A Hot Mess

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Authors: Edd McNair

BOOK: A Hot Mess
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A Hot Mess
 
 
Edd McNair
 
 
 
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
CHAPTER 1
“Ooh, Boooby! Yes, yeeess! Suck on it. No, no! You gonna make me—Aaaaghh.” Joy squirmed uncomfortably as Booby pulled his pinky finger out of her ass just when she pushed his head away.
Now here he come holding his dick in his hand, ready to fuck,
she thought as he grabbed her and pulled her down.
Guiding his dick inside her, Booby placed his arms behind her knees and lifted her ass up so he could get deeper.
Joy grabbed her ass and spread her cheeks. It felt as if Booby had grown an inch longer. She knew she had him, from the expression on his face, so she made her pussy tighten, squeezing her hot, moist insides on his dick and pulling back.
Booby quickly got in her rhythm, praying not to lose the feeling he was experiencing. With no control, he arched his back, strained his neck, dropped his already heavy bottom lip, and let out a satisfying, “Aagh! Whoa! Damn! That was off the chain!”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Joy asked, holding his face in her hands.
Booby was like a puppy, ready for her every command. “Yes, for real. Give me a sec, and we can do it again,” he said, hyped.
“Not right now, baby. Let me rest. Shit, I know you got business anyway.”
“Fuck that!” He grabbed her and lifted her entire 180 pounds on top of him, and slid back inside her. When he started pumping, his dick was already hard again.
“Yes, baby, that's what I'm talking about,” Joy said as she placed her hands on his chest and began bucking like a horse. The friction between her legs began to send a chilling feeling through her body as she and Booby came again.
Booby eased to the side of the bed and stood up, gripping her ass, holding her with her legs still wrapped around him. He guided her to the bathroom.
“Put me down, boy. You know I'm too big,” she said laughing. Joy was enjoying every minute of his attention. Nobody ever picked her up. Never.
Booby made his way back into the shower.
Joy grabbed her towel and wiped herself. She had major cleaning up to do before Andre came in Thursday. She threw on her robe and lit a Newport, walking downstairs.
Moments later Booby came downstairs, his Levi's hanging down low enough to show his Rocawear boxers.
Joy looked in his direction and caught the crisp, new butter Timbs scuffing her hardwood floors. He threw his wife-beater on and tossed the white tee across the arm of the chair. He leaned over and kissed Joy then fell down beside her and pulled out a Dutch.
“Hell naw, Booby! That nigga be back in a couple days. I got to let this house air out,” Joy said, fussing.
“Get me something to drink. Kill that bullshit,” he said, nudging her to get up.
“You trying to get me fucked up. Then what? What the fuck I'm gonna do?” She handed him a bottle of cold water.
Booby lit his Dutch then took the water.
“You really don't give a fuck, do you?”
“How long you been divorced?”
“Eight years! Thank ya, Jesus,” she answered, waving her hand.
“How long we been friends?” he asked, passing her the Dutch.
Joy hit it a quick two times and passed it back. Smoking wasn't really her thing anymore. “Five years.”
“How long we been fuckin'?”
“Four years.”
“This is yo shit. That nigga gonna hold you down, not by choice, because he know you'll get another muthafucka in here real quick. You learned the game quick. You gonna keep your shit straight and never give the nigga the upper hand. Other words, I ain't worried about you being fucked up. Now, let me get some change.” Booby pulled on the Dutch then held it out for her.
“I got a hair, nail, and pedicure appointment tomorrow. I took off. You need to be seeing me on something.”
“Yo, I'm like that right now. Let me hold something. Gotdamn, baby!” he said, turning out his pockets, showing some change and weed.
“You ain't got no money, but you got all that new shit on, and you got weed. Please, nigga.” She grabbed her Louis Vuitton bag and opened it up. Glancing inside, she said, “This all the cash I got on me,” and handed him forty-five dollars.
“I'll run to the bank,” he offered, trying to hold back the laughter, knowing what was coming next.
“I don't need a ride no gotdamn where. Boy, you lost,” was all she got out before he busted out laughing, grabbing and hugging her.
“Shut up, boy! And stop playing!” she said, balling up her fist and punching him.
Booby caught her fist and pulled her to him and put his arms around her. She felt cuddly to him. He reached around and gripped her butt and pulled her to him. Then he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her waist.
He squeezed her, not so she couldn't breathe, but just enough to take her breath away, and he held her. She rested her head on his chest, his head on top of hers, and they held their embrace.
“Love you, Booby,” she said and kissed him.
“Love you too, Joy. Believe that shit.” He gulped his water down. “I'm out,” he said, putting on his white tee and blue hoodie.
As Joy walked Booby to the door, he stared at her big ass that jumped with every move. He put his arms around her capacious abdomen, so he could just ride on her ass for a few steps. Then he reached around and pulled her robe, which fell open, and got a handful of forty-two-DD breasts. His dick instantly hard again, he pushed her against the wall, lifted the robe, and was back inside of her, enjoying the sight of her ass jiggling with every stroke. He grabbed her waist and began to slam his dick inside, fast and hard.
Joy began to weaken. Her thirty-four years versus Booby's twenty-eight was becoming a bit much in round three.
She allowed her experience to kick in. Placing her hands on the wall, opening her legs as wide as they could go, she tiptoed and pushed her chest down below her hands and stuck her ass out and up, exposing him to all of her.
“Oooh shit! Yes, baby!” Booby put his hands on the wall and started slamming dick so hard, he almost lost his balance, just before squeezing his arms around her waist, shaking. He came so hard, he fell to the floor and leaned back.
Joy went and got a hot, clean towel, came back, and Booby was snoring. He jumped when she placed the hot towel on his dick and began wiping him, but he quickly relaxed. Afterward, she wiped herself, gave him another hug and kiss, and he was gone.
Joy went and opened all the windows. Even though it was a cool evening in March, the house needed to air out. She sprinkled Carpet Fresh through her downstairs and vacuumed. She went around the house and lit her scented candles then ran upstairs to throw a load of clothes in. She pulled her sheets, towels, pillowcases, and washcloths to toss them in the wash then cleaned her room and bathroom thoroughly.
By the time she was finished, it was 8:30
P.M.
She ran some bathwater, soaked for half an hour, and threw her load in the dryer. By 9:00 she was in front of the TV, with a glass of wine and her Newports, looking at
The First 48
.
“Now I can go back to the real world,” she said out loud, retrieving her cell phone. She'd missed seven calls, four from Quandra, her daughter. “Hell no! I ain't babysitting for no gotdamn body!”
Sorry, baby girl. You had that baby. Now yo' black ass gonna keep him. Not tonight
, she thought.
“Malaina and Kim.” She smiled. “Where the fuck they at?” she asked herself. Then she saw Loeh. “Loeh, Loeh . . . not tonight. You can't follow Booby. Y'all niggas trying to kill momma.”
Joy laughed as she sipped her wine and looked around at her new town home. She couldn't believe the deal she'd gotten for $137,000. The town house was easily $180,000, but with all the foreclosures and bank-owned properties, her agent managed to work out a deal on this 1,600 square feet single-garage, three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath with a loft.
As she dug her feet into the couch and wrapped herself up in her throw blanket, she heard the doorbell ring and a knock at the door.
“Oh God, please make them go away,” she prayed out loud. “And even more, please don't let that person have a key,” Just then she heard the keys in the door.
“Hey, Ma!” Quandra yelled. “Where you at?”
“Ma, where you at?” Quandra's little boy said, repeating after her.
“Up here,” Joy said.
“Up here, up here,” Quandra's son said, climbing the stairs.
“No, get him away,” Joy said, covering up her head. Then she uncovered it just in time for him to dive in her arms. Joy hugged him tight. He was her heart.
“So what's up?” Joy asked. “What you been doing today?”
“Nothing. Went and bought him some new shoes.”
“You always buying shit. Better put some money up. Y'all will be looking for it later.”
“We all right. Dro buy all that stuff. He want him to have it.” Quandra sat down on the other sofa.
“Q, I know Dro gives you money. I said for you to put some up for a rainy day. And why this boy up under me? He done took off his shoes and socks.”
“He all right. We gonna stay here tonight. Andre be home Thursday night?” Quandra asked.
“Thursday, baby.” Joy yawned. “You seen your daddy?”
“Yeah, I went by his house yesterday. You know he all right.”
“I know damn well he is, fucking up my eleven hundred dollars a month. Yo' brother shit stopped soon as he turned eighteen, and you, soon as you got pregnant. Sorry-ass nigga!”
“No, he ain't. Daddy has always took care of us. You just lost him. Don't shit on him to me, Mommy. Please don't do that.” Quandra looked at her moms with a please-don't-start-that-shit look across her face.
“What? You standing yo' ass up for that nigga? Where the fuck was he when we lost our house? We were at my momma's house, packed in a room, he couldn't come through. Where was he when we was in that fuckin' shelter downtown Norfolk? It was me, you, and Juan.”
Quandra stared at her moms quietly as her mother released her frustrations, which never stopped.
“Who got us a house and provided everything for y'all?”
“You got a town house in Lake Edward, the worst neighborhood in Tidewater when we moved out there. I knew them niggas had lost their mind. Police in helicopters, police on horses, police on bikes, and them niggas never stopped hustling, shooting, and killing. You call that a home? You call that providing? I remember my dad taking us to buy us clothes, sneakers, drawers, panties, everything, because we were looking broke down, and all you could think about is the next nigga. Don't get me wrong, Ma. You got us out the shelter, kept some food around, but don't act like you did that much, Mommy.” Quandra started eating chips and drinking her juice.
“Yo daddy brought shit because he had money, because he wa'n't giving me shit. I was out this bitch killing myself, scrambling, and you always saying I ain't do shit and telling me don't say shit on him. Know what? Fuck that sorry-ass, black son of a bitch, and I know he probably say the same about me,” Joy said, raising her voice. She stared at Quandra, breathing hard as she got up, and began to head to her room.
“Mommy, you know what?” Quandra asked seriously.
Joy stopped in her tracks and turned to her daughter. “What?” she asked, frustrated and exhausted.
“He never says anything
against
you or
about
you. Never.”
Joy turned and walked in her room and sat down. She pulled out her photo album and opened it. She smiled at the sight of her, Chanel, Tiesha, and Tanika, better known as Queen, standing in front of her building in Brooklyn.
 
 
Until she was twelve, Flatbush was all Joy knew. She and Chanel lived in Flatbush, off Lenox. Tiesha, Chanel's cousin, lived in Brooklyn, while Queen, Joy's sister, was from Canarsie. Their moms hung tight. They'd both had kids by the same nigga at the same time and had to come together to beat off the other bitches coming at them.
Joy remembered when she and Queen went to their moms and asked how they were sisters. Joy's moms would say, “The man ran the entire section of Bushwick. He was from the Virgin Islands. Pretty muthafucka.” Then she would sigh, allowing Tanika's mom to finish.
“But he was very mean and vicious. He killed a lot of people, he hurt a lot of people, but he took care of a lot of people. When he got indicted on kingpin charges, we were both seven months pregnant. This nigga brought us together and told us both we were carrying his babies. We both loved him more than anybody has ever loved him, but he was being deported, never to return, and we needed each other.”
“And he was right,” Joy's mom would always add.

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