Slipping Read online

  Juanita giggled. “Boy, don't do that. My neck is my motherfucking spot. You'll fuck around and have me off in here in my thong for real doing that shit there.”

  Inspired, Don began kissing and licking her neck. As she leaned back a little and let him, he decided to try his luck and rest his hand on her chest. When she didn't resist he slid his hand under her halter top. She wasn't wearing a bra. Happily he toyed with her taut young buds and listened to her breathing begin to grow ragged. After playing with her nipples and sucking on her neck for five minutes, Don decided to go for the gold. He slid his hand from under her top and let it rest on her smooth tan thighs. He started at the hemline of her miniskirt and attempted to work his way under it.

  “No,” Juanita moaned as she clamped her legs together.

  Not wanting to break the mood, Don obeyed her wishes. He didn't push any farther, but he didn't move his hand off her thighs. Instead he redoubled his efforts around her neck, running his tongue in and out of her ear. Her body trembled as he worked his magic and when he leaned on her to push her back on the bed again he met no protest. Again throwing caution to the wind, he slid her top off. Hungrily he began to devour her breasts. She moaned and rubbed her legs together but didn't stop him. Don tried again to get his hand between her thighs. This time she sat upright and pushed him off her.

  Don begged, “Come on girl, don't do that. You got my dick hard as hell. I know that pussy of yours is wet. Come on baby, let me have some of that. You already know I'll take care of you. You see how I hit you earlier.”

  She said, “Look, nigga, you can cut that baby, baby, please baby, baby routine. I ain't the one. You need to save that shit for one of them dumb bitches downstairs. So what, you gave me a fifty when we was over at the courts, that's old news. The only thing that's gone get you in these panties is some of that good weed with some crack sprinkled on it and a few more of them dollars.”

  At her proposition Don sat up quickly, so quick that he almost made himself sick. He had to pause until the room stopped spinning. Once his equilibrium was reasonably centered he snapped.

  “Bitch, what the fuck did you just say? I know you ain't no motherfucking crackhead! All of them fine-ass bitches downstairs and I end up with a fuckin’ clucker! How a fine-ass girl like you end up fucking with yams?”

  Juanita proceeded to strip away her miniskirt and halter. Her firm breasts jutted and her smooth thighs flashed dangerously in the low light. Jiggling delightfully in the lace thong, her butt was a sight to behold.

  Unaware of his actions, Don licked his lips.

  Well aware that she had his undivided attention, Juanita asked, “Do this look like the body of a clucker? Do I look like a crackhead to you? Motherfucka, I don't think so. Nigga, I ain't smoking the pipe, the whistle, the hooter, or whatever y'all call it. I just like to crush down a rock or two and sprinkle it on my weed every now and then. It ain't like you smoking the pipe. You can get that good feeling without being strung out like them motherfucking hypes. Now if that's too much for a lil’ boy, then I'll go find me a man that can handle it. I thought you was on top of things, Mr. Don-Don, but you in here acting like you ain't up on the real shit.”

  With a look of disdain, Juanita grabbed her clothes and began to dress. Don put his hand on her arm before she could step into her miniskirt. He couldn't pass up this opportunity. He came to a quick conclusion. He had heard people talk about smoking premos, caviar joints, or sprinkles, but he had never tried it before. Even if he didn't like the high it gave him, it was well worth a little discomfort to get in her panties. He would try the shit with her once, then try to fuck her brains out. When he was through he would tell her to beat it.

  With his hand on her arm, he said, “Hold it now girl, I was just tripping. I thought you was talking about smoking the hooter. A nigga ain't fuckin’ with that. Slow down though, shorty. Imma grab some yay and we gone kick it.”

  Don got up off the bed and walked over to the bedroom door and opened it to holler for Dre. The music was beating so hard downstairs that he knew there was no way that anyone could hear him. He had given up on shouting and was headed for the staircase when Dre came out of the bathroom to his left, zipping up his pants. When Dre saw Don he put his arm around his friend's shoulder and started to talk, but Don cut him off abruptly.

  “Dre, shut the fuck up, I ain't got time to rap. Where is that coke that I told you to hold on to? You still got it in your pocket?”

  Dre nodded.

  “Give it to me. I want to put it up just in case the law raid the party or something.”

  Dre handed him the half-ounce. Don turned and walked quickly back to the bedroom before Dre had a chance to start running his mouth.

  When Juanita saw the half-ounce of crack in Don's hand she smiled and picked up her purse. She began removing various articles associated with drug abuse from her bootleg Coach bag—a spoon, a small mirror, and some rolling papers. She instructed Don to place a piece of crack on the small makeup mirror. Using the heel of the spoon she smashed the crack rock and spread it around on the small mirror. Don produced a bag of weed, which she seized from his hand. After pouring it out on the nightstand she removed the few stems and seeds. She instructed Don to stick two sheets of Tops cigarette papers together and put some weed on them. Using a playing card she scooped up some of the fluffy, powdered crack and sprinkled it over the weed in the unrolled joint until there was almost no green showing. She rolled the joint, licked the glue strip, and smoothed out the finished product. There was a lit cigarette in the ashtray. She took it and held it to the tip of the joint. The sides of the joint blackened instantly from the burning crack. She exhaled the pungent smoke and took another toke. She handed the joint to Don and laughed at his look of confusion when he tried to hit it and it went out.

  “No, silly,” she giggled, “you gotta hold the cigarette to it to keep it lit.”

  He followed her example. His first hit of the crack joint left him with an indescribable feeling. If he had to describe it he would have said that it felt like he orgasmed ten times at once. His second hit rendered the same feeling only to a lesser degree. Admittedly he was a little scared at first, but now his inhibitions went out the window. He was beginning to enjoy himself so much that Juanita had to remind him to pass the joint.

  Two joints later Don was in a frenzy from the mixture of drugs in his system. Putting the pent-up energy to good use he and Juanita had sex for hours before Don drifted off to sleep. He woke up early in the afternoon to the odor of premos. Rolling over, he discovered Juanita perched on the edge of the bed halfway through a big, fat premo. She offered him the joint and cigarette. His first impulse was to decline, but he reached for them anyway. He finished the remainder of the joint while she rolled two more.

  3

  DON AND JUANITA HAD BEEN IN SEMO'S FATHER'S BED room for close to thirty-six hours. If it was left up to Juanita they wouldn't leave until all of the crack was gone. As Don sat up in the bed, Juanita stirred, but didn't wake. He pulled the sheet off her to expose her beautiful body. He traced her tan curves with his hand. Using one strong hand he grasped her ass, with the other hand he spread her thighs. She obliged him by spreading her legs even farther.

  Don shucked his pants and boxers and dove between her legs. He began to suck and bite on her nipples while pumping up and down like a piston.

  Juanita groaned from his penetrating strokes. Thrashing her head back and forth she wrapped her legs around his back and locked her ankles. Using her strong legs to support herself she lifted her ass from the bed and began to grind a counterstroke.

  Her moans and pelvic movements spurred Don into a frenzy. Climbing the steps of passion he reached the top, then plummeted headlong into the depths of climax. After she unlocked her ankles Don rolled off her and collapsed on the far side of the bed.

  While the sexual encounter seemed to have drained Don, it had rejuvenated Juanita. Leaping from the bed she stretched and bounced off in the direction of the bath
room. When she returned from the bathroom she picked up the premo that Don had in his mouth when he first mounted her. Following procedure she lit a cigarette and held it to the tip of the laced joint. In record time she was through smoking the first premo and rolling another. She paused to get a can of air freshener and light some incense. Grabbing a folding chair she pulled it over to the window and took a seat in front of the window, still naked. A breeze blew through the open window making the pale curtains flutter like butterfly wings.

  She lit the second premo and looked at it. Lately it was taking more and more crack on her joints for her to experience that rip-roaring high of old. As she smoked the premo she turned to look at Don. He looked so powerful and sexy even in his sleep. She felt the area between her legs growing warm, then moist. The premo and the sight of Don's naked body was making her horny. He looked so peaceful that she didn't want to disturb him, but she was definitely aroused. She moved over to the bed. Resting her head on his genitals she began to massage him until he began showing signs of life. Taking the head of his semi-erect member into her mouth she expertly sucked him to complete hardness.

  Though he didn't want to wake up, Juanita's sucking mouth wouldn't allow him peace. She signaled to him to light a premo while she continued sucking, licking, and blowing. He followed her instructions. The combination of the premo and fellatio reminded him of lying on a beach with cool waves washing over his body. He felt alive. With each hit of the laced joint the feeling of her mouth on him grew more intense. He could feel an orgasm building. It seemed to start from the soles of his feet and the top of his skull at the same time. He could tell that he was about to blow his stack so he took a long, deep pull of the premo. He held the smoke until he choked and let go. Taking only enough time to put the remainder of the premo and the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, Don curled up in the bed in fetal position, exhausted.

  Juanita ran to the bathroom to clean up and when she returned, she glanced at Don, who didn't seem to have enough strength to pull the sheet over his naked body. She nudged him, but he didn't respond. He wanted some sleep.

  Juanita had different plans though—she was tired of being cooped up. She grabbed the remote control and turned on the television. An advertisement for Six Flags Great America was on. She had always wanted to go, but there was never enough money in her household to go to the costly theme park. Don had the money though. It was time to see just how open his nose was for her. Talking him into smoking premos was easy, so it should be a small matter to get him to take her to an amusement park.

  Rubbing his sweaty back she started in on him. “Don-Don, wake up baby. C'mon, boo. I'm sick of being cooped up in this room. It feel like I'm on house arrest or something. Get up. I want to go to Great America.”

  “Damn, Juanita, it's too damn early in the morning for this bullshit,” he whined. “Shit, we done been up all damn night and shit. I'm finta sleep, shit.”

  “Fuck that. Wrong answer. I want to go today. You think that all you gone do is lay up in this motherfuckin’ room and fuck me. Shit, my pussy is sore. I want to have some fun. If you won't take me, I'm sure that one of your friends will.”

  She got up from the bed and began to dress.

  He watched her out of the corner of his bloodshot eyes. The desire for sleep tempted him to let her go, then jealousy took over. He realized that he would hate to see her with one of his friends. Swinging his long legs off the bed he grabbed his boxers and pulled them on.

  “Awight, awight girl. Sit yo motherfuckin’ ass down somewhere. I'll go holla at my niggas and see if they want to go.”

  He pulled on his pants and shoes and left the room. Downstairs everyone seemed to be there from two nights ago. It was early so he wasn't surprised that everyone was still asleep. There were liquor and beer bottles everywhere, pizza and chicken boxes on the floors and tables, and the ashtrays were overflowing. Sleeping bodies covered every couch, seat, and almost every inch of the carpeted first floor of the house. On the coffee table a partially nude girl slept using what appeared to be her missing clothing for a pillow.

  “I can't wait to hear the story behind this one,” he mused as he viewed her naked body.

  Stepping over several of his friends he continued to the kitchen. As he pushed open the swinging doors he grimaced at the sound of squeaking hinges. In the kitchen he glanced at the wall clock. It was almost seven a.m. Stifling a yawn, he opened the refrigerator in search of something to eat. The entire contents consisted of beer in various forms—forties, cans, and sixteen-ounce bottles of beer—not even a cold cut was present. Several large pizza boxes were on the countertop. He went through them and discovered two slices of pepperoni pizza. After warming them up in the microwave, he wolfed them down with a cold bottle of Budweiser.

  Now that he had succeeded in killing his hunger pangs it was time to awaken his friends. As he exited the kitchen he realized that it would be easier to wake up Semo and Dre and give them the responsibility of arranging the trip. First he would have to find them—they could be anywhere in the house.

  Semo's house was larger than the average ghetto dwelling. It had four bedrooms and three bathrooms, plus a fully furnished basement. Semo was the youngest of three children. His older sisters had long since left the nest, one for a high-paying consulting job in New York, the other to become a baby machine for a Caucasian dentist in Atlanta. Though his father rarely came home, he never once forgot to pay the mortgage, the bills, and buy food for Semo. Semo's allowance was a hundred dollars a week, which he managed to squander on weed, beer, and gambling.

  Don found Semo sleeping facedown between two girls. “Semo. Semo. Wake up, nigga,” Don whispered from the doorway. “Semo, get up, nigga, I need you to stand on this business.”

  His friend stirred, but only to turn to the side and bury his face into the back of one of the girls. Walking into the bedroom Don stood by the foot of the bed and called him again. When Semo still didn't respond, he grabbed his foot and shook him harshly. His friend rolled over and sat up. With the back of his hand he wiped saliva from the corner of his mouth. Bringing his eyes into focus he finally acknowledged Don's presence.

  “Damn, Don, what is it?” he rasped.

  “Time fo you to get yo ass up, nigga. Damn, you look fucked up in the morning. All ugly and shit.”

  “Fuck you, nigga. Hand me my squares,” he said as he scooted to the foot of the bed. His movements woke up the other girl, who sat up. She didn't move to pull the sheet up over her bared boyish chest. Instead she looked Don up and down. Disinterested, she lay back down. Semo accepted the proffered Newports from Don. His friend raised his eyebrow at him and nodded toward the two women.

  With a gravelly voice Semo said, “Nigga, that shit come from fucking with that white liquor. You know gin make 'em sin. That shit have the bitches horny as hell. Personally I don't like it, but it turns them into some super freaks.”

  “I see,” Don said. “I was thinking, nigga. We need to go somewhere. Somewhere like Great America. Shit, we got the cheese. Can you put it together?”

  “I'm on it,” Semo said. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”

  At Great America, Don, Juanita, and the group went on all of the major attractions and tasted exotic foods. Don pitched quarters at one of the game booths and won Juanita a gigantic stuffed gorilla. Feeling like little kids, they got their faces painted and their names airbrushed onto their T-shirts. Everyone met at closing time and they boarded the bus for home. The trip home was decidedly different than the previous trip—everyone was exhausted. There was no excited chattering, only the snoring of teenagers. When they reached the city the bus driver woke them up and dropped them off.

  As the tired group trudged toward Semo's house they began to come back to life. Big Man suggested they throw a barbecue. Looking to Don as their leader they waited for him to organize the troops. Don delegated responsibilities to each of his field marshals. They bought a quarter pound of weed from Momma Taylor's son, a wise
teenager with dreadlocks known simply as Bohead Taylor. Keno and some of the girls went to buy chicken wings, hot dogs, and ground beef for burgers. Semo fired up the grill and Big Man hauled the stereo speakers into the backyard.

  By one a.m. the barbecue was going full blast. The smell of good weed filled the air. Drinks flowed. Paper plates were filled with food, emptied, then filled again. Just as the merriment was reaching its peak, Diego and his crew strutted through the gate. A whisper went through the crowd and everyone stopped to stare at the gatecrashers. Expecting trouble, Semo slipped into the house. He ran upstairs and grabbed his father's double-barrel shotgun from the closet. He snuck down the stairs and crept into the back bedroom overlooking the backyard. From the window he leveled both barrels at Diego's head. He waited with his finger on the trigger for Don to confront Diego.

  In the backyard, Don handed his plate of food to Juanita and hefted himself from the lawn chair. He pushed his way through the crowd to get to Diego. As he passed Keno, his friend slipped him the .357. He stuck it in the waistband of his pants, not bothering to cover it with his shirt. When Don came face-to-face with Diego, he scanned his face for any sign of animosity. Unable to detect any malevolent vibes from Diego, he stuck his hand out. Diego looked at it first, then grasped the outstretched hand.

  “Diego, what's up, fool? What brings you down this way? You came to party and bullshit with us?”

  “Nall man, I came to try and win some of my scratch back. That is if you niggas ain't spent it all up.”

  Don asked suspiciously, “What you mean, homie? You must have been up there at Harper Court doing some practicing and shit. Now y'all want a rematch. I thought you crack dealers was smarter than that. I know you niggas ain't throwing rocks at the penitentiary just to give us y'all money.”

  Begrudgingly, Diego offered a laugh, but Don could tell that he didn't really find his remark amusing.