Da Hustler Prelude
 

Prelude
by dapharoah69



I’ve never been so devastated in my life. I used to think I knew what love was. Love was patient, it was kind, and it didn't remember wrongs. All that 1st Corinthians bullshit. I believed in that shit, used to want the perfect Proverbs wife and wound up with the anti-Christ niggah who worshipped blunts and nuts the way I worshiped my own selfishness. Love was a bitch. I didn't believe in nothing right now, God, nothing. my foot still ached from when I kicked the bible...

My mind was yanked back...back into time, I was wearing a suit...Frank...blood on my...people screaming...gold teeth...someone crashing through a podium...a white dress...I rubbed someone's cheek...two families...stained windows...

"Bishop!"

I was snatched back to reality, to what was in front of me. The fat bitch calling my name fell on deaf ears a few seconds later. I felt like a goddamn zombie. The images left my mental for a minute. I couldn't control my breathing, my pulse felt like leprechauns kicking my wrists.

I stared at Miss Thing with the cute dimples in her cheeks, clad in Prada's Finest. After much speculation racking my brain I said, "For one, if you take off the drag bullshit then maybe you can keep it real with me and secondly if you wasn’t my brother I woulda been shot your fem ass with my glock and third you need to get the fuck out my room cause I love a niggah who loves weed, streets and money. And now he hates me."
And I hate you. I hate my brother for a reason, a reason I couldn't even be bothered with right now. I will never NEVER NEVER NEVER be loyal to him again.

My brother rolled his eyes, shifting his wig. I looked him over, telling myself how could he get over losing my nephew, his son, to a car accident two months before this very moment. He went from being non responsive, non-talkative, quitting his job, all that to being upbeat, vibrant, gutsy, saying shit like "It wuz my son'z time. Me and his mama weren’t in love. I haven't always been gay! But I want niggahs and I want to be happy I was blessed with a son, one I never anticipated or planned but God called him to be an angel and I gotta deal with it."

"Well then cry like a lil' bitch!." He wasn't exactly fat. He just had a fat ass, asses ran in the family. He was fine as fuck. Looked just like a bitch when he was dolled up. I did just that. Cry like a bitch. One hour of this shit turned into three days. I drank coffee endlessly. I smoked thirteen packs of Newports. I read Eric Jerome Dickey and Danielle Steele ‘til I couldn't blink. I listened to TuPac, Eric Sermon and The Sugah Hill Gang and tried to dance my pains away. Didn't work for a second. In fact they came back Full Throttle like Charlie's Angel's part II. I drank Henny and Cristal ‘til my body said "No more liquor niggah." I cooked dinner for two and sat at the dinner table hoping my niggah would come. He always came over for dinner. I LOVED cooking for him. He loved watching me. He loved fucking me at the stove when I cooked greens. He loved me wiping pineapple chunks over his beautiful black nipples and dick and nuts and sucking off the juices. He loved jacking off and coming in his hands and wiping his soul all over my tongue and then tonguing me, pushing his nut down my throat with his long, thick tongue and swallowing some of his own nut in the process while lip-locked in a passionate French Kiss that would make France cringe. He was a THUG to the bone. Had Thug Passion across his back, now I'm breathless 'cause I just remember the Fall Out.

"FUCK ME!!!" I screamed so loud the room shook. I turned on the radio, popped open the CD player, popped in 2 Live Crew and Pop Pop Pop Get It Get It Shaked a Lil Somethin' ‘til I would up in my room again back in the corner, holding the phone, willing it to ring. I stared around my room that felt like a torture chamber. I looked at all the AC vents like CS gas was about to escape. Fuck, I looked like the Holocaust. I was 27, single (now I am), educated (by high school standards only college wasn’t for me and I got kicked out cause I couldn’t run from dick) I was crushed. I ruined three lives a few days ago on what was supposed to be a Joyous Day, a Joyous Occasion.

I clutched the cordless phone closer to me pretending it was my niggah. I miss the smell of his pubic hair, watching him shave, observing him lotioning his legs, watching him laugh at Martin, Golden Girls, and Living Single re-runs. I missed sucking his phat ass dick while he watched basketball. He fucked my mouth so good while Allen Iverson made his points; he loved Philly to the bone. He even bought an Allen Jersey, made me wear it, and fucked me doggy style while the Tivo DirecTV box was on pause on Allen's image. And now I wore the jersey and was naked underneath and looked and smelled like hell. my hair, a Philly, was nappy and I looked like a Haitian. I haven’t showered. I haven’t eaten a thing. I weighed 210 pounds and now I lost five. I looked sick. Friends say I looked like Morris Chestnut with a hint of Mekhi. I said fuck 'em all. my throat was parched, my skin felt clammy. The TV in the corner by my mom’s picture was showing video noise. Nothing on. No sound, I muted it three days ago. The Baby boy movie already rewound days ago I was just too hurt to get up and turn the shit off. The sound from Mom's picture was also silent. She looked at me with questioning eyes. She died three years ago, made me and my brother close again. We fell off when he came out the closet and started doing drag. I told my mother "Over your dead body, I will never talk to him again."

And I love him to death now.

Over Mama's dead body was whut it took.


I listened to Luther. This was fucked up because he died recently. I was too fucking hurt to dwell over him. Fuck, I had my own problems. In the beginning, when I met my ex, we were boys. He was a port from the storm. He replaced my loneliness with such aplomb I was left breathless. He had idiosyncrasies and conundrums I said I would never tolerate. But he was so sexy he's the type of niggah with a rap sheet longer than my dick, he loved sports, his "boys" he kept at bay. He was the type of niggah with a temper, knew the lyrics to EVERY rap song on earth damn near but loved old school Smokey Robinson and Stevie Wonder just as fluently. If he says something fucked up you a) didn't believe him and b) you didn't take him seriously. He had a BIG heart. Loved me. But loved himself and worshipped himself like he was Buddha. We met at the mall in Virginia. I asked him how the G-Unit shirt looked on me, absent-mindedly. I just needed a quick opinion. I never even looked up and when I did I was like OH my GOD! He smiled with them gold teeth and those flashy, street hustler eyes and said "U look cool," He enthused. Manhattan colored his voice. But that was betrayed when he got a call from somebody in Miami and I found out it was his mother. I eavesdropped while finding some jeans to go with my G-Unit shirt. "You can do bettah than G-Unit niggah," he whispered to me, winking and smiling with that cocky grin. It was an indirect demand. Jesus! I threw that G-Unit shit on the floor and I was suddenly a G-NO MORE. He took a nice black and white Phat Farm jersey off the rack, tossed it to me and snatched some white suede like pants off da rack tossed them to me and then he lowered his head and said into his cell phone:

"Yea, moms...what’s that? Nah, I'ma be home soon...da niggahs miss me? How my brothers doing? Tianna's cool. Yea; she aiight." Was that your daughter? I thought. And judging by that bulge in his pants that niggah prob got twelve kids because da dick was a phatty. Made Nelly look really shitty.

Looking at me he smiled. "Hold old G," he told his mom, covering the receiver with his hand with an Egyptian ring on his thumb and index finger. "Go try that shit on my niggah I'm copping that for you; you g'on look so supah dupa fly dawg! I promise ya."

I died. I coulda died. He didn't know I was alive and now I was feeling like Frankenstein. Goddamn. He had the type of voice that would make the hardest thug fall in love. His pants fitted under his ass, silk boxers fit that big booty to the tee. There was nothing like a top niggah who had a big ass booty. I knew he was a Top (and I really hate labeling, but it's reality) 'cause he got very uncomfortable when I kept looking at his ass and in the days of flip-flopping, niggahs claiming to be bottoms, meaning they get fucked, were versatile, they stick and get stuck and Tops who claim they only do the fucking throw them damn legs in the air and spread that ass quicker than a ho in the strip club when you get to licking and that always pissed me off 'cause I'm a straight bottom. Period! I don't desire to do the sticking, I'll fuck a bitch if I wanna do that, I come to a niggah when I wanna be dominated, when I wanna be submissive, and if I ever get this niggah in bed I'm gonna find out the feeling in my gut. Furthermore, he rocked the ice-white unlaced timbz, ankle socks. Wife beater, do rag. Bald fade. Smelled like Cool Water. Smelled the Old Spice deo. I wore that so I know the smell. Loved the Movado watch. There was a crack on the shell casing.

But anyway it’s raining now. I'm holding his picture. I knew him for six months now. Since we met at the mall I gave him some ass nine times a week. Our first encounter was when his little brother was gunned down by Metro-Dade Police in Miami. His bro, Candice, robbed a jewelry store and cops chased him all over the news. We were watching, LIVE. my niggah was so taken aback. I felt for him. And when the shots rang out my baby lost his cool and punched the TV and started punching holes in the walls, and I jumped up, both of us 6 feet 2, and I grabbed him in a bear hug and he sobbed, I never seen a man cry, and my heart melted and I held him and said, "I'm here for you dawg, I am not no hoe ass niggah I'm gonna have your back, dawg let it out."

And he did when he tongued me, ripped my clothes off and fucked me ‘til he had to nut and when he did he released this sexually pleasing growl that stood my hairs up and he said so coyly, "I GOTTA BUSS OH GAWD my BITCH!" and he pulled out, slapped my ass, and nutted all over my face; and we both fell asleep. He held me all through the night. And I held him. Like a lil' bitch. Around 6 A.M. I woke up, and saw this niggah, sheet barely covering his groin, dick rock hard, I studied it, moved the covers back a lil bit and studied his dick. No bumps. No abrasions. The glow of the moon through my bedroom window provided a some-what romantic light so I can see. He had a pretty dick, a huge dick, veins ran like confused rivers. The head bulged. I ran my tongue over it. Studied his face. He didn't feel it, niggah was down for the count. I studied his nuts. He kept the hair shaved low down there, which is cool, don' t have to worry about choking on those nappy hairs and shit. Out of the blue he turned on his stomach and a snore escaped his luscious lips. Ah. Da ass. OH my GOD! Baby got so much back I can't run back. "Time to see if dis niggah is a secret bottom." I ran my tongue on his shoulders, mid back, massaging him. He moaned a little bit, his ass circling on my silk sheets. Damn that ass crack opened and closed, twirling in my face. I liked on his ass cheeks. He smiled. But the minute I went to stick my tongue in his ass he jumped up, spun around like I'd insulted him and he pointed at me with a look of fire and danger in his tired eyes. "Don't FUCK with my asshole niggah! I don't like dick in my as, tongues, fingers. I hate that shit."

I held up my hands with a secret smile on my face. "Ok dawg. my bad. No offense." YES YES YES! He warmed to me, settled down and took me in his arms. "I'm sorry baby boi. I never got fucked, don't wanna get fucked. I'm da man, I'm yo niggah. I'm here for you." He pushed me on the bed and flipped me over on my stomach. He spread my ass open. I fought. "No baby," I said, "I gotta shower..." His tongue dove in my ass and my eyes fluttered. "Whateva I'm tasting taste like chocolate now shut up bitch and take dis tongue. I'm cleaning dis asshole out niggah my way...then I'm slow fucking you ‘til you beg me to stop. I'm gon' nut in dis asshole tonight! Raw dawg!"

Heaven knocked at my window.
Part 1