“Yo, y’all come here! Hurry up!” Netta yelled, as she hurried back into the kitchen.Leaning over the sink, she looked out the window of her two-story row home. Netta pierced her eyes on a startling event transpiring in her alleyway.
They still out there, she thought, as she waited for the other four occupants of her house to come and see for themselves.
Mimi, Fila, Petey and Rasheeda came running as if it were a race, wondering what in the world could be so important to interrupt their sessions.
This better be good, Mimi thought.
Netta was boss and what Netta wanted, Netta got. When she called, they came. Like a herd of wild horses, their footsteps could be heard thundering through the house until they reached the kitchen.
“Damn bitch, what?” Fila playfully asked, as they hurried over to the window. Everyone quickly gathered around Netta, bumping and jockeying for position.
“Sssshhhushh!” Netta said, with her finger held across her lips.
“What?” Mimi asked, as if she could have stayed where she was on the couch with her blunt.
“Look,” Netta said, pointing to the two figures in the cut of the alley.
“Oooh, Meeka is at it again,” Rasheeda said.
“Mmm hmm, she got another one,” added Petey.
The girls huddled around each other watching and waiting for the jump off. Rumors had been circulating about Meeka for some time now. People said she was trickin’, but now they were about to witness it with their own eyes.
Oblivious to the prying eyes, Meeka was engaging in her newfound profession of trickin’, or better yet, trading sex for drugs. In broad daylight, Meeka and the young boy off the Ave were carrying on like it was late night.
“Ummmm,” moaned the young hustler. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head from the pleasure he was receiving. Her mouth was simply dulling his senses. He was a freak for oral sex, trickin’ away a nice amount of his profits on a daily basis.
Meeka was good at using her mouth as a sexual favor. She had mastered the art of that shit down to a science and this was far from being her first time. However, this type of sexual act was supposed to be reserved for the man in her life, but lately she resorted to these kinds of degrading sexual acts to support her growing drug habit. There was no shame in her game.
Looking at Meeka, one would never have guessed she was a fiend. Her appearance was still up to par. Her hygiene and dress hadn’t slipped, yet. A couple of months from now, though, you wouldn’t be able to say the same. The monkey was just beginning to climb on her back. Every day she was doing more drastic things just to get a blast. She was only sniffing dope, but soon she’d graduate. Her tolerance level was growing every day and she was getting curious about life on the other side, shooting dope. As it stood right now, it took her a half a bundle just to get off E. Snorting that amount only kept her from getting sick, not high.
Back and forth, her head moved slowly and deliberately. Meeka was deep-throating him and it was driving him crazy. Without breaking her rhythm or skipping a beat, she calmly slid her free hand into her jacket pocket, retrieving a small steel box cutter. In one smooth motion, she replaced her warm mouth with the cold steel razor. Thus, bringing this cat and mouse game to an abrupt end.
“Don’t move, muthafucka! Just gimme ya stash and everything will be alright,” she said, as she yanked his penis and applied pressure on him with the steel razor.
Shocked and caught off guard, the young boy froze. He looked down at her in disbelief. His words were stuck in his throat and the only thing he could do was point to his pants, which were hanging around his knees. Still on her knees, Meeka immediately yelled to one of her dope fiend accomplices.
“Lefty, come on! I got ‘em,” she said, in a whispery sort of way.
From out of nowhere, a tall skinny dope fiend appeared from behind some trash cans. Anxiously, he began waving his arms signaling the getaway car. They ran this game all over Baltimore, from east to west and they used Meeka as bait. They had it down to a science. Quickly, the pair fumbled through the boy’s pockets until they found what they were looking for.
“Jackpot,” Meeka said, as her eyes lit up like little tiny Christmas trees. She pulled out a sandwich bag from her victim’s pocket filled with bundles of dope and money. She found what appeared to be at least a $1,000 in product and $500 in cash. She placed it all inside her bra as Lefty watched over her like a hawk. He already knew Meeka might try to stash anything extra she could if he wasn’t watching and that wasn’t going to happen.
One cue, the old beat-up hooptie came to a screeching halt right next to them. The driver, another dope fiend, scanned his eyes up and down the alley looking for any signs of trouble. Meeka scrambled to her feet, releasing her iron grip on the boy’s penis. Still holding the box cutter in her right hand for protection, she backed up into the car until the car door was safely closed, never once taking her eyes off of him. Once Lefty’s door was closed, they all zoomed off.
Dumbfounded, the boy watched as the car drove off for a few seconds before he decided to act. Grabbing a handful of his jeans, he quickly pulled them back up and then dashed to the trashcans where he kept his gun, hoping to squeeze off a couple of rounds at the car. His attempt proved futile. The car was long gone by the time he gripped his gun. He stood in the middle of the alley, gun in hand cursing the air.
“Ah, haa! That’s food for his young dumb ass,” Netta said, breaking the silence. “That’ll teach him. Everything that looks good to you, isn’t always good for you,” she added.
“Yo, that’s a damn shame. I ain't know she was going out like that. But, I guess seeing is believing,” Fila said.
“It hurts me to see her go out like that. That was my dog in middle school,” Petey said.
“I swear I ain’t never going out like that. I’d rather die first than live like that and if any of you bitches do, y’all get cut the fuck off,” Netta said, meaning every word.
Netta had no compassion or sympathy for a dope fiend or any kind of addict for that matter. It wasn’t hard to understand her reasons why. Her mother was a stone-cold junkie. As a young girl growing up, all Netta could remember was never having anything. Thanks to dope, she never got any birthday or Christmas presents. Her childhood scarred her so deeply, she carried memories around with her like an open wound in her mind.
“No doubt, we feelin’ you on that,” Petey said, completely agreeing with Netta.
Solemnly, yet quietly, they were all in agreement. Anything harder than weed or alcohol was a no-no for this all-girl clique.
“Come on, y’all. Let’s go back to the living room and finish what we were starting. I had enough of this shit. It’s blowing my high,” Petey said, changing the subject.
“Yeah, you right. Let’s go get our puff on,” Netta said.
And with that, they all marched back through the house to the living room.
The Pussy Pound was the name of these self-proclaimed bad girls. These young ladies defied the age-old theory of females not being capable of having casual sex without becoming emotionally attached. On the contrary, you had to pay to play with them. They got down for their crown. Flipping the script on nature, they played the field and they saw nothing wrong in what they did: exchanging sex for pay in whatever form the currency came in. It could be cars, jewelry or cash. It didn’t matter, as long as it was something. They all had yet to discover, whoring isn’t something you do, it’s something you become.
Netta, the most outspoken amongst the Pussy Pound, was without a doubt its leader. Not only was she beautiful, which could be said about the whole entire clique, Netta was very intelligent too. She was book smart and street smart. Every spectrum of the black woman was represented in the Pussy Pound. From the light-skinned and chinky-eyed Mimi, to the full-lipped, golden complexion of Fila, to the brown-skinned, bow-legged Petey, to the dark-skinned, cut cap-tooth smile of Rasheeda and the jet-black, smooth skin of Netta.
However, no matter how attractive and beautiful one is, beauty is only skin deep. The comparisons among the girls ended there. Each and every one of them was scandalous to a point. However, Netta was ruthless in her pursuit of the almighty dollar and once she pinpointed the exact weakness in a man, she exploited it, using it to her advantage. In her book, every hustler was fair game. They were just stepping-stones on her way to Easy Street.
Headquarters for the Pussy Pound was at Netta’s crib, better known as crime central. Her row home was smackdab in the heart of West Baltimore on Monroe and Fayette Street. She recently purchased the newly renovated two-story row home, which was a world away from the others on the block. True, it was in the ghetto, but the ghetto didn’t exist inside this crib. Every imaginable kitchen appliance was on display here, courtesy of all the hustlers she played. Netta had big screen televisions, black Italian leather furniture, wall-to-wall carpeting, video games, a well-stocked mini bar and everything you could imagine one needed to be comfortable. Yes, the game was good to her.
Recognized citywide, the Pussy Pound was infamous amongst all thugs, ballers and hustlers. Their fame spawned plenty of counterparts, wannabes and rival female cliques. The Pussy Pound members were all dimes, or close to it. There was nothing average about them.
Rarely would you find these ladies up at this time of the day. Usually, during these hours, they would be catching zzz’s, making up for the late-night hours they spent. Since none of them were employed, they could afford to do this. Hustlers paid their bills and partying was their full-time job. But today was different. It was a hairdo day. They had to be up early to keep various beauty parlor appointments. It was mandatory for them to keep their wigs tight because it was a part of their appeal, the Pussy Pound mystique.
Back in the living room, puffing on hydro and sipping Cristal, the Pound was relaxed and enjoying each other’s company. Looking around the room you’d think this was a fashion show. These young ladies were high maintenance. Each one had enough designer clothes that would make Lil’ Kim proud. Every hot and in-demand European designer was represented in the living room; from Dolce and Gabbana to Prada, Chanel and Gucci. Even on bad days, the Pussy Pound represented. You could catch them in the trendy ghetto designs of Roc-A-Wear, Fubu, Sean John or Karl Kani. They would accessorize by wearing platinum or gold chains accompanied by medallions to round off their wardrobe. Their jewelry made them stand out, even when they were dressed down. Their lifestyle and wants were dictated by fashion trends, clubs, the streets and even the game. They were true to their game, too. Striving for uniqueness, each Pussy Pound member was branded with three dog paw print tattoos which ran down their thighs and along their hips. This was an initiation, a rite of passage into the clique. It separated them from other girls’ cliques. This was something they were proud of.
When females gather in groups like this, they naturally become talkative. There’s something about getting high and socializing that loosens the lips, allowing one to speak more freely. They say a drunken tongue speaks a sober mind, and that was certainly the case here. The hot topic amongst them was sex. Sex was discussed at length and no details were spared. Vulgarly, yet humorously, it was all said in fun. Well-known hustlers’ sexual appetites and acts were put on display amongst the members of the Pound. No secret was safe.
“Yo, this weed is the bomb. It’s making me horny as hell. Damn, I wish I had that nigga who could really do me right, you know. I don’t know what these weak ass niggas out here be thinkin’ they doin’ in the bed,” Fila said disappointedly, feeling the effect of the liquor and the weed.
“Girl, ain't that shit the truth. I don’t even know why I fuck with that nigga, Rock. His money long, but his dick is short,” Rasheeda chimed in.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Petey joked.
“Fat motherfucker! I swear, if he wasn’t getting money, he’d never get no pussy. Sometimes, I think that nigga ain’t never had no pussy since pussy had him. Y’all should see me faking it while he hittin’ it. ‘Ooh, Aah, don’t stop!’ I should get an Oscar for the shit I got to go through. He just swear he be killin’ it,” Rasheeda said with her gap-toothed smile.
High fives and laughter broke out around the room.
“Bitch, you need to stop,” Petey said.
“Seriously, though,” Fila said between chuckles. “A nigga could never be my man if he couldn’t fuck me right.”
“Girl, I’m just stroking his ego,” Rasheeda replied. “He gives me what I want, and I give him what he needs. Fair exchange is no robbery.”
“That’s right, Fee,” Netta agreed between tokes on her blunt. “Work that nigga.”
“All these so-called hustlin’ ass niggas is alike. They fuck like they’re in a race to see who cums first. And you know they always win. They bust one nut and it’s over for the night. I feel like saying, ‘What about me motherfucker? I wanna cum too!’ But that’s alright, ‘cause I’m getting mine on the side,” Mimi confessed.
“On the real, y’all ain’t never had no dick ‘til y’all had some dope dick. A nigga will fuck you all night off that shit,” Petey said.
“The only thing though, you can’t trust those dope fiend bastards as far as you can throw ‘em,” Fila added with a nod like she been beat before.
“I know. You know Mark stole money out of my purse while I was sleep. Y’all know that was the last time his addict ass got some of this pussy,” Petey said, realizing a dope dick wasn’t good for nothing but a hard dick.
Even that horror story couldn’t damper the festive mood. The drinks continued to flow while they talked and smoked endless blunts of dro.
“You know what kills me,” Fila asked, as everyone looked at her for the answer. “These frontin’ ass niggas don’t have no problems with they mans and them. They break them off, but you ask for something. It’s a fucking headache for ‘em. And why is these niggas tryin’ to front like they don’t eat pussy when they know they do? Joe from Cherry Hill knows.”
More laughter ripped through the room, as girlish giggles magnified their high. Fila, best known for telling the truth, always told it like it was.
“Look, Joe used to say he’s too good with his hips to use his lips. That nigga, I swear y’all should see him now, munchin’ on this fur burger,” Fila finished, as everyone continued laughing.
“Yeah, that’s what they all say ‘til you get ‘em behind closed doors, then it’s a different story. You gotta beat ‘em off the pussy,” Petey added.
“Most niggas think they too cool and then you got the ones that wanna keep it on the down low, like it’s a big deal,” Rasheeda said.
“Well, you know me, I can keep a secret. But I’m only gonna ask a nigga one time. After that, it’s Lil’ Kim all the way, no licky licky, no sticky sticky. And a nigga really needs to know that shit,” Mimi chimed in and let it be known.
“True dat! Men pick, women choose, but pussy rules,” Netta said, sarcastically.
“I will tell all these niggas, eatin’ pussy ain’t nothin’. It’s a part of sex. It’s an acquired taste like drinkin’ beer, but better,” Mimi said. “Guess what?” she then asked the room.
“What, heifer?” Rasheeda answered for everyone.
“I got a letter from Kevin yesterday. He said he misses me, and he asked me if I was okay and if I needed anything to just let him know. He said when he comes home, we gonna do it real big together. He asked me why I stopped writing and he asked about the family. His lawyer told him that he’s gonna beat this case. He’s just gonna have to sit for a minute and let the publicity die down.”
Nonstop and enthusiastically Mimi spit out all this information in a quick breath, wanting to share her good news with her clique. Everybody knew that Kev had strong feelings when it came to Mimi. For her, he was more than a MAC machine and Mimi was more than a piece of pussy to him. Mimi crossed the line though, mixing business with pleasure. She had fallen in love and Netta didn’t like it.
Netta frowned, all puzzled, and interrupted, “Mimi, I know you ain’t fallin’ for the 52 fake-out. That’s game, if I ever heard it. Some old jailhouse rap. Tell that nigga to go find somebody else to bid off of,” Netta said, busting Mimi’s make pretend jailhouse romance.
She was only trying to look out for her friend’s best interest by exposing game. Unfortunately, Mimi didn’t see it that way.
“That nigga’s baby momma probably shitted on him and now he’s trying to get your ass down to city jail to visit him. After that, I bet my last motherfuckin’ dollar he’ll try to get you to bring him some packages of dope in,” Netta continued. She wasn’t half done on the reasons why Mimi shouldn’t waste her time. “Every last one of them niggas in jail want somebody to hold ‘em and bit with ‘em. Who got time for that shit when you free? I don’t got no case, I don’t want no co-defendants. I ain’t biddin’ wit’ nobody,” Netta said firmly.
Sucking her teeth loudly, Mimi exploded.
“Netta, you always got something to say. You not always right! Your problem is you don’t love nothing or nobody but yourself,” Mimi said heated. But, in her heart she knew that wasn’t true. After all they had been through, she knew Netta loved her as she loved Netta. She was upset though. So, she tried to hurt Netta’s feelings. She felt a surge of anger rising inside of her.
“Kev was always good to me and now that he’s down, I gotta keep it real with him. I can’t turn my back on him. I’m not YOU!” Mimi hollered back.
And with that, the entire room became still. No one said a word. Silence fell like the quiet before the storm. Netta stood there face-to-face with Mimi. This was when true friendship played its part. It was always hard for Netta. She expected everybody in the Pussy Pound to be as cold-blooded as she was. She couldn’t see why they wouldn’t or couldn’t be at ties. This was a man’s world. A woman had to be extra tough to survive and be on top of her game.
“Bitch, please. You damn right, you ain’t me. I would’ve left that motherfucker before the trial. Wouldn’t have been no rap about it. He would’ve been history the minute he got knocked. Hustlers come a dime a dozen. When one goes to jail, another will step up to take his place. That’s the game,” Netta said. There was no joy in her voice and no smile on her face. She was just spitting the facts, as she knew them, to be the truth.
“Let me ask you something,” Netta continued. “If you got knocked, do you really think Kevin would be kicking down the visiting room door to get at you?”
Not waiting for Mimi’s response and already knowing that there wasn’t one, she responded for her.
“Hell no, he wouldn’t be! See I did Black and the whole nine, but I ain’t got time for nobody in jail. What can he do for me, Mimi?” Netta asked, rhetorically. “I’m not going up in those mountains, dealing with them crazy ass cracker C.O.’s to see nobody. I got to do me. I’m true to fun and not to one,” Netta said, absolutely feeling herself.
Bitch, I guess you can’t go see Black. But it ain’t cause you don’t want to, it’s ‘cause you can’t, Mimi thought, standing there vexed. But she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t her business, and everything wasn’t for everybody.
Expressionless, she stared at Netta as if she could see right through her. She knew her better than anybody in this room or alive. They were like sisters. So, why did Netta always have to try and shine on her?
Misinterpreting the love for hate, Mimi felt betrayed by Netta. She didn’t see where Netta was coming from with this. Instead of letting her feelings get involved, she only thought about what Netta was saying, when everything could have been all right. It wasn’t what Netta said, it was how she said it and in front of whom.
“So, see Mimi, it’s not a question of who or what I love. Love don’t pay the rent. Pussy does,” Netta added. “I don’t love no man, not even my own father. The only men that make me happy are dead ones, dead presidents. If I were you, I’d forget Kev and concentrate on taking that lil’ New York nigga, Mann, that you met today. That’s who you need to be focusin’ on. I’m gonna work his cousin, Tone. I know they got some paper. They ain’t down here all the way from New York for their health,” Netta said, lookin’ at her friend like she was stupid.
Absorbing every word in this verbal exchange and thankful it wasn’t any of them getting sounded like that was Petey, Rasheeda and Fila. They just sat there like they were watching a tennis match go back and forth.
Whatever, bitch. It’s like this now, Mimi thought.
If Netta had seen the piercing of Mimi’s eyes as she tightened her lips, then maybe she could have said some softer words, but Netta didn’t notice how embarrassed and hurt Mimi’s feelings were. Netta forgot how emotional Mimi could be. Though this wasn’t the first time Netta pulled her card, held court and checked her; this was the first time she didn’t do it privately. Lately, arguing over little small and petty disputes was happening more frequently. Mimi was beginning to think that no matter what she did, no matter how much she got out of a hustler, it wasn’t good enough to please Netta, the only person she ever wanted to impress.
Placed in the same situation, Netta always thought she could have milked more out of a hustler and she could. But when her clique didn’t live up to her expectations, she tended to look down on them. Although only a year younger than Netta, Mimi felt that they were on the same level. Physically they were equal. Both were drop dead gorgeous. Netta was 5’11”, dark-skinned with an ample amount of behind and chest. Mimi was 5’8”, light-skinned with a well-proportioned, petite body. To choose between them was a tossup. It all depended on your personal preference. Do you like your women light-skinned or dark-skinned? The choice was yours. Either way, you couldn’t go wrong.
Mentally, it was a different ball game though. Mimi survived in the game while Netta thrived in it. She was mentally tough. This attribute could be traced back to her childhood, having to fend for herself early in life. Just like Mimi’s shortcomings could be traced back to her childhood too. The girls were different in many ways. Mimi had a mother and father, was spoiled and lived a more sheltered life, while Netta had been dealt a different hand of cards. What Netta had, though, that Mimi didn’t, was the ability to think on her feet and adapt like a chameleon to any situation. To her, the ends justified the means.
At times, Netta’s only purpose in life was to play on hustlers. She got a rush from having things first. This was her obsession. She was the first to own a car, a home and so on. She was a trendsetter for the Pussy Pound.
Faking a smile, Mimi sizzled inside. Puffing on a blunt, she listened to the idle chitchat. She couldn’t shake the ill feeling that crept inside her heard toward Netta. A gap was growing daily between the two. The game, the money and the hustlers had all placed these two friends in direct competition with each other.
No doubt, Mimi and Netta loved each other, but beneath the surface, that love was beginning to go sour. This was due to an overdose of competitive jealousies and girlish animosities, some real and some imagined, but constantly arising. She thinks she’s cuter than me. Her man makes more than mine does. She got this, and I don’t. And so on and so forth.
After taking another long drag on the blunt, Mimi deeply inhaled it, taking smoke through her nostrils and mouth simultaneously. Then, she passed the blunt to Netta and smiled the fakest smile in the world. A million questions went through Mimi’s mind. Who does Netta think she is? She always got some shit to say out her mouth, tryin’ to down talk somebody. I know she don’t actually think she’s better than me.
Netta smiled back and took the blunt out of Mimi’s fingers and into hers. Minutes later and only a few feet away, Netta sat in her navy-blue Italian leather recliner zoning. A smile still pasted on her face. She had a hot date tonight with Tone, the kid from New York. She couldn’t wait. But, that wasn’t the only thing on her mind; she was starting to think that she might have been a little too hard on her homegirl, Mimi. She did have the best intentions for her friend. She only wanted Mimi to peep game, before she got gamed. She wanted for her friends what she wanted for herself: the best.
Netta was so determined with her will that she forgot how sensitive Mimi cold be at times. Mimi was funny that way. However, an apology never entered Netta’s mind, it wasn’t her style. She said what she meant and meant what she said. Netta was definitely rough around the edges. Like it or not, she gave it to you how she got it: raw. She didn’t know how to sugarcoat the truth.
Netta rocked back and forth in the recliner watching Mimi get up and leave the room. Netta hoped she wasn’t bent out of shape. It wasn’t personal, but for Mimi it was.