he was still fine and popular. He was a straight clown and made me laugh all the time. I knew how much he liked me but Mama was clocking my shit hard around boys, so that kept us apart a lot. One time I ran into him at one of our home games, and during the halftime show that crazy boy got behind me and took his dick out, then slid that shit under my skirt and between my naked pussy lips. He kept trying to push it up into me, but I wouldn't let him. I'd cock my ass back so the head of his dick slid straight across my clit, sending thick juices squirting out of me and wetting us both up. He slid his hands under my skirt and held me by the hips, then rocked me just like that. Rubbing the length of his dick against the slit between my legs. Like a hot dog sliding between a split bun. The cheerleaders were swinging, the band was bringing it hot, and his dick felt so good I screamed right along with the rest of the crowd, but my screams were for a better reason.
Vonnie touched my arm and I blinked real fast a few times. “Something's fittin’ to go down,” she said.
The spotlight was shining on the pit and somebody had passed Hurricane a mic. Every eye in the House was on him, but even across the room, I could tell that Hurricane's eyes were all over me.
“C'mere, you,” he said, pointing and motioning me over. He walked up the steps and sat on the raised stage that overlookedthe pit and the spotlight followed him. “Yeah you, Red. Bring your fine ass up here.”
The noise died down as I switched my ass down into the pit and came out at the bottom of the steps on the other side. I couldn't believe that out of all of the sistahs in the house Hurricane was taking notes on little old me, but the look on his face as he watched me moving toward him said it all.
He stood up to meet me and somebody put a bottle of Cristal in his hand. The DJ gave him some beats and he broke out in a little freestyle rap:
Off the top from day one, ma, I think ya gonna be real
Step up and talk to me yo, don't let the curiosity build
It's your kinda candy my tongue is dying to touch
Your body's hot enough to make a fuckin’ gangsta blush …
They raised the roof up off that mutha. You woulda thought Hurricane was the resurrected Tupac or somebody the way the crowd gave up the props. I thought his rap was all right. Nothing spectacular, just all right. But I ain't gonna lie. I gave it up for him too. After all, he was Big Money Cane, and he held all the cards and all the strings. Anything he did, even in a small way, was gonna be considered grand.
It was just me and him in the pit and I could feel all kinds of vibes in the air. “Damn baby,” he tucked the mic behind his back and whispered in my ear. “Look like you was getting your shit off out there, shawty.”
“Speak up!” somebody yelled from the crowd. “Say that shit out loud!”
The dawgs started barking. Every brother in the House wanted to be just like Hurricane, and most of the females were sipping haterade from their beer bottles and wishing they were wearing my shorts.
Hurricane started clowning under all that attention. He threw down a few more sexy lyrics directed at me, then told the DJ to stop the music as he grabbed my hand and made everybody shut up.
Every ear was perked.
“Aaight, y'all,” Hurricane hollered into the mic. “I'm looking for me a wifey tonight, but she gotta be all the way real. Y'all know females are always trying to fake a brother out. Ain't that right, dawgs? You slide into a Mercedes and climb out of a Hyundai!” His boys were clapping and dapping each other out like,
Hell yeah! That shit happened to me before!
“Or, or, or”—Hurricane hushed them—“you chilling with a Maine lobster and wake up next to some nasty tuna fish!”
Then he made a bold move by sticking his finger in my waistband. He stretched the front of my shorts toward him and took a quick peek at my naked mound.
“She's live,” he hollered, jumping up and down
Vonnie touched my arm and I blinked real fast a few times. “Something's fittin’ to go down,” she said.
The spotlight was shining on the pit and somebody had passed Hurricane a mic. Every eye in the House was on him, but even across the room, I could tell that Hurricane's eyes were all over me.
“C'mere, you,” he said, pointing and motioning me over. He walked up the steps and sat on the raised stage that overlookedthe pit and the spotlight followed him. “Yeah you, Red. Bring your fine ass up here.”
The noise died down as I switched my ass down into the pit and came out at the bottom of the steps on the other side. I couldn't believe that out of all of the sistahs in the house Hurricane was taking notes on little old me, but the look on his face as he watched me moving toward him said it all.
He stood up to meet me and somebody put a bottle of Cristal in his hand. The DJ gave him some beats and he broke out in a little freestyle rap:
Off the top from day one, ma, I think ya gonna be real
Step up and talk to me yo, don't let the curiosity build
It's your kinda candy my tongue is dying to touch
Your body's hot enough to make a fuckin’ gangsta blush …
They raised the roof up off that mutha. You woulda thought Hurricane was the resurrected Tupac or somebody the way the crowd gave up the props. I thought his rap was all right. Nothing spectacular, just all right. But I ain't gonna lie. I gave it up for him too. After all, he was Big Money Cane, and he held all the cards and all the strings. Anything he did, even in a small way, was gonna be considered grand.
It was just me and him in the pit and I could feel all kinds of vibes in the air. “Damn baby,” he tucked the mic behind his back and whispered in my ear. “Look like you was getting your shit off out there, shawty.”
“Speak up!” somebody yelled from the crowd. “Say that shit out loud!”
The dawgs started barking. Every brother in the House wanted to be just like Hurricane, and most of the females were sipping haterade from their beer bottles and wishing they were wearing my shorts.
Hurricane started clowning under all that attention. He threw down a few more sexy lyrics directed at me, then told the DJ to stop the music as he grabbed my hand and made everybody shut up.
Every ear was perked.
“Aaight, y'all,” Hurricane hollered into the mic. “I'm looking for me a wifey tonight, but she gotta be all the way real. Y'all know females are always trying to fake a brother out. Ain't that right, dawgs? You slide into a Mercedes and climb out of a Hyundai!” His boys were clapping and dapping each other out like,
Hell yeah! That shit happened to me before!
“Or, or, or”—Hurricane hushed them—“you chilling with a Maine lobster and wake up next to some nasty tuna fish!”
Then he made a bold move by sticking his finger in my waistband. He stretched the front of my shorts toward him and took a quick peek at my naked mound.
“She's live,” he hollered, jumping up and down
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