True to the Game, page 8
“Qua, put it in me,” she said, feeling possessed by the devil. She had never wanted a dick inside her so bad before in her life. Jamal never made her feel like this. He only worked for his own pleasure. Jamal could only fuck a woman; this was lovemaking. Qua was the man of life.
“Quadir . . .” She moaned as she felt him fitting himself inside her, stroking her intensely.
His dick was so big, she felt as if she had no space left. She was completely full. Each pull of the slow rhythm introduced her to a new thrill, unexpected, and with it a surprise. She was completely relaxed and so into it. Her only purpose was to give her body to him, all of her. She was completely relaxed, and with every stroke and every movement, she breathed with him, wanting more and more.
Quadir wrapped her legs in front of his arms, spreading Gena’s body completely apart, lifting her from the smooth white sand while his hardness caressed all the little places that made up her being. She reached up and clamped her hand against his shoulder at arm’s length, sliding herself up and down, pulling in breath on the way up, and sighing it out on the way down. He made the gargantuan effort not to discharge a drop while he watched her succumb to his passion.
She commanded him, suddenly, not to move, while her body spasmed. He waited for a moment, his teeth bared in fierce control, until she breathed again and squeezed him with muscles she hadn’t realized were so useful.
Qua breathed out and began to move, his movements becoming more urgent. She found her passion mounting again as she watched his need overwhelm him. His arms snaked under her shoulders and then under her buttocks, lifting her as his beautiful Black body moved in and out of her, faster and faster, the veins in his neck bulging in his effort to go where he’d just taken her. The sounds from his throat became louder, louder still, until she felt his pent-up fluid rumble through his body, working its way through his shaft into her waiting recesses.
His body spasmed, and he spoke her name. “Gena.”
She’d never known so much passion and power. It was a moment in time women never forget.
Quadir rested his body on hers, not moving. His breathing and pounding heartbeat told her he was still among the living.
In another moment, he was kissing her. Tiny, loving kisses over her eyes, her chin, her temple and, between each kiss, he met her eyes with his.
“Baby, don’t speak. Don’t move,” he said, nestling his head between her arm and her breast. Gena was exactly what he dreamed. He knew she would be. His daydreaming was over. He had the real thing now. All the time he’d spent with other girls, picturing the girl he’d seen on the motorcycle with Jamal, was nothing compared with this.
And it had been worth the wait. He finally got up and helped Gena put on her clothes before he got dressed.
“Do you think anyone saw us?” Her eyes were darting about, worrying about who’d seen her, or worse: who’d heard her! Her hair was all over the place and she had that “happy I got some” smile on her face.
“I don’t know, but if they did see us, they wanted to join in,” Qua said as he grabbed her tiny waist and gave her a hug. “That was the best pussy I’ve ever had in my life,” he said, combing her hair down. The brothers did agree all pussy was not the same.
They reached the lobby, and Qua wanted to check for messages. For the first time since they had been there, the hotel lobby was empty.
So, the Bahamian musicians do sleep, thought Gena. That was how late it was. There were no musicians, no tourists, no children running about, only mere silence as the hotel staff prepared for another day.
“What time is it?” Gena asked.
Qua glanced at his diamond bezel Rolex. “Five twenty-three, baby.”
Gena admired all the diamonds sparkling from the lobby’s track lights. “I like your watch.”
“You do? I’ll get you one.” He shuffled through the messages. “Rasun has called four times and Reds has called once.”
“Call them back when we get in the room,” she said as they got on the elevator.
“I will, I will,” he said, rubbing on her ass, lifting her dress, and playing with her all over again.
Suddenly, she thrust her entire body against him, pierced him to the wall, and whispered in his ear, “I want to make you happy.”
He wanted her to suck his dick.
As the elevator stopped at their floor, Gena couldn’t wait to get inside her room. Quadir couldn’t wait to get off the elevator either; he had to get to a phone.
Home
Once they were inside the room, Qua tried to call Rasun. He had no success; the phone rang and rang.
“He’s probably sleeping,” Gena said. Quadir sat there with the receiver to his ear, waiting ever so patiently for someone to answer the phone. “Baby, hang up the phone and call him in the morning.”
He finally took her advice but couldn’t get it off his mind. “Don’t you think he must’ve really wanted something if he called four times?”
“Yes, and I’m sure he’ll call you in the morning if it’s really important.”
She sounded convincing, but Quadir had a feeling something wasn’t right. He ended up trying again, but there was still no answer.
Gena was undressing for a shower, making sure Quadir was aware of it as she moved around him naked.
“Can I take a shower with you?”
Smirking at her success in getting his mind off the phone call, she told him, “You can do whatever you want.”
* * *
They had less than five hours of sleep. It was 10:30 a.m. and the sound of the phone woke Gena. “Hello?”
“What’s up, Gena? It’s Ra. Where’s Quadir?” the voice said.
Half asleep, she called out for Quadir, passing him the phone. “It’s Rasun.”
The minute Quadir heard the name Rasun, he woke right up as she handed him the receiver.
Finding an upright position, he mumbled to Rasun as he awoke from his sleep. “What happened?”
Gena listened to Quadir’s end of the conversation, feeling something was wrong by the tone in his voice.
“Kenny did what?” Quadir asked. Pausing, he replied, “With my nine. Why mines? Why you give him mine?”
Gena steadily nudged Qua, wanting to know what he was talking about. He gathered all the facts as quickly as he could.
“Rock’s dead?”
Gena heard the name and knew exactly who Quadir was talking about. It was such a small world. The same people Gena knew were the same people Quadir knew.
“He got shot in the head? What about the money?” Quadir asked, waiting to hear it was also fucked up.
Rasun replied, “We got the money and the yayo.”
“Yo, what are you two, Tony and Manny up in this motherfucker? Find out what Kenny’s bail is and stay by the phone. I’m coming home.” He replaced the receiver and turned to Gena. “Baby, come on, we got to get home. Someone killed a friend of mine.”
“Who did it?” Gena asked, realizing the vacation was over.
“I don’t know who,” he said, shaking his head as if he really didn’t know. “Guess what? My young boy killed his pops last night.”
“Who?”
“Remember Kenny? He was in the back seat of the BMW the night we met.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, him. His pops was always beating on him and his mom. I guess he snapped.”
Gena got dressed and called the airport, switching reservations for an earlier flight. She was unable to get first-class tickets and prayed they wouldn’t be seated next to an engine.
The bellboy collected all their luggage and transported it downstairs. The same cabbie who had given them a tour of the island when he was lost was there to pick them up. He placed the luggage in the trunk and opened the door so Quadir and Gena could get in the back seat.
“You know where you’re going, boss?” Quadir asked him as he shook his hand.
“Where you go?” Rasta Man asked.
“The airport.”
“Oh, the airport, me can find it.”
Quadir pulled Gena over to him and whispered, “We’re gonna miss the flight.” He asked the cabbie, “Do you know where the airport is?”
“Of course me know. Me can fine it, mon. Me just look right here for a minute.”
Gena couldn’t believe the same driver who found his way from the airport was trying to find his way back there. “He’s looking at a map. We’ll never get there. I might as well drive.”
“Might as well.”
“What if we don’t make the flight?” she said.
“We have to make the flight.”
Finally, they reached the airport. Quadir paid the cabbie and gave him another nice tip. The cabbie got their bags out of the car and sat them on the sidewalk so that they could be checked in.
“Take care, mon, of yourself and your lovely lady. May de spirit of de Lord be blessed upon you both. Mercy shall follow you all de days of your life.” He shook Gena’s hand and then Quadir’s, adding, “Another place and time, sir.” Then he walked back to the cab.
Gena felt a slight chill. “God, is he spiritual or what?”
For some reason, the Jamaican taxi driver who drove them around in circles when they first arrived in Nassau and drove them around on their way out had seemed to touch them both in a way neither of them understood.
Once they were safely on board the plane, Qua started chewing his gum and stuffing cotton in his ears like the last time.
“Quadir, you look crazy,” Gena said as she glanced toward him. “Everything is going to be all right. Here, give me your hand.” She placed it between her legs. “See? You’ll be fine.”
It’s good, but it’s not gonna save me, Quadir thought as he closed his eyes and started praying.
Gena sat back and looked out the tiny window. She could no longer see the clouds. It was wonderful to be above the clouds, physically and spiritually. She was on a natural high, thinking about Quadir. He gave her such inspiration. He wasn’t like the other guys. He had an aura about him that made you want to get close to him. Like the night she’d met him and wanted to touch his face. There was something regal about him that she could not say no to. So far removed from Jamal. It was different, as if she had no resistance to the man at all. And the way he had taken her last night and put his thing down. Lordy, Gena was fucked up and happy about the entire situation.
She glanced over at Quadir. Do you like me? she wondered as she stared at his eyelids, which complemented his completely relaxed face. After a few minutes of thinking to herself about last night and where the two of them now stood, Gena found herself asking the stewardess for a piece of paper.
“Thank you.”
“Sure thing,” she said, noticing Quadir’s hand stuffed between Gena’s legs.
Gena covered very nicely, telling her, “His hand was cold,” as she picked up his limp wrist. “It’s warm now,” she added, putting Quadir’s hand back on his lap.
The stewardess smiled and went on about her merry way as Gena rummaged in her bag for a pen. She wanted to write a poem for him. She sat there for more than an hour thinking about last night. It was over her head. How could she express it? All the times she had thought she was having sex had been wastes of time. Nothing was like last night.
When he awoke from his catnap, she handed him the piece of paper. Quadir took the poem and turned on his overhead light, reading silently:
The Dream
My eyes are closed, but I see you so clear
I stare in your eyes and the world disappears
Leaving us together, so no one can see
Your body moves closer so you’re next to me
Your fingers unbutton and take off my clothes
Your hands moving all over from my head to my toes
Without delay, you start to play
Your brown and warm fingers will find their own way
It’s feeling so good and when I touch you back
You’re long and you’re hard and it makes me wet
I kiss your chest in a rapture sublime
As your fingers play music in three-quarter time
We’re caught in a rapture without a doubt
You push my head lower, I open my mouth
Hours pass by, you pick up my face
And the look in your eyes states so simply your case
This pussy is yours and you’re gonna take it
If I had said no, you know you would’ve raped it
You flip it and turn it and throw it around
Until you have me face down on the ground
You’ve found your position, ass up in the air
You get behind me and force it in there
Pushing whatever is stopping your stroke
You fuck me for hours like you’re going for broke
You’ve totally flipped and you’re out of control
Your love is insane and I am your goal
You’re ready to nut, not a minute too soon
I hear the alarm and I’m back in my room
I open my eyes and I hear the door shut
I thought I was dreaming, but we really did fuck
Quadir looked at her; he couldn’t believe her little poem had made his dick hard. “Come here,” he said, pulling her face close enough to kiss her. He folded up the paper and put it in his pocket.
The stewardess walked by, and Quadir asked her how much longer the flight would be. Because of so many cancellations, they’d been able to get a flight straight to Philadelphia. He was so glad. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to be home.
“I had the best time of my life, Quadir,” she said, looking into his eyes.
“I did, too. I wish we was still there.”
“I know! Remember when you fell off the Jet Ski and almost killed us?” she said, laughing at him.
“Yeah, and remember the wave that snuck up behind you and tumbled your ass to shore?” He was laughing now as hard as she was.
“It was really the best. Especially, you know, last night.”
“Yeah, it was all that.”
“It was so blue.”
He seemed puzzled. “So blue?”
“Yeah, you know, the opposite of having the blues is so blue.” She paused for a moment, thinking about the time she’d spent with him, then added, “I wish we didn’t have to go home.”
He took her hand and squeezed. “But we have to, G. We have to go home.”
The Drop-Off
For the rest of the flight, they discussed past relationships. Quadir confessed to seeing Cherelle but explained why the relationship was over. He was twenty-five, no kids, had graduated from college with a bachelor’s in psychology, grew up in a fucked-up part of North Philly, and was poor until his pops started running street numbers and robbing banks. His dad opened a little store and, from there, he bought a few properties and basically paid his bills on time and established a solid line of credit.
Quadir was a lot like his father. He wanted to get paid and be legit one day. Quadir grew up without seeing a real Christmas. He had seen plenty of hard times. But his family made sure he got his education. Quadir heard the same speech repeatedly. “You gonna go to school, you hear me? You gonna go and you gonna learn. You know why? Because the white man don’t want you to.”
Over and over, that was all Quadir heard. If Black people didn’t go to school, they would always be left behind. That’s how it all started. His father told him the Black children picked cotton and worked the fields while the white children went to school. “Niggas didn’t know shit, and they don’t know shit today because they was brainwashed four hundred years ago, son.” His father would go on and on. “Remember that!”
But what his dad had preached to him all those years made him a very positive individual. The substance Quadir was filled with set him apart from other brothers who were out there, especially those who hadn’t even finished high school.
Quadir was an intellectual. He had made it through illegal means, through the drug game. After college and supposedly studying to be a dentist, he often wondered how he got caught up in the game. He never wanted this for himself. He’d had no idea he would turn out to be one of the largest drug dealers in the city, but once he got into the game, there was no turning back.
This was not his destination. He was only supposed to pay for school and become a dentist. Hard times hit at home; Pops was getting old with no retirement fund. The streets were calling, and Quadir answered. Hard times led him to this life, and even with the money, times were still hard with all the death, drug wars, and jealousy. It was a savage game and a vicious circle to be caught in.
The money came so easily, and his lifestyle became so large. To stop, even with the money he had saved, would not afford him the extravagant lifestyle he was accustomed to. But the more money he made, the more consequences he faced. For every action, there was a reaction. He never stopped to look at those consequences, just as the people who used drugs never thought about the consequences of what they were doing.
Quadir was relieved when their flight landed. Rasun was at the airport waiting for him by the baggage area. They exited the airport and went straight to the car. As they drove, Rasun and Quadir were busy talking about all the events that had taken place while he was out of town.
Gena simply wanted to go back to her house and make sure everything was still there. Her neighborhood had its fair share of no-good people, in particular the crackheads who would belittle themselves and do anything for a hit of the pipe. Then there were the drug pushers and lunatics with forties in one hand and guns in the other, trying to prove their manhood. The rest were either the elderly or the harmless, and they made up a very small percentage.
Qua interrupted her thoughts. “Gena, I’m gonna drop you off?”
She really didn’t want to be dropped off. She wanted to drop her things off and stay with him. There was a big difference.
When they pulled up on her block, everything looked the same. Trash was all over the place. The Vietnamese people were on the corner barbecuing on the sidewalk as usual. Little kids were playing in the street, and adults were sitting on their porches, being nosy and talking about everyone they could.
