looking for. "Fuck you, motherfucka! That ain't my got-damn name, and your mother didn't think I was a boy when I was fucking her white ass!"
Like clockwork, I'm maced, stripped naked, and placed in a dark-ass cell: for those who've been on lock, the "butt-naked cell". The strong scent of piss became the odor of the day. What the fuck! I thought, not giving a damn because those two years of parole were all mine to do.
True story, though, your conscience can be a bitch, because in my mind, I was on some "I should have reported to my PO" type of shit. Then again it was too late now. I planned on keeping it gangsta and wile-out for the next deuce.
It always killed me to see grown-ass men come to jail and then want to work and be good and shit. Fuck being good, I'm about to have me a good time. When it comes to cheddar, as long as they printing it, In or out I’m about getting it.
My eyes finally adjusted to the dark, with a slight sting from the mace. I relaxed my mind and thought about today's events and how it all unfolded. The three bricks were my future and the thought of shorty overwhelmed my present.
Although due to the fucked-up circumstances, just thinking about her got my dick hard. Being naked already, I figured, what's the difference? The reality is, within the next two years, I was going to beat my dick thinking about shorty. With no time like the present, I got it poppin'.
I could visualize shorty standing there, as I pulled her body next to mine. Caressing her thighs, I slid both hands under her skirt, gripping that firm ass. We kiss hungrily, her breasts tight against my chest, and her nipples poking through her blouse, harder than a motherfucka.
Laying back on the bed, I felt up her now entirely naked body, licked her toes one by one as an appetizer, slithering upward to part her thunder-thighs. Through her massiveness, I could see the moisture accumulating. Instinctively, she grabbed my head and began gyrating her hips to her own beat as her juicy mound embraced my tongue.
"Hey, boy, what in the hell are you doing? Don't be fuckin' jackin' off in here! This here is a police station, not up the way. According to this here paperwork," he said, waving his clipboard, “you'll have two damn years to choke your chicken. That's the problem with your kind now. Always horny, wanting to fuck something."
"Officer!" I yelled, as he threw me an orange jumpsuit through the bars and told me to put it on.
"What the fuck you want?" the officer yelled.
"Sir, I'd like to apologize for giving you such a hard time earlier. Could you please do me a favor?" I asked, sounding sincere.
"Boy, this better be good," said the officer.
"Oh, it is," I said. "Fuck you and go fuck yourself!"
The officer mumbled from his desk, "Fuck your one phone call…nigga!"
Chapter Two
Mia
While walking a half a block from the bus stop, Mia replayed in her mind all that transpired. She thought she'd met the man of her hood dreams, because like most women, ain't nothing like a thug.
Then again, she felt like the little white bitch with the glasses from Scooby Doo. Mia had two mysteries to solve: One, she didn't know the nigga’s name from the bus. Two, she didn't know what was in the book bag.
As Mia hurried up the driveway, she noticed both cars were gone, this was good sign indicating that no one was home yet. Eagerly she rushed into her room because whatever was in the book bag was killin' her. From reading so many urban novels, she hoped there were more than books in the bag. She could tell by the look on her homeboy’s face when the police showed up that there probably were more than books inside.
As soon as she plopped her ass down on the bed and began to unzip the bag, her telephone rang.
"Hello."
"What's up, girl!"
"Hey, Jazz! I just walked in."
"Sounds like you were getting chased, breathing all hard and shit. So how do you think you did?"
Trying to sound professional, Mia answered, "Well, the physical part was rather simple being that I watch my carbs, exercise, and drink at least eight glasses of water daily. The mental is more of a hands-on approach and a reflection of ordinary street life. The majority of the men in prison are our people – straight hood, and that's all we fuckin' know."
They laughed.
Jazz and Mia were very compatible and resembled each other a lot. Both were fine, with a sense of humor. Each was elegant, with a touch of "get-ghetto" on demand. Jazz was twenty-four, two years Mia's senior, and in her heart considered Mia the little sister she never had. They've always been close since grade school, and Jazz even pulled a few strings to get Mia a job with her at the prison, the same shift and everything.
Again, Jazz had jokes, but could have been serious about some things on the low. Such as when she confessed to Mia on the telephone, "I've been working at the prison for almost two years now. The hardest thing for me is to stop fucking those fine-ass niggas locked up in there. You know a bitch get it in, and them papi, Rico Suave motherfuckas be getting blessed with this chocha caliente de chocolate!"
"Jazz, you ain't right!" Mia laughed.
"Mia, how that old song go? 'If fuckin' 'em is wrong, then I don't wanna be right'?"
"Oops! No you didn't! That's a Jazz remix, you think? Speaking of fine, though, Jazz, I was coming from the interview, and you know a bitch be busin' it. Anyways, a fine nigga got on. I thought he was in school because he had on new clothes and a book bag. You know how we used to rock our new school clothes in October because everybody else would've ran out of new shit by then. He said he's twenty-four, and he was on some fly shit like that's how many hours a day I got him open. Whatever! It was cute and I fell for it. He acted kind of thirsty, though, talking about, 'Ma, can I holla?'"
As if that was Jazz's cue, she said, "So much for education. What's his name, and where is he from?"
"Real talk, girl, fuck if I know, 'cause you won't believe the shit that happened."
"So you didn't get his name? Oh, my goodness!" Jazz responded, sounding like Sha-Neh-Neh from Martin.
"Girl, I'ma tell you, but for now, I'll just call him 'daddy'."
Getting all giggly and shit, Jazz was like, "You nasty trick! So what happened?"
"The police stopped the bus looking for a purse snatcher. The detectives got on, too, carding brothers, and two ended up with warrants. Knowing my fuckin' luck, my new daddy was one of them."
"How's he your new daddy and you don't even know his name?"
"Child, don't call it a comeback, but light-skinned brothers are back in season. The strangest thing, though, he purposely left his book bag, as if he wanted me to keep it."
"Damn, Mia! He probably was riding dirty. Did you check?" Then, "Baru-u-u-u-p!"
"Jazz, what da hell was that?" Mia asked, laughing hard as hell. "Please tell me that wasn't what I thought it was!"
Jazz starting laughing, too, and another one slipped out. "Baru-u-p – Baru-u-u-u-p!"
"Chile, them deviled eggs fucking with me. Go check the bag and call me back with the details. A job is a job, but the come-up is a payday, to-day! Oh, and speaking of riding, after working for a month or so at the prison, there's a way to get approved by the credit union for a brand new car."
"Holla!" Mia celebrated, while hanging up.
After getting off the phone with Jazz and the long bus trip, Mia had to piss her damn self. As she sat there on the toilet, just letting the piss ooze out, enjoying the relief she felt. She thought about her new daddy and how he undressed her with his eyes. She wondered where he wanted that kiss to land.
She was single, straight outta Jersey, but ain't had no dick in a New York minute. So just from wiping her pussy after pissin', she made a B-line for the bed, closed her room door, and locked it just in case someone came home. She then peeled off like a NASCAR – fast and with da speed! Her panties were soaked, and she could even smell her good pussy in the air. She was ready! The book bag had to wait.
Lying back on her fur bedspread, after tossing the book bag to the floor, she imagined her good fella watching her every move. With her mini-blinds shut and just a trace of daylight, her body promised a good show.
She licked her luscious lips very, very slowly. The slight draft from her ceiling fan caused her nipples to leave stab wounds in the air. Thick-ass legs wide the fuck open, she traced the sensitive lips of her soaking, hot, tight pussy. Gliding a finger deep inside, she began to fuck herself at a steady pace. Moans now escaping her, she added two more fingers and fucked her pussy for pain and pleasure.
Imagining he stood there stroking his swollen dick, they were both about to explode together. She screamed to him, "Look, daddy, look!" Shoving her middle finger in her asshole, she yelled, "I'm cum’in', daddy! I'm cum’in'!" He busted all over her body – no face or mouth yet – and definitely not on her fur bedspread.
The phone ringing brought her back to reality. She knew it was Jazz, with her shitty ass being nosey.
"Hello."
"Did you check?"
"No, Jazz, I'm about to now. I just finished."
"Finished what, Mia?"
"Nuttin'!"
Jazz thought this was a sarcastic reply. "How could you just finish nothing?"
"I didn't say nothing. I said nuttin'! Jazz, trust, this nigga got me on fire. I took a piss, and the next thing I knew, I was on the bed butt-ass naked, fuckin' the shit out of myself. So I said nuttin'. Feel me?"
"You's a freaky bitch, Mia!"
"Takes one to know one."
"Exactly! That's why we need a job being around the hardest dicks in the state. No wonder all the bitches volunteer for overtime, C.O. hoes. I'll volunteer, but I ain't around to be nobody's hoe. We gotta be on some ''bout it shit."
Mia finally opened the book bag. To her disappointment, it contained a notebook with the star, moon, and seven, which represented God body. Also three bibles, which didn't make sense, A Quran maybe, but bibles? Hell naw! She leafed through the notebook, trying to get a name or address, while Jazz waited at bay. The notebook was a dead end, so she thought by removing the bible's plastic wrapper there may just be a destination pre-stamped and she could backtrack from there.
Carefully unsealing the plastic, the bible pages didn't open like normal. The outside top cover slid back, revealing the makings of a real ghetto story.
"Oh shit!" Mia screamed. "Come through. I can't say this shit over the phone!"
"Say what?" Jazz echoed with the same level of excitement.
"I just said not on the phone! By the time you get here, I'll be dressed. Hurry up, Jazz, 'cause you ain't gonna believe this shit!"
"Okay, one!"
"One!" And Mia hung up.
Meanwhile, she hid the one bible back in the book bag and began opening the other two. Both also were jackpots. Nervously, she put everything under her bed and went into her brother's room in search of a cigarette. Mia was a nervous wreck and a 'Port would calm her nerves. Don't get it twisted; Mia was hood and had had her share of thugs. She also had an older brother aspiring to be the next Nino Brown.
I guess the old saying is true: Be careful what you wish for, she thought to herself, because just that morning she was hoping for a come-up.
It wouldn't be long before Jazz arrived. Mia daydreamed of how things were about to change so dramatically for her. With a new well-paying job and dress code about to switch, "Every Day I’m Hustlin'" was about to become more than just a song to her. She could tell Jazz was down for whatever, and her brother needed no encouraging.
Mia already had a motto: "Always make your next move your best move.
Chapter Three
All That Shit
Some things never change. While turning down her music, Jazz pulled into the driveway, flipped open her cell phone, and voice-commanded, "Mia!" After the second ring, Mia answered and Jazz said, "What up, girl?"
Mia was like, "Please don't tell me! Please don't! I just know you're not out front calling instead of coming in."
Jazz just laughed and said, "Okay, I won't tell you," before disconnecting the call.
Mia opened the front door and waved her in. Locking the door quickly, they proceeded to the bedroom, where Mia pulled out the book bag and sat it gently on the bed as if it were full of explosives.
Jazz could hardly wait, unzipping the bag fast and pulling out…a bible, then another bible, a notebook, and another bible? She looked too through with Mia.
"Girl, I know you didn't gas me up to rush over here to see a Malcolm X starter kit! You could've told me on the phone your little new friend don’t eat pork and prays all day," she said, referring to the notebook. "All that carrying on you were doing, I thought it was about to be some shit. Instead, you on the bus flirtin' with a miniature Farrakhan, wanna-be Jesse Jackson, in-the-news-ass Al Sharpton!"
Mia opened one of the bibles and showed Jazz what later weighed one kilo, and two more to keep it company. Even the notebook would come in handy for work, Jazz silently realized.
"Oh shit, Mia! It's three of them! We paid, girl! We paid! That's at least three bricks. Game da fuck over!" Jazz rejoiced.
Mia had to dull the moment, reminding Jazz that they were now both C.O.'s. However, she was already in another world. Jazz was on a New York shopping spree, bling-blingin'. She could see herself finally in official Prada, Gucci and strictly purple label. Mia, Jazz, and the "dark side" were about to become one.
"So, Mia, how we gonna do this?"
"I don't have a clue. Any suggestions?"
Jazz was always one to be their fearless leader and didn't mind adding her two cents to the matter. "I have an idea, but not certain about breaking it down, weighing, or cooking it up. Let's just stash it until after work tomorrow."
Being that the big day for Mia to start work was tomorrow, second shift is when it would go down. Jazz planned to ask around at work to get the lowdown on how to handle all of this. She figured who would better know than the convicts at work. Also, she had a secret or two to reveal eventually. One was the notebook.
Jazz had a foolproof method called "sex appeal". She'd ask a few O.G.'s the different weights and what made their product better than the next nigga's. A con's ego would kick in and they'd run their mouth all day.
You know niggas in jail are long winded…talk a bitch to death, she thought to herself.
"Mia, it wouldn't hurt to have your brother around, because he be posted up gettin' it," Jazz said.
It's just that all this time Fred thought neither of them knew his hustle.
"So, Jazz, do me a big, big favor. Since you live alone, why don't you take all of this shit and stash it at your place? Hell, you got a badge. Santa Claus ain't fuckin' with you."
"Okay, I'll hold it down; just keep it on the low. Oh, and who da fuck is Santa Claus?"
"Fuck around and get pulled over, you'll see them Christmas lights!" Mia laughed, relieved that Jazz would be pulling out of the yard with all that shit soon enough.
******
The next day came quick, while yesterday was still fresh in their minds. Jazz adopted an entire new persona once she entered the gates of hell at work. She went by the name of Ms. J., figuring an initial was safer than a first and last name.
Mia had to remember that from this point on, everything is real. She was assigned to view videos her entire shift. They ranged from previous riots to emergency medical situations. To her, that would be easy money for a day's work. However, she did kinda want to mingle with the men.
A portable monitor was set up inside the bubble (workstation), since the entire facility was on lockdown. The plexiglas station allowed her to see the entire tier and Jazz as she made her rounds.
The tiers and cellblocks were for more serious criminal offenses, such as violent crimes usually carrying a substantial amount of time. The dorms were a month-long orientation process as far as classification and mental health was concerned.
Ms. J. considered second shift to be her favorite because that's when the men worked out, showered, and flexed.
"Hey, Ms. J.!" Smitty yelled out.
A simple smile and wave always made his day. Smitty was a 'cane dealer finishing up a five year sentence. He would always flex his muscles to remind others that he was the king of their concrete jungle.
Jazz made a mental note to definitely holla at him in a few.
Tone was another favorite, except he didn't know whether he wanted to be a drug dealer or a pimp. He was amusing, but deadly. He was known for beating a couple of murder beefs.
"Got damn, Ms. J.!" he said, licking his lips and grabbing his nut sack.
He knows damn well he could fuck me whenever—prison or not! Jazz thought.
Tone was a pretty, yellow, "cock diesel" motherfucker.
"Tone, you got a minute?" Jazz lustfully called.
"All I got is time, my hood McNugget. What's good?"
Pouring on all of her charm, she purred, "Being that you're a baller, I want to know the in's and out's of the crack game."
She gave the reason that she was working on a project with her girls' group and needed street smarts instead of fake-ass theories from textbooks.
Tone felt flattered that she came to him out of all the niggas there and was sort of honored to be part of such great assistance. However, to keep his rep hood, he preferred to write down the game and pass it off to her before she went home.
Jazz loved his swagger and could barely control her smile.
Before she could leave, Tone hinted, "You know I gotta throw in a line for me and you."
"Play on, playa!" she grinned, slingin' her ass as she walked away.
Tone just grabbed his dick again and shook his head in adoration, imagining how he was gonna beat that pussy up.
When Jazz reached the bubble, she asked, "Mia, what's a hood McNugget?"
To her surprise, Mia had the answer because she heard it from her brother Fred. "A hood McNugget is tender brown meat requiring a human sauce, whereas McDevil's brag about tender white meat. Get it? I'm glad you're back, though, because I gotta piss like a racehorse. Where's the quickest spot?" Mia asked, while starting to do her "gotta piss bad" dance.
"Go down to Tier C to the end cell. It's empty and no one can see in there."
Mia wasn't shy, and off she went, not having time to look into cells or anything. Everyone was a big blur to her, yet a few men noticed a new "smell-good" in the air. It didn't take much to get a dick hard "up the way" she'd soon learn.
Upon entering the cell, she could see that it was spotless and definitely had a feminine touch to it. Jazz must use this cell quite often, she thought. The bed was neatly made and the mattress was plush as hell for jail.
Mia was startled by a woman's voice next door calling her and asking, "How you doin'?"
Being that after taking such a good piss put her in a playful mood, Mia said, "Wendy Williams, is that you?"
Getting her uniform back in order, she went to see who called her. She was shocked to see a light-skinned sexy bitch with titties and a fat ass, who had on tight biker shorts.
Trying not to look so surprised, Mia spoke. "Hello."
Brian knew he fooled her and ran with it. "Hi. My name is Brianna. You must be new," she said.
"Yeah, my first day. Are there any more women here besides you? Because I didn't realize this was co-ed."
"For now, I'm the only queen on this tier," Brianna boasted.
"Oh, the women are spread throughout the facility?" Mia asked dumbfoundedly.
Brian could not resist. "Oh, yeah, it's about ten of us. Do you have any eyeliner or lipstick you could spare? Chile, this Kool-Aid on my lips ain't cuttin' it. Lucky we're on lockdown, 'cause a sista cannot be seen wolfin', okay?"
Mia said, "On my lunch break I'll swing back through and touch you with something. By the way, I'm Ms. M. I'll holla," she said, heading back towards the bubble.
"Jazz!" she started in. "Why didn't you tell me this is a co-ed facility? I was taking a piss and heard a female voice speaking. I thought it was you, but I didn't hear any footsteps. Brianna is too fine to be behind somebody's bars." Mia went on, "I know they must keep her separated because niggas probably would take dat ass, word!"