MONEY, POWER, RESPECT
‘So, this is what R. Kelly was talking about’ Sydney thought as he peered from the cracked closet door.
“Bitch, what took you so long to answer the door?” the six foot five inch, two hundred and seventy five pound man asked as he dropped the bags he was carrying to the floor.
“Baby, I was on the computer lookin’ for jobs,” she stated nervously, “and them dogs out back was diggin’ up the yard again.” She said, trying to get him to go out the back door,
so she could slip her sex secret out the front door.
Sydney stood motionlessly in his boxers and boots. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d been in this type of situation and it surely wouldn’t be the last.
“yeah well…” the big man paused, looking puzzled at the half bottle of Hennessy on the floor of the bedroom.
“you drinkin?” he asked suspiciously, “in the middle of the day?”
The woman stood speechless.
“Hennessy?” he asked confused, “you hate dark liquor.”
Sydney began slipping into his pants, not caring about the noise he made. He just knew he didn’t want another fight, in his underwear.
“What the fuck is that?” the big man asked walking towards the closet door of the bedroom.
Sydney chuckled, ‘you had to see the humor in this’ he thought.
“baby, let me explain…” she shouted as she raced to block his path. The big man quickly shoved her aside. Sydney, now somewhat dressed but shirt unbuttoned, braced
himself and clenched his fist… as he listened to the commotion outside the door. As if rehearsed, the closet door swung open. Sydney, being a State, Street Fighting Champ, quickly
assessing the situation, knowing the man clearly had him by five inches and one hundred pounds, he took aim for the big mans’ chin, but instead caught the woman, knocking her out cold.
“What the fuck?” the big man shouted angrily, as he reached to grab Sydney. Sydney unleashed about eight punches into the mans’ face, knocking him into the bedroom door,
pushing the door closed. Sydney thought about jumping out of the window, it was ground floor, but the two Rottweiler changed that plan quickly. The big man stumbled to his feet, face
bloody and charged Sydney. Sydney quickly stepped to the side, punching the man behind the right ear.
‘Damn, I wish all my fights were this easy’, he thought, knocking the man into the closet doors, knocking them off the hinges. As Sydney turned to make his escape, the woman
threw the bottle of Hennessy, catching him square in the face, cutting him above his right eye. She began screaming and hitting him, as he fell dazed onto the bed.
The big man stumbled back to his feet, Sydney rolled out of the bed and onto the floor as the woman scratched and clawed at his face.
‘Damn, I’m never getting out that door,’ he thought, jumping to his feet. The big man raced to grab him, Sydney kicked the man in the groin and followed through with an
uppercut, knocking the man onto the woman.
It seemed he had no choice but the window. Without over thinking, he went crashing through the window, knocking glass and wood all over the yard. Lying on his back,
trying to get a sense of direction, he could see not two, but three Rottweiler charging at him. The big man, now at the window, was giving the dogs attack commands. Sydney jumped up and
in the same motion, raced for the fence. ’Damn,’ he sighed, ’a six feet privacy fence. Won’t be able to make that in one leap.’
Just as he reached the fence, one of the dogs caught his pant leg, shorting his jump. He fell into the fence, then he heard a gun shot. ’damn,’ he thought ’what fucking
luck’. He turned and kicked the dog, another shot, Sydney grabbed the top of the fence feeling a sharp pain in his leg. As he struggled to pull himself over the fence, another shot rang
out. He fell to the ground on the other side, jumped to his feet and raced down the alley. His car was parked in front of the house, so there was no trying to get that… he decided to run
until he was out the path of danger. When he was about six blocks down, he stopped and checked his injuries, only a few dog bites, no gun shot. Small price to pay for almost being Seven
Feet Under.
“Bitch wait…” she smiled, “you left the Bulls game with one of the Rookies? Hoe, you should have your head split open,” she said, laughing.
Tiffany stood five feet ten inches, one hundred and twenty eight pounds, her body resembled that of a young woman. Many mistaken her for early twenties, after all, she ran
five miles a day. She wore her hair long and it was almost totally a silky silver, taking after her white father, who started to gray by nineteen, as she also did.
Laughing uncontrollably and standing totally nude, she beckon for the young man to take her keys from the table.
“Wait, hoe,” she said, putting the phone down, as the other party seemed to ignore her and continued to talk.
“Listen, nigga! Don’t have my truck in those fucking projects,” she shouted in an angry mothers’ voice, “and put some fuckin’ gas in it.”
The young man turned and exited without a word.
“Bitch, wait,” she shouted, laughing into the phone, “ that lil’ nigga you left with ain’t even startin’. step your game up, hoe.” she laughed, looking out her bedroom
window, overlooking downtown Chicago.
“Did you have him home before curfew, hoe?” she blasted out laughing.
“Hold on, I got another call,” she said, becoming irritated.
“Hello?” she paused, “oh, hey baby. What’s up?” her eyes gleaming now, “I miss you, baby. My plane arrives at ten tonight.”
Tiffany began touching her pussy, “don’t eat anything, I’m bringing you something sweet.” she chuckled at his response. Then her response seemed to change like a
bi-polar person, “nigga, my house better be clean,” then, like a light switch in her sweetest voice, “ok, baby, see you at ten.”
“Hello?” she shouted into the dead phone, “hello? Silly bitch hung up.” she glared at the clock, ten a.m.
She marched into the spacious, luxurious penthouse living room and turned on the sixty inch plasma wall TV and music blared from the speakers in the wall. Mary J. Bliges’
video took over the room.
“Take me…. as I am”, she sang with the video, sounding unbelievably like Mary. She could have easily been a singer in her younger days, but her love for fashion, steered her
down a different path. Opening her first boutique, at eighteen, and twenty years later, owning over twenty-five different locations around the world. She was quite a success story.
Her father did put up the money, but her hard work and business sense, took her fashion ideas to a whole other level.
She now dressed some of Hollywood’s elite females entertainers, and the music industry top female acts. She worked directly with the worlds top designers, and was well
respected and sorted after.
Tying her hair into a schoolgirl’s bun, she quickly jumped into the shower. As the water hit her back, she seemed to melt under it’s pressure. Tiff worked hard and she
made sure she had a state of the art shower/ hot tub/ steam room. It was her heaven. Her place of peace.
As the water made a path down her back, she gently rubbed her breast, her nipples harden. She pressed a button on the high tech control unit installed in the shower.
The acoustics from the music was beautiful.
She skipped a few songs searching for the one she wanted to cum to. “damn, that the one,” she smiled lying back against the wall. Black Diamond the poet’s
“faces”, oozed from the bose speakers in the wall. “yes baby, taste it”, she whispered. She had played with her self many a nites to this cd. Her small fingers slide in and out of
her pussy, as her other hands rubbed her nipples. “we’re playing faces”, she cooed.
Her breathing became heavy. She shivered under her own touch. It seemed to be effortlessly to have an orgasm, when she encouraged herself. Damn, she thought,
’these niggaz don’t know it’s all in the lipps. They’re always trying to go deep…Seven Feet Under,’ she thought as she released onto her own fingers.
Print 
Share