Thong on Fire (6 page)

Plat was the type of nigga who was into 69ing all night long, which was cool with me. His dick was kinda short, but it was real fat and I liked it. He would sit back and play with my hair while I wet that thing up and mopped it with my tongue, licking it from top to bottom. Plat liked his brain real juicy, so I would spit on his dick just a little bit so he could hear that slippery slurping sound that he loved so much. He was thicker than most men, and I could hardly put my whole hand around his meat, but I jerked it to that funky hot Saucy rhythm and Plat’s dick would just get harder and harder. As soon as I felt him getting ready to shoot, I would cup his big, heavy balls and suck on that dick like it was a sweet fat cucumber.

When it was my turn, I would get on my hands and knees and back my big ass up to his face. Plat loved the feel of my ass. He’d smack it and watch it jiggle, massage it, tooting it up so he could look straight up my pussy and into my uterus, and y’all know he stuck them fingers up in there too. He’d start out with one, and by the time he got to drilling and tickling my G-spot, my stuff would be sopping wet, my juice dripping down his hand.

He’d lay on his back and ease me down on his dick, then hold one of my ass cheeks in each of his big old hands while he lifted me up and glided me back down on his short dick, stretching my pussy wide with its thickness.

“Saucy,” he would pant, reaching up to grab my bouncing titties as I pressed my palm against my pubic bone and played with my swollen clit, rubbing my warm juices all over it. “Put that pussy on me, girl! Yeah. Lay down, baby. Put them titties on me too.”

Me and Plat fucked like little devils. Lapping, rubbing, digging. Biting and squeezing sticky flesh, body parts pulsating with mad sensations. He couldn’t get enough of me, and even though I preferred my pipers long, Plat was fat on the real, and I couldn’t get enough of him either!

Ya know I had Plat feeling like a big willie. Whenever I came on the block he started acting all swole, slapping me all on my bouncy ass to let his boys know how hard he was knocking this out. All of those niggas was sprung on my looks, so of course my head got big. Plat was putting in work in all areas with his nice dick stroke and all the shit he bought me, but I was young and hot and it wasn’t long before my eye started shifting.

I learned some street lessons when a cute guy from Lenox Avenue named Akbar caught my eye. He was a straight thief to the bone. Akbar taught me how to put on a girdle and boost from department stores, and how to slide a square’s wallet from his back pocket when his guard was down. Akbar told me that men took one look at a hottie like me and lost all their common sense.

“Saucy, you got everything any man would want. You got the right face, the right body, and the right type of heat in your eyes too. You ain’t gone find a nigga, a chink, or a honkie out here on these streets who don’t wanna fuck you. You just gotta use that to your advantage and catch ’em with their dicks hard.”

Akbar spent hours teaching me how to get next to a lame sucker and hustle him for his doe or yay without having to give up nothing but a fake smile and one or two little feels. He musta known what he was talking about because it worked damn near every time.

Well, almost every time. Right after my seventeenth birthday I was scheming at a jewelry counter in Macy’s on Thirty-fourth Street, dazzling the young white clerk just like Akbar had taught me.

“Gee,” he stammered as I tried on chain after gold chain. “They all look great on you.”

I laughed inside. Damn right they did. I had on a real tight shirt that was cut so low my titties were bulging out like two round grapefruits. Like Akbar had said, the hand was quicker than the eye! This guy couldn’t take his eyes off my cleavage and I had already unhooked one chain and let it slip down inside my shirt and was working on getting another one.

“Let me see that one over there.” I pointed. “No.” I shook my head as soon as he had it out the case. “I like that one over there better. No! Gimme that one too.”

I had his head going and I knew it. He couldn’t keep his eyes off my hard nipples and I could almost see the drool sliding out the corner of his mouth.

But whoever was in the back working the security cameras must have been on the job for real. After I smiled at the dumb white guy and told him thanks but no thanks, I started walking toward the door. Something told me to look back, and when I did I saw a wrinkle-faced white woman coming after me with a badge in her hand.

Shit had gone wrong, but Akbar had schooled me well. I ducked into a row filled with old lady dresses and without slowing my stride, pulled my shirt away from my body, letting the chains slip down the inside of my shirt and fall out on the carpet. I strolled quickly through the store crisscrossing through several departments before heading toward the exit again, and I wasn’t surprised when I was stopped by two store detectives before I could make it outside.

“Excuse me, miss. Can you come with me, please?”

I wasn’t above nutting up and causing a whole big scene in public, but I decided to chill. After all, I knew the rules. I didn’t have a damn thing on me and no matter what they
thought
they saw, the bottom line was, they didn’t have a damn thing on me either.

After that I decided to leave the boosting for the real thieves. Akbar’s game was small-time, and picking pockets and lifting shit from department stores wasn’t no honorable profession for a bad bitch like me.

I was out one night popping my ass in an over-twenty-one club when I met Big Dip, and that’s when I really started understanding what the street game was all about. Dip was a drug man who was down with connects in Philly, Baltimore, and Virginia, and that nigga took one look at me and decided we were gonna make each other large.

Dip taught me a whole lot about hustling. Working side by side, we started moving product and out-slicking some of the baddest niggas in New York. Beating them at their own gangsta game and walking away paid in full. Yeah, I was still a young thing, but hell. A city like this one never sleeps. New York, New York. You know what they say. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. But you gotta have a cutthroat mentality to come out on top on these ruthless streets. And the night Dip got popped I proved without a doubt that I was a cutthroat Harlem baby to the max.

There was no place I would rather be heading to on a Saturday night than deep into the night life of Harlem. Uncle Swag was working late and Aunt Ruthie was already sleeping. I’d snuck out of the apartment and past the doorman wearing my absolute best shit, and I knew I looked like a whole damn bankroll of dimes. I had on a short emerald-green low-rider DK skirt with a matching halter that dipped low in the front and had two horizontal straps in the back. My satin thong in the same color rested right below the two deep dimples above my ass, and had a row of diamonds running across the top. White gold with real diamonds hung from my ears and around my neck. Some eyeliner and just a little glossy lipstick passed for makeup ’cause my face was already hot. I had washed my hair and let it air dry into a cloud of curly ringlets, then rubbed some Pink Oil Moisturizer on my hands and tossed it around until it shined. Julie at the nail shop had tightened up my tips in emerald polish with diamond-chip swirls. My toenails had the same awesome design, and my long, sexy bowlegs was killing them.

Bouncing out the lobby with my hips on high sway, I waved at Frank, the night doorman, and he tipped his hat my way. I wasn’t worried about him telling Uncle Swag a damn thing because me and Frank had an understanding. He understood not to open his fuckin’ mouth about all my coming and going, and I understood not to open my mouth about all his coming. In the building’s administration office. Late one night. All over my sixteen-year-old titties.

Dip was parked at the corner and waiting for me in his midnight-black Expedition with the chrome spinners.

“Get your fine Chinese ass up in here,” he said, showing his pretty pearly teeth.

I laughed. “How many damn times I gotta tell you I’m not Chinese, stupid.” I climbed up in the whip and crossed my legs, appreciating the way his eyes praised my curves.

“Yeah, baby. Whatever. Your eyes is chinky and your shit is tight every time I see you, girl. Chinese or Japanese, you a stunna for real.”

Traffic was heavy as Dip drove up the West Side Highway with the windows open and the music blasting. We passed a flask of rum back and forth between us, and when we got into Harlem the streets were live like it was the middle of the afternoon. Dip parked outside a corner candy store and took me around the back and upstairs to a large loft where there was a party going in full swing.

“Go get me a drink,” I told Dip, even though I was already high and half-drunk too. The air was thick with sticky green, blueberry, and Nestle smokes, all the smells mingling together as people chilled and got lifted.

“Yak,” I yelled at Dip’s back as he moved toward the bar. “Get me some Yak!”

The DJ was cutting up, playing a N.J.S. jam and the dance floor was rocking. I peeped all kinds of big-money rollers in the house, most of them chilling in booths and balling hard.

Dip took forever to get back with my drink and I smoked a vanilla honey dutchy while I was waiting for him. I had a feeling he was conducting some business, and when he came back the look in his eyes confirmed that he was holding some weight. I gulped down my drink and then Dip kissed me and took my hand and pushed his way out onto the packed dance area. My favorite club banger from the mixtape
Gag Order
was playing and I worked my hips and ass like I was starring in a video.

We next!

So line ’em up, nigga put ya titles up!

Can’t do it quite like this, we get it in then

We wreck!

N.J. N.J. N.J.S.!

Slow it down for these niggas let ’em catch they breath!

Yes! It’s R.A.W. still ducking them double U’s, still puffin that wonderful,

Chill in the hood comfortable

Yep!

Next up to bat,

Give ’em the Gag Order ’cause you niggas never know who’s next up to rat!

Runnin back homey, put it on rewind,

I know they mad ’cause they swag on decline

Pick a date, you get smashed on my free time,

Other than that, I’m in the lab on a deep grind

I’m a star, you been on the bench warming the wood up,

And when you slacked off and sat down, we stood up!

Yeah we up next so respect it nigga, we sending mixtapes back with rejection stickers!

Homey I’m bout to do my number, his shit whack, you wood, you move lumber,

I do this shit in my slumber!

We next!

So line ’em up, nigga put ya titles up!

Can’t do it quite like this, we get it in then

We wreck! N.J. N.J. N.J.S.!

Slow it down for these niggas let ’em catch they breath!

All my hard practice in front of the mirror musta been paying off ’cause I had niggas shook, ignoring their dance partners and focusing totally on the way I worked my goods.

“You killing ’em, baby,” Dip laughed as those other cats stood around wishing they was him. “You straight killing ’em.”

A few minutes later I damn near killed myself trying to get off that dance floor, ducking behind Dip as I almost broke my ankle trying to hide.

“My fuckin’ uncle!” I yelled, grabbing the back of Dip’s jacket and hiding behind him. “My fuckin’ uncle is up in here!”

Dip laughed. “For real? Girl you high and trippin’.”

Oh, I was high as fuck. But I wasn’t trippin’. Uncle Swag was working, but it wasn’t up in no office like Aunt Ruthie probably thought. He was chilling in the house dressed in some fine rags himself. His tall frame, handsome face and big smile was unmistakable, and so were the high-level drug dealers he was rolling with. They were sitting in a booth about five-deep, and I recognized them from other Harlem clubs as being some real dangerous big willies.

“You gotta get me outta here,” I told Dip. “He thinks I’m home in my damn bed sleeping.”

Dip shrugged. “Then he’s the one sleeping. You ain’t no little baby, girl. That nigga got some big ol’ eyes, he should see that.”

“Just get me out of here, Dip. Let’s find us another party. For real. I’m serious.”

He shrugged again and put his hands on my shoulders as he walked behind me, blocking me from Uncle Swag’s view. “Then we out, baby. I’ll take you to this other spot I know about. But I gotta make a quick run first. You down for a little dirty ridin’?”

As soon as we got in the whip, Big Dip broke out some more rum, a bag of chronic, and a little coke he had in a gold case.

“You ain’t taking me nowhere to get knocked, are you?” I asked as we sped across the bridge getting blasted. I was high, excited, and nervous all at the same time. I wanted to know every damn thing. Who he was gonna meet, how much product he was carrying, how much cheese he was gonna break me off at the end of the night.

“What you so worried about? You don’t trust a nigga? I ain’t new to this action, baby. I grind these streets for mine eh’day. Just chill. I’ma hook you up real nice so you can get a couple pairs of them Giuseppes you said you wanted. Cool?”

That got my nose open even wider than the powder! I’d seen a pair of cherry-red Giuseppe shoes that would kill the Marc Jacobs dress I’d boosted, and if Dip was willing to buy me two pairs, then I was definitely down for this dirty ride. The only reason I was even a little bit worried was ’cause it was my first time actually making a run with product right in the whip with me. I had heard all kinds of stories about DEA agents jumping out of bushes and crawling from under tables with their guns cocked during a buy. I didn’t want none of that. But I did want those damn cherry Giuseppe heels.