Joey Cloudy online

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Sterling’s Girls (final draft) 4625 words

“Sweet dreams are made of this who am I to disagree,

traveled the world and the seven seas,

some of them want use you. some of them want to be used by you.

some of them want to abuse you. some of them want to be abused.

Everybody’s looking for something.”

-Annie Lenox

Sterling, the dope dealer, lived in an apartment in the same complex as Mona and her fiancé, Nathan. He didn’t smoke rocks, and he didn’t deal out of this apartment; he lived there with his girlfriend Fatima and his best friend Dough Boy, a 2-year-old female Rottweiler. The two were inseparable if you saw Sterling outside of his apartment at the laundry mat, or around the corner at Brothers Pizzaria, or the quickie mart, Dough Boy was never far away.

It wasn’t unusual for Mona to see the big black dog sitting on the sidewalk waiting with a sphynx-like patience, a few feet from the front door of the store, tags clanking on her bejeweled leather collar and a sturdy, burnt sienna colored leather harness. Sterling never used choke chains to train his dogs. Dough Boy never wears a leash, only the harness, instantly obeying Sterling’s every command.

He rescued her from the city pound a year ago when she was only 4 months old. Mona had never owned a dog, but she decided that if she ever got one, it would be one like Dough Boy. The dog always perked up when she saw Mona, then waited for her to scratch behind her ears and say hello before trotting back over to Sterling’s side. He trusted Dough Boys’ instincts more than any human, so if she liked you, Sterling liked you.

Mona and Sterling met a few years before she moved in with Nathan, back when she was still just another lost suburban runaway turning tricks. On occasion, she’d sucked him off for rocks or a place to crash for the night. Mona never exchanged sex for cash; it was her one rule that she always kept since she ran away from home 10 years ago at age thirteen.

During the day, she would hang out at the public library and read. She loved Truman Capote, and the name she gave those she met while hustling was Holly Golightly from ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’; that’s where thirteen-year-old Mona learned the distinction between escorts who accepted gifts and whores who had sex for cash. Holly Golightly was not a prostitute, and Monika Elisabeth Whittaker was not a whore. That was important to her. She knew what other people thought about her game of semantics, and she didn’t care; it was a rationalization that allowed her to maintain her dignity.

Sterling only remembered her because she was so quiet and so milky-white, the only person he’d ever seen with paler skin was an albino. With her jet-black hair, she looked alien, almost otherworldly, always dressed in black. There was an almost otherworldly witchiness to her beauty. She had such a tiny mouth that it made his already comically large equipment look as if she were trying to force the fat end of a baseball bat into her mouth. And even though she never let him penetrate her, it was just too much for such a little girl. She used to put on a helluva little girl on girl show for him.

Sterling knew the kid wasn’t making her living on her back anymore, so he never spoke to her when he occasionally saw her; in the laundry room, at the quickie mart, or just stomping around the neighborhood with that fat little white boy who looked old enough to be her daddy. Fatima said that was her old man, him or that young brother with the dreads.

‘Sides, if she wanted something from him, he wasn’t hard to find. Once in a while, he would answer the buzzer to find his little Mona all in black standing at the door. She still wouldn’t let him tap that fat little ass of hers. But she didn’t mind giving him head, and he could tell she really liked hooking up with his girl while they smoked her out and had a nice private little party at his place.

Fatima Ọláyíwọlá was a tall, dark, slender woman with tiny breasts and an outrageously round well well-shaped ass. Her face was decorated with ritual scarification of the Yoruba, and she carried herself with a fearsome yet regal bearing. When she spoke, her voice was rich and deep, husky with the fading Yoruba accent of her Nigerian parents. She had large almond-shaped bright brown eyes and an easy, wide ivory smile. She was always first to laugh at her own terrible jokes and bad puns.

Mona admired their stylishness, how she and Sterling always wore their hair in intricately patterned cornrows with brightly colored beads on the ends of the braids. Both wore only black and silver Raiders colors when they left the apartment. Mona let her eyes caress the long lines of Fatima’s lithe, ebony-hued body; she was as exquisite as a sentient sculpture. There were no books visible in the living room, only a few magazines lay under the universal remote in a toppled stack on the corner of the black lacquered coffee table. Ebony, Jet, Cosmo, and the Low Ryder Magazine, she assumed, belonged to Sterling.

Unlike Nathan and hers, they kept their apartment immaculate; exquisitely decorated in a style that represented a syncretism of the African diaspora with an Asian aesthetic, high-end designer black lacquered end tables with gold and red lines giving the furniture a Japanese design, and a wide variety of potted plants filled the apartment. The furniture was all constructed of quality woods, were oak, maple, mahogany, walnut, ash, baboo, the tops of which were all covered with a variety of hand-carved wooden African sculptures. Expensive, custom-framed, stylized paintings of black faces hung on every wall. A row of framed black and white photographs of a half dozen African freedom fighters (Mona recognized Nelson and Winnie Mandela; she had no idea who Steve Biko, Oliver Tambo, or Salaises were) hung beneath a red, black, and green flag hung behind the designer black leather sofa flanked by lacquered end tables.

A humongous tank filled with all species of exotic tropical fish sat atop a mahogany credenza against the back wall. A cabinet of the neighboring wall held an eclectic collection of vinyl albums Sterling collected during his twenty years in the Marine Corps, from 1971 to the end of Vietnam, to 1991 to the end of the Gulf War. Now, at age forty-six, he was a decade older than Aaron or Fatima, and they were a decade older than she. Other than that he worked in communications; neither woman knew the exact nature of his military occupational specialty. He, like Aaron, rarely spoke of his time in the Marine Corps.

A large hand-carved Italian marble chess set (the game paused, white will be in check when they resume). The pieces, each representing a god of the Egyptian pantheon, the sphinx being the knight, dominated the center of the Galleria, purchased glass glass-topped mahogany coffee table. The carbon-colored recliner that matched the sofa sat angled in a far corner, only used by Dough Boy. Santana Abraxas was playing on the stereo, giving the lush environment a supernatural atmosphere. Other than Coke and sex, they had nothing in common, but she respected their taste in art. They liked each other. There was something inviting about Fatima’s demeanor that made her want to smile.

Sterling was out for the evening; she’d been around enough to know that he worked all night and rarely returned before sunrise. Once she realized that Fatima liked her, she made sure to only come over when he was working. Although she tried not to come here at all, and every time she did, she swore to herself that this was the last time she would let herself slip. But, things had been so god awful lately that she just needed to smoke a little ‘cain before she went back to the apartment. She’d told Nathan she was walking to the drugstore to get a six-pack of root beer, knowing that he wouldn’t walk with her. Hell, Nathan wouldn’t even walk her around the corner to the quickie mart, let alone a mile hike to the Walgreens drugstore for IBC root beer. Fatima let Mona in, bolting the door behind her out of habit.

The tiny white woman wrapped her arms around her and began to weep.

She held her in her arms, feeling her whole body wracked with her sobs.

It’s ok, Boo, let it all out, I got you, girl. She stood there holding her like a child, stroking her head and hair. She knew Mona didn’t like to talk, and so she waited for her little ‘Holly Golightly’ to gather her composure. After a minute or two of gut-wrenching crying, Mona stepped back, looked at Fatima red-eyed, and managed a weak smile.

I’m sorry, it’s just, everything’s been so, just too ya’ know …. Can I use your bathroom? I need to wash my face.

Fatima smiled, “Don’t apologize for being human. She placed a sisterly kiss on the younger girl’s forehead. You know where the bathroom is.

Mona disappeared into the WC for several minutes as Fatima stepped into the tiny kitchen to get their drinks. Mona finished washing her face returned to the living room where she took a seat on the sofa, before kicking off her boots.

Root beer?

Yeah, Thanks.

Mona replied as she slid her bare feet out of her steel-toed combat boots before shifting back in her seat on the sofa.

Fatima returned to the darkened living room with a six-pack of root beer for her guest and a single Purple Passion wine cooler for herself. She took a seat next to where Mona sat leaning back, sinking into the thick pillows on the plush black leather sofa so close her bare brown thighs that stretched out from beneath the oversized Dallas Cowboys football jersey pressed against Mona’s thicker, muscular white thighs. Fatima grinned as she put her arm around Mona’s and lay her head on her shoulder, looking at Mona’s face illuminated only by the strobing light of the big screen television.

A welcoming smile spread across her face as she let out a long sigh, thankful for some company this evening. She hated being alone, but Sterling did not like people at the apartment, especially when he wasn’t there, but Mona, fortunately, was one of the exceptions to his rules, and that was just because Dough Boy liked her. Mona looked at Fatima’s slender, long, dark, patinated bronzed legs that were exposed beneath the jersey she was wearing, certain that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. Mona was also certain that Fatima had been masturbating before she answered the door. Thin wisp of white smoke drifted into the flickering light of the television, and the musty air of the apartment was heavy with the scent of Primos and the pungent musk of Fatima’s wet sex.

What have you been up to? asked Mona, straining to make small talk, ignoring the muted all-girl strap-on dildo orgy on the big screen TV.

Absolutely nothing as usual. I been sitting around this apartment all night by myself, bored shitless getting high. I was rubbing one out watching one of Sterling’s old nasty movies when you knocked.

Mona smiled at her frankness; that’s what she adored about her, she was direct, simple, and guileless, one of those people you never had to guess where you stood with. If she liked you, she let you know, and if she didn’t like you, she let you know that too. She liked Mona. Fatima picked up the primo blunt she’d been smoking and took a few quick puffs to be sure it was still lit before she passed it to Mona. Fatima put a fresh rock into the bowl of a glass pipe and handed it to Mona.

You wanna kick it this evening, just the two of us?

Sure, Mona said as she slid out of her long black skirt, it sat in a crumpled heap at her feet over her steel-toed boots on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, in a minute. I’m really sore right now, so we gotta’ take it easy tonight. OK.

Sure, baby girl, I’ll take good care of you.

She laid the blunt in the amber colored glass ashtray, then tucked Mona’s boots and skirt under the mahogany glass-covered coffee table out of their way. She slowly slid her cheek along the inside of Mona’s thighs as she gently buried her face in her crotch, where she nestled the full length of her tongue in the black fur around her tender sex. She felt Mona tense up as she slid into her; she winced. Fatima looked up as Mona took a few puffs to get the rock hot, and then once the pale blue grey smoke filled the pipes’ chamber, she popped the clutch and sucked in the hit. The high engulfed her in a synthetic tsunami of erotic euphoria. Suddenly, she felt like the smartest, most articulate, charismatic person on the fucking planet. She held the hit in her lungs as long as she could as she passed the pipe back to Fatima before it cooled, and all the coke stuck to the walls of the pipe.

You must have had too much of a good thang.

Mona let out the hit slowly as she replied. Too many, for too long, and not too fucking good. Have you ever seen the movie ‘Memento’?

No.

It’s like the movie ‘Groundhog Day’ on bad acid.

Fatima laughed. You have had a bad day, then.

The absolute worst. Mona sighed. Is that a new piece? Mona inquired, pointing at a cubist painting on the far wall.

Yes, our first Jacob Lawrence (1917-2000) arrived two days ago. We’ve been hunting for a piece of this quality for years. He was one of the most famous painters of the Harlem Renaissance. The one next to it was painted by his wife, Gwendolyn Knight. Sterling always gets so excited whenever he gets a new piece at auction. It is so cute; he is just like a little boy with a Christmas present. Sadly, the artist passed away last June.

Mona knew better than to ask how much it cost; the fact that they purchased it at an auction told her everything she needed to know concerning its value. They talked about the artist or the painting’s provenance, but never did they ever mention price. Not in actual dollars, it was always “we got this for a steal.” Or “of course we paid too much, but Sterling collects this sculptor or that painter’s work.” Never any numbers. They used the same lexicon to discuss the cost of art as Nathan, the way all rich people talked about money.

He never asks me about the difficulty of balancing the books with these sorts of purchases. Fatima sighed with a smile. He just makes with that big goofy grin and says You’ll figure it out, Babe and hands me my laptop.

So, I get into Excel and I figure it out. Four years at university, BA, BS, CPA, and I keep my boyfriend’s books. They both laughed.

Mona liked listening to Fatima talk about art. The only other person she knew with black art on their walls was Aaron. She knew she was smart, but she had no idea that Fatima had a degree from a four-year university. Her host pointed to the laptop sitting on the end table behind her, open to multiple spreadsheets. Mona didn’t understand why Sterling lived in this neighborhood. He obviously had enough money to live anywhere he wanted. Considering the delicate nature concerning the source of their income, Mona figured it was wise not to pry.

A lit ole thang like you cannot be letting them tear you up inside like that. They say it’ll stretch a mile before it’ll tear an inch, but I think they got that shit backwards in your case Boo. You gots to learn to be more careful baby girl, them mutha fuckas’ will try an kill you with they dick if you let’em.

Fatima was absolutely stunning in the dimly lit room, and although she looked to be in her late teens, she was actually thirty-four. She had only been smoking for a few years, as long as she had been dating Sterling. Fatima only got high before sex so she wouldn’t become like those dope fiend whores out there selling their ass for a bump, wasting their lives sucking on a glass dick. But she did finger herself several times a day, and she always got high before sex, even with herself.

Fatima, still on her knees between Mona’s legs, took the hot pipe from her and quickly began to heat the shaft of the pipe with long, slow caress of the flame from her butane lighter that she had turned up so high that blue, red leaf of fire looked like a tiny flamethrower. She moved the fire slowly, but steadily, back and forth sensuously stroking the glass shaft with the lighter’s heat, being careful not to get it too hot and shatter the pipe. When she saw that the cocaine in the stem had gone gaseous, she put the fire over the huge rock that she had put in the bowl for Mona and inhaled. Gently pulling the flame gout down into the bowl as she kept the fire moving, always aware of the temperature of the pipe and the temperature of the coke as she fired up the rock.

Fatima took a long, deep power hit slowly into her mouth and lungs, then she passed the pipe to Mona before she slid her head under Mona’s oversized black Nirvana tee shirt and blew long and deep into her tender little pink pussy. The ‘cain burned at first, then it numbed her. Mona had no idea that you could get high like this; she could feel the hit as it was absorbed through the walls of her vagina. Suddenly, all that she wanted was to feel Fatima’s lips against her pussy again. Mona felt like she was in control of everything. She was more aroused than she had ever been in her life.

Mona took a hit off the pipe and passed it back down to the brown-skinned girl kneeling on the floor between her widespread legs. Fatima took another powerful hit and blew it into Mona’s pussy again. Then she felt Mona’s fingers grabbing at her head, tangled in her hair as Mona pulled her face into her pussy lips.

Ohmygod. Oh my god! Oh, My, Fucking, GOD!

Damn, you like that shit, don’t cha baby.

Shut up and eat my pussy. She commands her hostess in a husky moan. Lick my pussy. Lick…my…fuck!… uungh!…pussy! She gasped as she wrapped her legs around Fatima’s head, pulling her face as hard as she could into her crotch. Now put your fingers in me too.

Fatima pulled her face out of Mona’s bush and took the pipe from her guest. She took another hit, then passed the pipe to Mona before she worked her slender, perfectly manicured digits into Mona’s tiny pussy, and soon, she was fucking her easily with all four long brown fingers while she sucked softly on her fully engorged clit. Mona took a hit as she climaxed again almost immediately.

Oh, fuck me, that was amazing. Now let me do you.

All right, baby girl, but first let that pipe cool off for a few minutes.

Even in the darkened living room, illuminated only the iridescent light from the porno flickering over their faces, Fatima could see the look of disappointment in Mona’s eyes.

Hey, ain’t no need for pulling the long face, I got another one that’s already cooled off ready to go.

Mona smiled like a little kid at Fatima. She smiled back then she leaned forward and kissed her. They let their tongues play a bit before Fatima pulled away and picked up the other pipe that had been sitting in the ashtray on the coffee table, cooling. She got the chore in the pipes bowl, hot dropped another rock the size of a marble into the bowl, they both listened to the crystallized cocaine crackle and sizzle like a steak on a grill as it hit the heated copper chore in the bottom of the glass pipes bowl. Mona watched entranced by the ritual fire as the lighter caused exotic shadows to leap across their faces, and flame cast a supernatural glow consecrated on Fatima’s face as she worked with all the earnest concentration of a Santeria priestess on the procedure with just as much sacrosanct devotion.

The two women switched positions. Now, Mona was on her knees between Fatima’s slender thighs, and she pulled the jersey up enough that Mona could see her freshly shaved sex. Fatima took a little hit to get it going for Mona before she handed the pipe and lighter to her and leaned back on the sofa, still holding in the smoke. Mona got the pipe hot, took a big hit, holding as much of the smoke in her mouth as possible, and then leaned forward, opened Fatima’s dark, wet pussy lips up with her tongue, and blew the smoke up into her bald slit. Fatima looked at the girl between her legs and then looked at the porn it was interracial dildo dolls one of her favorites she started laughing and blew out the smoke in her lungs as she did the hit along with the charge that Mona had blown into her gave her a huge rush she could feel the blood rushing through her veins like molten lava her body convulsed with the orgasm and she lay there for a moment enjoying the rush the best one she had had all night.

Shit, do that again, girlfriend. Mona looked up at Fatima as the pleasure of getting high mixed with their lust for each other.

Ok, but I can’t stay too long.

I know yo’ old man thinks you are at the store.

Right.

They both broke up giggling like little girls at that one. Mona handed the pipe to Fatima. You’re better than me at getting it started. I just wind up wasting too much. Pass it to me after you get it hot, and I’ll blow you another charge.

Fatima began to do her dance of fire again on the glass pipe, and when it was hot and the coke ready to go, she took a hit, then passed the hot pipe to Mona again. Mona put the lighter over the bowl, the flame illuminated her face and glowed eerily in her eyes as the bump illuminated her imagination. Mona took the biggest hit she could inhale, passed the pipe up to Fatima, then she put her pale face back between the long brown thighs of her hostess and slowly exhaled into her chasm. Fatima’s orgasm was volcanic. She came so hard that she sprayed Mona’s face.

Can I use your phone?

You know where it is. Mona walked over to the bar between the dining room and the kitchen and called Aaron. This time, he answered the phone before the machine.

Hello.

Hey, you, what are you up to?

Nothing.

Can you pick me up at Nathan’s?

Now?

Yes, unless you’re busy.

Nah, I ain’t got nothing going on. I’ll be over in half an hour.

Ok bye. Click.

You checking in with yo’ old man?

No, he’s just a friend of mine from school, an artist that I model for sometimes.

Is he that pretty nigga’ with the dreads I see you rolling with all the time? Drives that old red Chevy pickup. Mona looked surprised. You can call it what chu wanna, but that is obviously yo man.

No, we’re just friends.

If that makes you feel better, then keep on telling yourself that, but can I ask you a serious question?

You can ask.

Have you ever dated a brotha’ before, not just fucked ‘em but been involved seriously with any black man before?

No, not really.

Well, let me tell you a little something something just between us girls. I used to see you bouncing in and outta here with many different white boys when you first moved over here, and I just want you to be careful because he is not like that old man you are with now.

He’s not a… gangster… he’s from the suburbs mostly, and he goes to college, he’s really kind of an artistic geek. He’s not like …?!? She trailed off, not completing the thought.

Go on then, say it, you have gone this far with it.

Aaron’s not like Sterling. He’s not… dangerous.

Ooooh, Baby girl! Now, can you just shut the fuck up. I may not look it, but I am over ten years older than you. So, please allow me to drop a little knowledge on you. I know black men… baby girl, I need you to understand, hurt that boy, dog him around him the way you do that punk mutha fucka’ that you live with and don’t let the smooth voice fool you, if you break his heart, he will kill you quick as O. J.

Thanks, I gotta’ use your toilet before I get going. Mona washed her face in the bathroom sink, thinking about what Fatima said as she pulled on her skirt, slipped into her boots, then headed for the door.

Here, don’t forget your root beer, baby girl, and remember what I told you. I don’t know that boy from Moses, but at least he is trying to do something with his life. Look around you. Most are not; most folks just are not. He seems like a decent man, just don’t go thinking that they grow on trees because they don’t. You understand what I am trying to say?

I think I understand. Mona wrapped her arms around Fatima again and hugged her for the second time tonight. Thanks again…for everything.

Fatima handed Mona a small plastic baggie, not much bigger than a book of matches, filled with ‘cain. They stood there, by the door, for a moment. Fatima put her hands on Mona’s shoulders, looked into her eyes before placing an almost sisterly kiss on her cheek.

G’night Boo.

Night.

Mona smiled, then turned and disappeared as she rounded the corner into the darkness of the parking lot.

Nathan didn’t turn around from the monitor when she let herself in. Mona put the sodas in the fridge before she ran up the stairs, stashed the baggie inside the box springs, and undressed quickly before she climbed into the shower. She looked at her legs as she dried herself with a plush burnt sienna terrycloth towel, deciding not to shave. She dug through the piles of clean and dirty clothes strewn across the bedroom floor until she found a cleaner, black tee-shirt and pair of jeans that didn’t smell too much to wear and pulled them on, before heading back downstairs. A few minutes later, Aaron knocked at the door. Mona hopped up from the couch at the sound of Aaron’s peculiar knock and ran to the front door.

I’m going out with Aaron. Mona shouted back over her shoulder at Nathanial as she walked out the door.

Nathanial Percival Robertson III sat in his swivel chair staring intensely down the pixilated corridor at the phalanx of the alien horde as it stupidly advanced on his position. The bald, overweight man in his late 20s appeared over a decade older than his biological age. He sits in the office chair in his boxers, scratching his red beard as he scrolls through his avatar’s weapons inventory: knives, pistols, shotgun, super shotgun, machine guns, Gatlin guns, nail guns, rail guns, plasma cannons, and the BFG 9000. He took a sip of brandy from his silver hip flask, then fired up the bud in the one-hitter bowl on the purple plastic water bong before finally selecting the BFG (Big Fucking Gun) 9000 and blasting another lumbering extraterrestrial bad ass to smithereens as he plays his 3,141,592,653 game of Doom on the aging MAC. A

-about the author JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completedA college. He lives to write in Dallas, TX.