Da Hustler: Part II
 

Remembering Mama Before the War
Part II
Copyright @ 2005 Dapharoah69


It starts. My mind drumming me into oblivion. My thoughts, distorted. I quietly sit on the rain-swept corner of Fifth Street, Downtown Miami and I was angry with myself. I'm numb, soak and wet, man it poured down and I sat here like I was God, like it didn't touch me. Closest thing to a shower I'm getting tonight 'cause I'ma be here indefinitely. I can see the County Courthouse. The new Federal Building the state is putting up so they can convict more black men and black women and let crackers get off Scott free doing Charles Manson, killing-up-their-wife-and-kids bullshit. Construction everywhere. I can see the Metro rail, which weaves throughout Miami from Dadeland South to the Palmetto Station, I think a 50 or 60 mile span. I can hear the live band from Bayside, a huge tourist attraction, way smaller than the over-hyped South Beach that was south beach many years before, a bunch of hookers and pimps and whores and cheap 10 dollar a night hotels and no human activity really and when Scarface was shot on the beach it suddenly became hot state Hollywood propaganda. Now hotels are $500 a night damn near.

Several people have strolled passed me, eyeing me. They know I'm not a bum; Bum's don't wear $500 dollar gator shoes and use a gold lighter to light his cigarette. And with lighting in mind I whip out my lighter that used to be Mama’s she got from her father when he served in Vietnam years before, and lit up a joint. Fuck it, right here on the goddamn corner in public.


Puff, puff give it to nobody. Infuriated, I just wanna die. The effects of the weed were slow and strong and I felt my eyes getting heavy. Each time I pulled on it I held it in my lungs until my body could handle it no more and I had a fit of coughing, that made my ten inch cut dick get hard. I rubbed that muthafuckah without making it obvious. I should jack my shit right here. Hell yea. I stubbed out my long blunt I rolled with Strawberry Philly blunt paper. I looked around, noticed hardly no cars out, Hurricane Dennis was kicking the Atlantic Ocean's ass, which was why we got all this goddamn rain. I backed up into the doorway of a closed store. Dark as hell. No one walked up the sidewalks. Miami-Dade Community Wolfson Campus, dead as a doorknob. Not a light on. Windy as fuck. I could hear the branches with shaking leaves flow into my ears like honey. Cool. Lifting my ass up I unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down to my knees. I pulled my knees up so man feet were flat on the ground. The wet concrete was cold beneath all this amazing booty I got but I am not a hoe ass niggah so the coldness actually superimposed into me and made me feel like fire.

I spit in my hand, lots of it, and massaged my shit. Goddamn yo. Shit, this feels so good. My eyes fluttered closed. The thrill of being caught fucked me up, had me on a different high. I thought about Ziggy, this niggah I met online with the big dick, and Redblack4e and in my mind me were having a threesome with IzAite videotaping and I was sucking that good ass dick he got in the process 'cause I wasn't paying that sexy big-lipped muthafuckah no goddamn money for filming, and beat my shit meticulously. I called that niggah's name, "Ziggy...Ziggy...goddamn beat my pussy fuck niggah! Goddamn beat my shit..." And then IzAite cut me off viciously, zooming in on my face, on me taking that dick of his in and outta my mouth and he said, "Bitch suck my shit, don't forget them nuts, suck that shit...yea bitch, who’s da muthafuckin' man?" And I felt myself falling...falling deeper into my lust. I said, "You are." And Redblack got mad and slapped my ass cheeks and spread then apart while Ziggy tore into me with that well-lubricated, condom-clad dick and I damn near passed out. My body went into spasms. "I'm da man!" demanded Redblack who pushed Ziggy out my ass and he slid into my asshole selfishly, and my walls gripped that dick like the ocean gripped the ocean floor and he pushed me down on my stomach and he fucked me froggy style...the pleasure was too much.

Ziggy sat there, smiling like a Cheshire cat, jacking his dick, putting them nuts in my face and simultaneously I went from IzAite's big ass dick to Ziggy's nuts while he beat off and then Ziggy let out this lion growl of a moan and he nutted in my mouth and he used his fingers to wipe cum on my tongue and he said, "Bitch swallow what woulda been a thug," and I didn't hesitate. And then I sucked on IzAite again while Red tore the bootyhole up wonderfully and a century later IzAite's body locked, he damn near dropped the camcorder, and he said, "Bitch I'm bout to nut muthafuckah GODDAMN!" And I kept sucking that bitch, yea, you da man? You do muthafuckin' man? Let's test that manhood shall we, I sucked that dick fast, bending my lips over my teeth and he begged me to stop, too sensitive, nah bitch! You da man remember? I swallowed his load while Ziggy took the cam and finished filming 'cause IzAite wasn't man enough to do...two things at one time and that niggah passed out just from my head alone. Then suddenly all their asses disappeared and I was just into myself, fucking myself, enjoying myself, trying to nut Frank out my system. My eyes closed, tears running down my face, my big ass dick making me crazy. I stroked that big bitch like it called my Mama a bitch and she's dead. Up and down up and down, my hand was getting dry so I put more spit on Palmela while Handerson played with my nuts and I beat my shit until my toes curled in my church shoes and my body was on the verge of a breakdown and I felt my soldiers marching round the river bend of my nuts, driving the straightaway of my dick like NASCAR and OH GOD I came in my hand so my clothes won't get come all over it, and then I heard, "'Excuse me man can I borrow five dollars!"

OH shit!!! Somebody caught me, oh GOD! I was afraid to open my eyes. Fuck! Goddamn yo!

Fuck it. I opened me eyes, inhaled, exhaled, felt come dripping from the tip of my dick, and looked up. I was mad. A fucking crack head, dirty, tall, long dreads, that’s why I hated niggahs with dreads. Bob Marley was dead, get a fucking clue bitches.

"You fucked off my nut just to ask me for five dollars?" I asked, enraged to the point I jumped up and slapped the niggah across his need-to-shave-that-thick-Moses-bearded face and all my come stuck to the right side of it. He didn't know it. He stood there, like a trembling child, scared, eyes pleading, "Please brother, I'll suck your dick for ya playah," he went on, clapping like a fiend and stomping like James Brown started auditions and I grabbed that bitch by his throat and I squeezed and suddenly he turned into Frank and I wanted to cut his balls off. I let him go and he fell over himself running away. "Bitch! Go fuck off some other niggah's nut!"

This white woman, fortyish, conservative, eyed me suspiciously, waltzing past me, trying not to look.

"Yea bitch I jacked my dick right here bitch what you got a problem you act like you don't twitch that funky musky box between them Alley McNeed To Eat legs, Ho!"

I can see why white people couldn't stand our asses now! I could do nothing at this point but laugh.

Another hour went by. More rain came and went. I didn’t smell like Jacking My Dick anymore. God cleansed me. Jesus wept some more and made sure I was fresh. Dried blood on my fists and in my white shirt. This suit clung to me like leeches. Like my memories of Frank. Like all the sex we had over the months washing over me in ways the rain never could. I missed Frank. Da Hustler. I missed him singing Xscape's “The Softest Place on Earth” in that smoky, ghetto, can't-sing-type-of-voice while he fucked me from the back. He played percussion with my asshole so elegantly you forgot his status was str8 hood. I damn near grinded on this sidewalk pretending the brick beneath all this incredible ass I got was his dick and it took everything in me not to start riding the concrete. that niggah's dick was THAT GOOD! I'm sweating profusely now, horny, listening to some niggah play John Legend from his Cadillac Escalade. He kept staring at me from the parking lot, paid parking lot in front of Bayside, down the street from American Airlines Arena. Niggah looked good too, and there I was comparing his tall ass to someone who used to be my Boo. The niggah had Frank's height but not his style, Frank walked like you knew his dick was big, the Bruce Springsteen, TuPac Shakur walk. All mashed together. This niggah here looked like Lloyd Banks a little and terribly walked like his dick was too short trying to find Lil Kim. I caught the bus from the chapel Frank married at, jumped on the rail and wound up here. Oops, MY BAD DID I DO THAT, DID I STOP THAT WEDDING?

All I can think about is my mother, her last words, and her dying wish. My throat craved some Henn Dogg (Hennessy) or Alize Blue. My mind was horrendously snatched back to that horrible night; I could feel the rain, how cold it was as it beat against me like angry beasts while I sprinted from my Mazda 626 to Mama's open door. This was a huge house she inherited from my Dad, who died in Iraq a General. The flag the military brought to Mama's door after he died hangs in a frame on the living room wall as you enter the house next to a life-sized oil on canvas painting of dad in full military regalia. I could hear my gay ass brother screaming, and my heart stopped. Even though he was gay I loved him all the damn same. He wasn't always gay, and that's when the origin of my anger with him started to wash over me. I can't be mad at him for Dad raping him when he was 17 years old 'cause dad suspected he was gay and dicked him down to scare him away from it and it pushed him all the way to it. I wasn't mad at my brother for the onslaught. I was mad at him for giving in. And that made me give in, I wanted to see what about dick made a niggah moan and come like that. I became curious then Bi-curious then full onslaught into it. I was hiding in the closet (no pun intended) sorting my suits when dad had burst in and threatened my brother. Yea I was gon’ protect him 'til dad slapped him, said, "NO SON OF MINE WILL BE NO BITCH LEMME SHOW YOU HOW MY PRIVATES EARNED RANK WITH ME, THEY FUCKED this DICK, GET ON IT BITCH!" His outburst stunned me and my brother into silence. My heart stopped. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. And there was my brother, scared, frightened, dad was 234 pounds, 6 feet 6, Jamaican and Venezuelan and was so imposing and intimidating Mama didn't sass him too much. He had anger out of this world, his shit just orbits.

I was filled with rage watching my dad, a man I respected, a man who had money there for me but not him 'cause of his career, fuck my brother, and they were both loving it. Dad looked like a lion fucking a sheep. How could he cheat on my mother with her son? I felt for my brother. This was before he turned str8 flaming grilled broiled faggot drag queen. My dad made him dress up after that in Mom's clothes and made him clean, cook and walk around like that while Mama worked. He and Mama slept in separate bedrooms. I always hated him for that, and when the Iraq shit started he was called there and I was happy and when the flag showed up, the flag I stare at walking into the foyer, I smiled to myself. SICK BITCH IS DEAD! And we got nice insurance money.


I could smell Mama's Zahra perfume, she ordered outta Ebony magazine. I ran passed my brother and paused at Mama's bedroom door. My cousin Benny lowered his head. I fell to my knees and shook. I didn't realize I was crying, I was crying now remembering. I remember our family photos (from newborns to high school graduates) hanging on her cream-colored bedroom walls, which was a huge room, meticulously designed and styled. Pictures of me playing err sport imaginable from the optimist (when dad was there praising me, "That's my muthafuckin' son!!!!) days to high school (when dad was too busy doing military duties, "Not this time son I have to work, Chain of Command don't wanna hear I can't report to duty just to watch his boy run the ball, what you rushed over a 1,000 yards, that's my muthafuckin' son!!!" But the praise wasn't appreciated 'cause no one heard him like they did when I played optimist). My brother was a cheerleader. Go figure.

"MAMA!" I jumped up to my feet and ran to her side. Mama used to be 234 pounds of beauty; she was the size of Queen Latifah with Vivica Fox's eyes, Toni Braxton's smile and a ghetto girl’s gorgeousness. She was ghetto Fab. And the woman I looked at now had sunken cheekbones, swollen eyes full of jaundice. Her once long, flowing like butterflies hair fell out, now she had patches of hair. I then remembered she had breast cancer. She refused treatment for that. I called it insanity. She called it controlling her fate, she missed my daddy, a man that cheated on her left and right, a womanizer and sweet talked the men, and I was mad that she wanted to abandon us to go to him. How could she do that? Didn't she love us? Weren't kids a mother's pride and joy? Didn't her carrying us for 18 months combined between the both of us enough to make her wanna stay connected? Mama got HIV through a bad blood transfusion, and I had an open lawsuit with the hospital now for giving her infected blood. She refused medicines, she refused treatments. "God will care for me," she used to say, which gave me a conflagration of hatred for her at that point. "Mama, don't be stupid," I had told her and she got all in my face.

"I had you, you didn’t have me."

Goddamn Mama! What about us, your sons? Are you just gonna dispose of us like we're fuck asses? Goddamn bitch! I can't fucking stand you right now! You are allowing ailments to rid your soul or happiness 'cause you love a man who fucked your son and abused him and made him walk around your house in full wig, make-up, high heels, slips and dresses!!

"Mama, God put doctors here to care--"

"FUCK them BASTARDS!! I don't trust no white man with my health. GOD IS AND WILL PROTECT ME!"

I gotta fight the devil to save my mother.

I just rolled my eyes and left. And now she lay dying, not expecting to live through the night, I can almost see death's angels flicking dirt from bloody nails awaiting her to slip away. I sobbed openly, God it hurt to see my mother dying. But it hurts even worse to know she is bringing all this harm to herself. I hated the world; I hated life at this point. My brother, without the drag, looking like a decent man for a change, spitting image of Dad, and Dad looked so good that it was too good to be true, grabbed me and sobbed in my arms and we both cried. I died inside. My mother had always been there for us, our first cut, listening to Shirley Caesar gospel music on Sundays before church, always cooking for us, now she was dying. I remembered kissing her face. I remembered my brother kissing her face. She reached up for our hands, weakly. We didn't hesitate grabbing on to her. I was crushed, devastated. This shit wasn't fair, she was such a god-fearing, sweet woman who was demoocratic but never voted in her life, knew all her black history better than any book, read almost err book imaginable, and raised us without a man.

"To...my...oldest...boy," she attempted weakly, and she began coughing up a storm, the bed squeaking and rocking and I called out for her, grabbing her face and kissing her, leaning over her, my tears wetting her face. No where in her voice did I hear the woman she used to be.

"Mama, don't try to talk..."

She gave me that look, that look of scorn she had down pat. “I'm going...to see--da laud. But...my...wish--is for...you to forgive your...brother, love him, watch my child..." And the coughing came back. My brother lost it. He started yelling so loud I think the neighbors heard. And ten minutes later she drew her last breath and I tore her house up, I smashed every statue, I broke every picture, I shattered every window, I fought my brother for trying to grab me, I beat his ass to the ground and once the anger left I had realized what I did to my mother's child, so I picked him up and, bloody, he held me.

I thought my life was over.

And now, I gotta go confront my brother. I gotta go and beat his ass again. How could he betray me? How could he let my man fuck him? Why didn't he tell me? Does he have any loyalty for me, his big brother? We both liked dick, so what’s the deal? Dick was more important than family?

I stood up and stretched, pulling on the joint, which was near extinction. I was high. My shirt opened. Looking like a train wreck. I pulled out my cell phone and called my brother. He answered.

"Hey bro," he said, perky. Yeah fat bitch I know why you're perky, you think my man, my ex man is coming to fuck you. But I’ma fuck you.

"Hey bro," I imitated persuasively. "Whatcha up to?" I pulled on the joint. Coughed silently. I could feel the redness in my eyes, I was tired. It’s been four hours since I've been gone from that church.

"Oh, I'm going out," he said, straight flaming.

I started to tell him I need to talk to you but before I could someone took my arm and spun me around.

I was face to face with Frank, with a black eye and swollen lip. He pressed the cold barrel of his Glock against my chest, and the hate in his gorgeous, sad eyes told me what I needed to know.

I was about to die.

I looked at the roach of a joint in my hands.