by the King of Erotica



I felt

a draft of air on my arms and neck. The AC probably kicked in, I did have it set on Auto. I never turned it off. I was standing on the second floor of my house, leaning against the wall.

I, James Butler, gripped the cordless phone, my mind dark and grimy. "Mama died the other day," I told my cousin Buck Wheat, who lived in the Village in Goulda (Miami, Florida), a housing projects that been around for over twenty years.

He was screaming through the phone. He loved my Moms. I covered the receiver of the phne and I balled. I haven't really cried yet. But now I had too. She was my earth and my rock.

I had to hang up the phone. I wasn't right in the head. Now I had to plan her funeral. I was the only child so everything she had (and she had tons of money) was wiled to me. But I didn't want it. I wanted mama. My champion. My girl. My everything. I was only 28 years old. She was only 47. Looked thirty three. I would miss those long, flowing dresses she wore to cocktail parties. I would miss her daring hairstyles that made all the bitches ine very salon the world over jealous. She did her own hair. Just last month a modeling scout sought her out and wanetd her for a few GAP and Chanel Ads. She turned them down. "I will never allow my ebautiful black skin to be exploitied and commercialized," she told me over dinner at this new restaurant called Chow Chows.

I couldn't think about this. walking past the AC control, I looked at it. The air was off. It wasn't even on Auto. OK. But I felt wind on my body earlier. I walked down stairs. Everything looked cool.

So I turned on some Tupac All eyes on Me and try to rap my pain away. I was glad I lived alone. I had a three bedroom/ two bath home, complete with sound system, pool and two car garage. I smoked a blunt, poured a glaze of Hennessy and once I swallowed it whole I opened a Budweiser and tried to become the King of Beers when I drank four to the head. I still felt crummy.

I washed the dishes. Still thought about Mama. The most giving woman in the world. I mopped the floor. Nothing. Still felt the same way.

When I walked into my living room to grab my keys from the Vibe-magazine cluttered lowtable (that needed dusting) I saw him. The robber. He was opening and closing my entertainment shelf drawers with the skill of a brain surgeon. The way he moved around my home it seemed like he been in here before. Had he?

Devastatedly frightened, I froze, nailed to the floor. I could not move. Sweat popped from the pores of my creamy milky black skin, my green eyes flashing dangerously. I didnt know what to do. I looked at my feet, studying the jumpman on my Jordans. Should I run?

Suckign in air, I then looked up and the robber was in my face. I was startled. I held my face, trying to keep it together. Now was not the time to act like a little bitch! My life was in danger. His gun drawn and pressed against my chest. The gray sweater I had on prevented me from feeling the climate of the gleaming metal. He was the same height as me. 6 feet 3 inches. He was clad in all black, his black boots tied tightly. A ski mask over his face. Yet his eyes talked to me.

Help.

I'm broke.

I don't have a job.

So I'm about to rob you.

He was a bold bitch. "You got money on you?" he asked, with a very sensual, smoky voice. He was ghetto, I could tell. Not much education. His voice barely rose above a whisper.

"Nah." I was stuttering. Never had a gun drawn on me before. "I don't, man."

He snapped. "DON'T FUCK WITH ME!" He shot my African painting off the wall. It was in a lot of little pieces on the chair, floor and some still hung on the wall. He meant business. Damn it! Mama bought me that three years ago when my girl had a miscarriage and lost our baby.

I shook with fear. His words made me jump in my own home. Averting my face, I looked at the hanging picture of Mama. She died the day before and I was still crushedly thrown she left me here to fend for myself.

"I'm not fucking with you!" He was some-what built. Looked like he could overpower me. But I was a fighter. And I'd fight to the death if I had to.

"Where's your wallet?" he asked, walking around me and patting me ass. "Where is it?" A few beats of silence. "WHERE IS IT? I'll do anythign for money right now you bitch ass niggah! Where is the money?"

I couldn't breathe. Yea, I considered myself gangstah and I could damn sure fight, but fists vs bullets never won.

"I don't..."

"Listen. Your walls are painted a shiny blue. Wanna add some pulsating medulla mass to the wainscotting?"

"No, dawg." I was eyeing him dangerously. He glared at me, and wouldn't look away. Felt like he could see my goddamn soul.

"I know you got loot in here."

"No I don't."

"I see you in the bank all the time. Withdrawing five hundred dollrs here and there. I watched you earlier today. You had a Tommy wallet. Black and leather. Smelled like you only had it for three days. I smelled the newness to it. Where is the fucking wallet?"

Oh my God! I got a stalker on my hands. I was in the bank today. On second thought when I was there a tall niggah, about his height, was behind me. And I seen the same niggah at Wal-mart later on that day. Dark-skinned and ugly as fuck.

And when I had walked up to the teller, about my height. Blatino. Sexy ass niggah at that, even though I wasn't a gay ass niggah, the brothah behind me watched me. I was talking with, I think the teller's name was Jose, and even the teller was like, "Dayuum, ole boy watching you." But I ignored it.

I said, "I don't kno what you're talking about."

He slapped me in the back with the gun. "You drive a fucking Jag! I watched your for months."

I was sprawled on the couch, crawled in the fetal position, pain shooting up and down my spine. He aimed at me.

"Damn, dawg! Take anything in this house. Hack it, I don't care. Just don't shoot me."

"You think I'm stupid?" he spat icily, using the gun to taunt me. He nodded towards the chair in the kitchen and I staggered to me feet, walking towards it. He kicked me in my ass and I flew head first into the dinign room, slamming painfully on the cold tile.

He was laughing bitterly. "I lost my job yesterday. A $45,000 a year job. I got three sons who are hungry, I was careless with my money. I partied it all away. My wife needs her upkeep. I gotta do something."

I struggled to get up and he put his boot clad foot on my chest and kept me down, leaning into my face, putting the gun on my top lip.

"Please..."

He ignored me. "You think I'm gonna take all this shit to the Pawn Shop so you could call the cops on me?" I could feel his hot weed-smelling breath on my face. His lips were thick and full, pearly white teeth trapping the lights on my chandelier hoovering above the dining room table. "Hey copy ID's and all. I was born at night but not last night."

I was thinking as fast as I could. My gun was in my bedroom. Couldn't get to it. I'd be dead before my foot touched the first stair. I should have never moved here to Detroit from Atlanta. I should have stayed in teh ATL, for real. Grimy niggahs were there but damn theyd idn't do shit like this.


My skin was on fire, my breathing coming in short gasps. He was quiet, something occuring to him. I didn't know what it was but he made an unusual request.

"Suck this pistol."

"WHAT?"

He slapped me like a bitch. "SUCK THIS PISTOL. NOW!"

I didn't know what he meant but I started blowing the barrel of the pistol, sucking it like my girl chopped me up last night.

"Use that tongue, Niggah."

I used my tongue, anything to make this man leave. Why was he doing this? This had nothing to do with losing his job. I had gold, silver and platinum jewelry in my room. He could easily get $14,000 out of it. And then he could leave me alone. Seriously. I wouldn't call the cops. I wasn't a snitch. I handled my own business.

He was watching me, studying me. Standing over me. He then told me to lay onmy back and I did, reluctantly and he straddled me, putting all his weight on my chest.

"Keep sucking the pistol."

DAMN IT!

I looked at his crotch. He was hard for days. i felt uneasy. was the man going to rape me? I doubt it. This was about control.

"Unzip my pants."

"Come on, Man! I don't know where or who you..."

He removed the safety. And I started unzipping his pants.

"Pull it out."

I pulled out his erect member. It was very big, three inches bigger than my own. For some reason I felt myself getting aroused. I never got down with a man, when I was about 8 years old me and my neighbor, who was 8 also, once took a shower together and tried suckign on each other but that died away and I never talked to hima gain and by the time I started fucking women when I was thirteen I got lost in pussy and was too busy making, chasing and earning money to make ends meet and do my school work.

Now I had a grown man's dick in my hand.

"Put it in your mouth."

I did so, running my tongue over it. He was slowly grinding my mouth, moaning softly, watching me. studying me. The gun pressed against my head.

"Unzip my pants," he said, standing up a little so I could get my arms under him. I unzipped them. I didn't wear draws. Never really wore them in my life. didin't care for them. That was $300 a year I could save, if you thought about it.

"Take the condom from my jacket pocket," he said and I did what he told me to do. I didn't have time to cal his bluff. He slid his dick back in my mouth as I brought the condom to my face so I could rip it open. He smiled at the sight of the Magnum.

He stood up and watched me put it on. He took fifteen feet back and took off his pants. He made sure I didn't try to kick him or attack.

Once I had it on he walked over to me, shot at the floor beside me,making me jump and he lowered himself onto my dick. His eyes fluttered but he wouldn't moan. He held it in as inch by inch of my nature filled his tight walls like a hand in O.J. Simpson's glove.

We were bumpin and grinding. He pulled the ski mask from his face, and I saw the most handsome Niggah I had ever seen. He was beautiful, long, curly hair. He had to be Blatino, because he had the same nose and cheek bones Puerto Ricans had--

--OH MY GOD!

This was JOSE from the fucking bank, the Teller!


Jose closed his eyes

and I gripped his ass, grinding myself into him, watching his facial expressions. I was taken aback. Here I was thinking the perpetrator was the ugly niggah from teh bank and it turned out to be Jose. Jose was the stalker. My God! This was some fucked up shit! What did I do? Shit, I knew I was gonna keep tapping this ass. I knew that much. What I did next behooved me.

He tried to be thuggish and hard. But the more I stroked that hole he was breaking down.

"Hi, Mr. James Butler," he told me, smiling, lust dancng in his pretty eyes. "I know this...comes as a shock."

"Ride my dick and shut the fuck up." I snatched him by the hair and yanked him to my lips. Gave him some tongue. Damn the niggah can kiss. Goddamn, yo! Made my toes curl.

This felt incredible! I had never known fucking a dude felt like this. My body was tingling and my dick got the type of pleasure a woman never gave me. He was squeezing his hole tight on my rock as his ass cheeks bounced on my pelvic bone.

"Oh, shit niggah..." slipped from his sexy lips.

"You like that?"

He was lost in my rhythm, his thighs trembling uncontrollably. "Hell yea."

"Why you tried to rob...me?"

"I need a job...I needmoney...Damn boy, take this hole boy."

He put the gun on the table and at this point I wanted him and needed him. It had been a while since I had real affection. My girl was great but she worked too much, and always wanted the cookie cutter way around things. She never really paid attention to my wants and needs. She didn't even know my zodiac sign, birthday or favorite color.

His hair fell on his face and he held my chest, riding my dick. I gripped ass cheeks and slammed my dick into him.

"Fuck me, niggah. Damn, boy! Beat that shit up, Niggah."

I stood up with my dick in him, holding him in the air and I let that ass bounce on my dick. I fucked the shit out of him.

He wrapped his arms around me nexk, running his tongue across the $1,300 necklace I wore. A NELLY type necklace.

"I'm bout to cum," he told me. "I never came...from being fucked, oh my God!"

He started coming, squirting on my sweater. His hole opened and closed tightly on my dick and it triggered center control in my nuts because my calves locked up and I fell back against the wall as i came in this niggah's hole, fucking his as fast and hard as I could.

When it was over we both lay on the floor and he asked, "Man I can understand if youw ant me locked up or fucked up for trying to rob you."

"I just fucked you up," I told him, kissing his lips. "My mom owned her own business. She recently died."

His face was soft. "Ah man, I feel like shit. I mean damn, what kinda example am is etting for my boys if I'm trying to rob motherfuckers everytime something goes wrong." He hugged me tight. Felt like I knew him all my life.

"No prob. But if you wanna work for her company I will hire you. You'll be supervisor. she has a chain of Catering businesses. $56,000 a year. 410 (k), benefits and all." I watched the look of happiness swamp his face. This Enrique Iglacias/Shemarr Moore looking niggah.

"WORD DAWG?"

I was smiling with him. He stood up, pumping a fist int he air. "Word."

"Please don't bullshit me. My boys need things."

"You can start tomorrow. I telly ou what. Look in my wallet over on the kitchen counter and take one of the business cards. And come by my office tomorrow."

He frowned at me. "I thought youd idn't have a wallet?"

I stood up, wrapping my arms around the niggah that just took me from my girl. Good ass like this needed a supervisor and a manager and a caring physician.

"I didn't. It was on the counter."