When I was younger, I got myself into a bit of trouble. It was all because of this fucking girl. I know, I know, how many times have you heard this story before? Except I’m serious. She was real trouble…and real fine. I mean fine like she brought tears to your eyes fine. Fine like everyone stopped to take a peak when she walked by fine. Her name was Japhet, but everyone called her Jaffy. She had long, silky, hair that hung down her back, creamy, honey-colored skin, dark piercing eyes, full lips that were made for sucking things, all kinds of things, and a body that she poured into her clothes day after day. The epitome of a well-developed hour glass figure with perfectly round tits and an ass that I still can’t get out of my head years later. Jaffy. Was she worth the trouble I got in? No. But damn, didn’t I say she was fine?
Oh, hi. I’m Tae. My real name is Teagan Elba Maria Jackson Gonzalez, don’t laugh. I’m half black and half Puerto-Rican. The only unique thing about me is my first name. The second name is my paternal grandmother’s, the third, “Maria,” is the name I was given at Communion. Jackson is my mother’s last name, Gonzalez is my father’s. I usually complained about my name, considering I swear it was 15 years before I could spell it, but that summer I was happy to be half spic. Even all the years of fighting with my parents because of my “dyke-tendencies” (my mother’s term) and my unwillingness to wear a dress after Communion was worth it that summer. Why? Because my heritage saved my life.
When I met Jaffy, I was 19. Old enough to know better? Yes. I’d actually just finished my first year at junior college. Some shit-hole college in Long Island, but it was the only place I could go that allowed me to stay on campus after I fucked up in high school. And my mother was not kidding when she said she wanted me out of Chelsea.
Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. I was born and bred in the housing projects on the west side of lower Manhattan, an area better known as Chelsea. If you visited today, you’d be amazed to see housing projects in such an upscale area…the joys of gentrification. Yes, I know a few big words, I said I just finished my first year of college didn’t I? See, when The Village became too small for wealthy whites, they simply moved 20 blocks north, invading our area. So, the run down area where I used to live now has Starbucks, quite a few gyms (lots of gay, white males in the area), and a bunch of quaint little restaurants. The residential buildings have been knocked down or converted into very expensive condos, and when I say very expensive I mean 2 million dollars for a studio. There are even billboards with half naked men selling underwear all over the place.
But the stores and the migrating population did not change much about the projects. The gang war that had been going on since before I was born was alive and well. My mother said when she was a kid, the gang war was just the blacks living in the Chelsea projects (my neighborhood) fighting with the Puerto-Ricans living in the projects in Fulton (on 17th Street, about 10 blocks south of where I live). When I left for college, it had graduated to the Chelsea Bloods fighting the Fulton Neta’s. I don’t know much about either gang, but this is primarily the reason my mother wanted me on a college campus and out of the neighborhood.
One thing I do know is that my father had moved up the ranks of the Fulton gang before he was sent to prison for twenty years. The drug charge was only his second felony, but unfortunately the drug possession coupled with a manslaughter charge was enough for twenty years. He and my mother had ended their relationship before this happened. I think I was 7 when he was sentenced and they’d ended their relationship when I was around 4. I’m their only kid, although not my father’s only kid. I’m not even sure how they found each other in the first place, a black girl from Chelsea messing with a Puerto Rican gang-banger from Fulton? It was the oddest thing and I could never get my mother to tell me the story…
But I digress. Didn’t I start this story to explain how Jaffy almost got me killed? So, back to that summer. I’m 19 and I’m not drop dead gorgeous, but I’m “cute.” That’s what the girls call me, cute. I inherited long, thick dark hair from my father, as well as my caramel colored skin. The gray-eyes and huge set of tits, however, are strictly from my mother’s side. I don’t know the history of my eyes, other than the fact that my mother has them as well. And when I was 15, I was already wearing a 38DD. My mother has a huge set of hooters as well. Much to my mother’s dismay, my breasts did not instill feminine behavior on my part. Not when I could find pretty decent sports bras that allowed me to live the life of a tomboy, a life I never really grew out of. By the time I was 19, because I was kinda tall (I’m 5’9″), I was a pretty accomplished basketball player. I dabbled in football and handball as well.
I trabzon escort hung with gang-bangers in my neighborhood, but I managed to stay out of serious trouble. Probably because most of the guys saw me as their little sister, which meant I had an interesting form of protection whether I wanted it or not. Oh, and the strict rules forbidding girls from joining the gangs in that area helped to keep my nose clean too.
I’m sorry to say that by the time I left for college, most of the boys I used to hang out with, including the one I lost my virginity to, had been killed or sent to prison. So it was pretty easy to get a job and stay put in my mother’s cramped, hot 2-bedroom project apartment when I returned that summer. Even if I wanted to go hang out, my mother kept a leash on me that choked the shit out of me. Not even the heat and the roaches encouraged my mother to relent and let me go hang out. Perhaps if I had listened to her, I wouldn’t be writing this story now.
My mother worked as a CNA, a Certified Nursing Assistant, which meant she made very little money. In fact, the junior college I attended almost didn’t cost us a dime considering our eligibility for financial aid. When I say we were poor, I’m not exaggerating. I had my share of mustard sandwiches when I was a kid. So before I arrived home for the summer, she told me I was getting a job and staying put. She said she was not busting her ass to help pay for school just for me to get in trouble in the hood. It was easy enough for her to keep an eye on me the first two months. But in July, they changed her shift. She had to leave home at 10pm and didn’t return until 8 the next morning. Plenty of time for me to get in trouble.
So, I pretty much picked up where I left off after the shift change. I hung around in front of the building across the street with guys I knew when I was a kid, the few that were left, turning a blind eye to their drug dealing. We played ball when the lights in the park worked, or we simply chilled, drinking beer and smoking weed. I was really one of the guys by now, so when a newbie, a new face in the gang that didn’t know me, tried to hit on me, they were always warned off. No one talked about me being gay, but they knew I wasn’t interested in dating any guys. And when the cops came around, the guys always shuttled me indoors and out of sight so I wouldn’t wind up on the cops’ little lists. You know, the lists they keep of the people they plan to harass when they need to fill their quotas or whatever.
It was on one of these nights, when I had consumed about 4 beers and a few joints, that a gaggle of girls walked by on their way to some club on 26th and 10th. That pretty much mandated that they walk right down our block. The entire group was quite attractive, filling out their tight outfits in a way that would make even a straight girl stare, but when my eyes met Jaffy’s dark, piercing gaze, and she licked those full lips in that sexy way she does…well, the trouble probably started right there. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, watching the group until they disappeared from sight. It was then one of my oldest friends, Andre, slapped me on the back, laughing, “Tae, stay away from that bitch if you know what’s good for you.”
Was I that obvious? “Oh please, I’m not interested in any of those skanks.”
But I was.
I didn’t see her again for awhile. A week, maybe two? And then, one night, I spent some time taking in my very casual, but if I don’t mind saying “cute,” appearance in the mirror. I had on a regular tee-shirt, some overpriced jeans (hey, working at Dunkin Donuts should have some perks) and a pair of overpriced sneakers. I had cut my hair short and it lay against my scalp nicely, curls here and there. I never wore any make-up or any crap like that, but my caramel colored face, with its full lips, slightly pudgy nose and delectable ass gray eyes, looked okay to me when it winked back at me in the mirror. I liked what I saw. It was almost midnight and Andre was having some kind of party in his one-bedroom apartment. I’m not sure how he even got an apartment in these projects considering the 10 year wait-list, but I don’t ask those kinds of questions. His mother was fucking some guy who worked in the rental office at one point in time…but again, I digress.
I think it was a birthday party for one of Andre’s many girlfriends, but as “one of the guys,” I didn’t have to bring a gift. Just showing up and hanging would be enough. The apartment was packed and the small air conditioner was not doing much to cool things off. There was tons of liquor and a variety of drugs, but I stuck with Heineken and weed. We were watching some porn movie on Andre’s huge projection television when I finally saw her. I wasn’t aware she even knew Andre or any of the people I hung out with, but since Andre had warned me, I should have known. Everyone knew everyone in this small community. trabzon escort bayan She was with her gaggle of female friends again, but this time I recognized one of them. Francine. She and I, unbeknownst to anyone else there probably, had spent some time together last summer. I don’t think she was into women, I think she was just into me. But I broke it off before I left for college last August. She saw me, smiled, and worked the room as she made her way over to me. Jaffy, although I didn’t know her name at the time, was only a few steps behind her.
“Tae, Tae, Tae. When did you get back?”
I smiled as she sidled up to me, rubbing her full breasts against my arm.
“Hey Fran. Been back for a few. What’s up?”
She took the question seriously, I’m not sure why, and started rambling on about her first semester in beauty school, her daughter’s upcoming 3rd birthday party (oh, did I forget to mention most of the women in my area had kids young) and some other nonsense. But I wasn’t paying attention. I was watching that honey colored, sexy-as-all-hell nymph make her way across the room toward me, flirting with every male in her path, leaving them all drooling. When she stood about a foot away from me, her perfume dancing in my nostrils, the crowd, the heat, the loud music, and the annoying voice in my ear all but disappeared.
“Hey Jaffy, this is Tae. I told you about her, remember?”
Jaffy held out her hand and I took it, shaking it, not sure what I was doing considering no one greeted each other formally around here. But the feel of her silky skin against my palm only fueled the fire.
That sultry voice washed over me and I swear I was done for, right then and there.
Lucky for me she seemed as enraptured by me as I was by her. She spent most of the next few hours by my side. We talked politics and religion, we compared acquaintances, we discussed the upcoming Presidential election…but what we really did was flirt quite a bit before deciding that we would be together, in someone’s bed, somewhere, before day break.
And so when I decided to leave around 4am, she just followed me from the party, down the stairs, across the street to my mother’s building, and into the elevator. We didn’t say a word to each other, but we both knew. And when I locked my mother’s apartment door behind us, all I said was “my mother will be home at 8,” and that was pretty much it.
She pushed me back against the front door, standing on tiptoe to press those full, delicious lips against mine. I pulled her against me, enjoying the feel of those womanly curves against me, the feel of our breasts mashed together, her hard nipples pressing into the softness of my flesh, the feel of her full hips grinding against me. She smelled heavenly, her body felt soft and full and sexy, and I knew I was going to have a really good time for the next few hours.
I disentangled myself from her, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward my tiny bedroom. I still had posters from my childhood on the walls and trophies from various sporting events tossed casually here and there. She didn’t care, she was already pulling the form fitting black tank she’d worn over her head, revealing a crimson bra that barely supported her generous breasts. I stepped forward, quickly undoing the clasps in the back, and then bending to take a straining nipple into my mouth. She sighed, her nails digging into my shoulders in a way that egged me on. I was quite accomplished at this by now and was pulling the jeans down from her waist, barely removing her nipple from between my lips. I don’t know what color panties she had on, they went with the jeans when I peeled them from her. For a moment, with what little light filtered through my bedroom window, I took in her feminine form, memorizing the smooth creamy skin and wondrous curves, before I pushed her back gently onto my twin sized bed.
I didn’t bother to undress. There was something sexy as hell about having a woman spread out on your bed, naked, mewling deliciously from your administrations, while you remained fully dressed. I don’t think it was a power thing, I think it was more a recognition that her pleasure was my top priority. I kissed her again, enjoying the taste of her sweet breath, the sound of her gasps as my hands roamed freely. My mouth followed the path of my hands, nipping at her shoulders, feasting on her taut nipples, my tongue diving into her navel playfully. She was squirming when I finally settled between her thighs, taking a second to inhale the delicious scent of her arousal before planting kisses along her feverish flesh. Her fingers made their way into the short curls on my head, her hands trying to guide me to her pleasure spot, but I ignored her, taking my time, waiting until she was almost begging before I truly sampled her. Her hips bucked off the bed, but I stayed with her, smelling, tasting, licking, escort trabzon enjoying the sounds of her tortured wails as I prevented her from going over. I could feel her trembling, her pearl no longer hiding beneath its hood, slick with arousal, and so hard I thought she might die from the exquisite feel of it all. Finally I sucked it into my mouth, lashing away at it with my tongue, grateful my mother wasn’t home to hear the high pitched squeal she let loose as she went over the edge.
She didn’t touch me at all that first night. It was enough for me to watch her go over again and again and again until she was so tired she begged me to let her sleep. At that point, when she was snoring lightly beside me, I opened my jeans, touched myself lightly and savored one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had. I was hooked from that night on.
She was in my bed the next three weeks straight. I barely went out anymore. I might hang with the guys for an hour or two, but when she showed up, that was it. Andre and his boys just shook their heads. I don’t think they were disgusted or anything like that. In fact, I wasn’t sure what the problem was. I learned the hard way.
She was smart and funny with a great sense of humor. When we weren’t fucking, I liked watching movies with her and challenging her ideas. I liked sitting across from her in cheap restaurants and listening to her hopes and dreams. Usually I wasn’t much for girls blabbing, but I could listen to the sound of her voice for hours on end without complaining. And in the bedroom, we spoke a language I doubt anyone else understood. There was some kind of magical connection between us. We moved together like we’d been made for each other. And I never tired of her ability to rev me up, keep me idling, and then allow me to just explode. Whether it was my hand, her hand or her mouth, that delectable mouth that did such wonderful things to my nether regions, the intensity of my orgasm was always the same. To this day I don’t think anyone turned me on the same way Jaffy did that summer. Well, that was until I met Vi, but that’s a different story.
It was toward the end of the third week of our romance when the problems started. First problem? Jaffy had money all of a sudden. A lot of money. I’m not sure where she got it, I didn’t ask (stupid me), but suddenly we were eating in better restaurants and she was buying me expensive gifts. She didn’t have a job, her parents were as broke as my mom, so she shouldn’t have been able to buy me anything really. She even encouraged me to quit my job (yeah, like she had to work hard to convince me) and actually gave me enough money to cover my expenses for the rest of the summer. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than she could afford and I should have known better.
Next problem? A much bigger one. She was getting high. Not weed high, which she and I smoked regularly, but some other kind of high. I started finding little baggies of white powder in her pockets and in her purse. I didn’t know if it was coke or smack, maybe both because sometimes she was up and wanted to fuck for hours and hours and hours and other times, she was just kinda mellow and wanted to talk, to pontificate, to bond, or simply sit and do nothing. But she started showing up every night like that, high as a fucking kite. And sometimes she would disappear into the bathroom three or four times while we were together. Yeah, I was a fucking idiot back then for sure.
Things didn’t start to go really sour until mid-August. That’s when Andre and a few of the other guys pulled me aside and tried to talk some sense into me.
“Tae, yo, you gotta stop seeing her. Word is she’s into some real shit.”
“What shit?” I asked, wondering if they were jealous.
Andre shook his head, “don’t matter, it’s not shit you want to be into. Kick her before it’s too late.”
You can’t get more obvious than a friend, a genuine friend, telling you to kick a girl to the curb (or more specifically out of your bed). But did I listen? Uh…didn’t I tell you she was fine and she was great in bed? Besides, I was leaving in two weeks to go back to college, what was the harm of seeing her until then?
When she didn’t show up at my mom’s apartment one night, perhaps I should have wondered why. I was disappointed, but I simply went to hang with my boys, making sure I was home well before my mother walked through the door at 8am. We were both sleeping, I’m assuming, when I felt someone yank the blankets from my bed and grab me by the hair, hauling me from the bed unceremoniously. I blinked a few times, trying to get past the marijuana haze, until my eyes focused. I didn’t recognize them. They were Latino, gang signs evident on their arms and faces, and they did not look happy.
“What the fuck?” Probably not the smartest words to leave my lips given the circumstances.
“Marcos wants to see you,” someone growled.
My blood froze. Marcos was one of the higher-ups in the Neta gang from Fulton. Certainly not someone you want to piss off or be dragged off to meet. And for them to break into my mother’s apartment, in broad daylight, for an impromptu meeting was not a good sign. I wasn’t in a gang, but I knew a little about gang culture. Like I said, this was not good.