Frankie turned her head and blinked away the moisture trying to form in her eyes. “Please, that ignorant nigga ain’t never gonna get it right. Cowboy is gonna be who he is, and I ain’t really trying to lose no more sleep over that. Sometimes you gotta let a man be who he’s gonna be.”
Mo slit her eyes. “Frankie, is that man putting roots on you?”
“No, simple-minded ass, there’s nobody putting roots on me,” she was smiling, but her eyes were still sad. “I just understand that you can’t control a man’s actions. They’ve either gotta be true, or not, simple as that.”
Mo sat up and looked down at her friend. “Baby girl, that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told. Frankie, you’ve been my ace bitch for as long as I can remember, but ain’t none of this game rubbed off on you yet? This here,” she patted her crotch, “makes us Goddess amongst men, provided we know what to do with our gifts. Sweetie, God gave all of us pussies, but it’s only a select few that are blessed with that good Power-U.”
Frankie sucked her teeth. “Mo, you need to quit quoting them old ass Wu-Tang lines. I had the Method Man album too.”
“Nah, I don’t mean power-universal, I mean Power-U. That’s when you’re fucking a nigga so good that they ain’t got no choice but to surrender all power to you.”
“Your ass is warped, Mo,” Frankie laughed.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand Frankie because you don’t receive a regular dose of dick. When you got the good Power-U, all a nigga can say is ‘ugh,’ or ‘damn’ when he’s sliding in and out. When the pussy is so warm that he gotta take his dick out just to make sure the condom hasn’t accidentally slipped off. That, Frankie Five Fingers, is the good Power-U.”
“And you, my best friend, are one theory short of the nut house,” Frankie told her. “But seriously, I ain’t trying to drive myself crazy over no nigga and his antics.”
“Frankie you sound like a complete ass. You better not make that statement in front of nobody else but God. How is it all good when you’re being faithful to this dude, and he’s out doing him?”
“I didn’t say he was doing him,” Frankie corrected.
“You didn’t have to say it, have you forgotten how long we’ve known each other? Look, I know that’s your boo, but fuck Cowboy. Instead of chasing his thieving ass you need to go out and get you a real nigga.”
“Mo, you know Cowboy is one of the realest niggaz on the streets. The whole hood knows what’s up with him.”
“Again, you’re missing my point. Yeah, I know Cowboy is caked up and his gangsta is sho-nuff serious, but that don’t make him a real nigga. A real nigga recognizes a good thing when he has it.”
“Mo, Cowboy appreciates me. He just acts a fool sometimes.”
“Sometimes? Baby, I ain’t even gonna follow up with that one. More often than not that mutha fucka is showing his ass. Truth be told, I don’t even know why you fuck with him like that.”
“Because I love him,” Frankie defended. There was conviction in her tone, but her eyes said different.
“Frankie, you don’t love Cowboy, you love the idea of him. Every little girl wants to grow up and find the man that’s gonna keep her fly and well fucked, but it goes deeper than that. I ain’t gonna front like I wouldn’t mind having a nigga like him, but at what cost, my happiness?”
“I am happy,” she turned her head when she answered. When Mo turned Frankie back to face her, a lone tear rolled down her cheek.
“Bull shit,” Mo said softly. “Frankie, I haven’t seen you truly happy in five years and no matter how many niggaz you hook up with you can’t get that back.”
“Don’t go there with me, Mo,” Frankie jerked her head back. The sadness in her eyes was replaced by anger.
“I’d never, but I will say this. You can’t spend the rest of your life chasing ghosts.”
Frankie laughed. “I know, but what am I supposed to do when they start chasing me?”
THIRTEEN
The Doll House was jumping more than usual on that cold December night. It was Friday, payday for the squares, and the fifteenth of the month, which was payday for the hustlers. Though Christmas wouldn’t be there for at least another week and a half, people were getting into the spirit early. Strippers pranced around wearing next to nothing trying to get the patrons of the spot to part with their cash.
Against a wall, not far from where security guarded the door, two men posted up sipping cognac. The first of the two was about six-one and stocky. Though he was facing the stage where two girls were dancing, his eyes were on the bouncers. The second man was shorter, with skin the color of Mississippi Red Clay. A stocking cap covered his head, with neat cornrows tickling his shoulders. He kept shifting his weight from one leg to the other as if he couldn’t decide which was more comfortable.
“You ready for this?” Cos asked, noticing that Duce kept fidgeting.
“Man, why do you keep asking me that when you know I am? You’ve seen how I get down, Cos,” Duce reminded him.
“Yeah, I’ve seen it, but Cowboy and the others ain’t convinced just yet. They’re the ones you gotta prove yourself to, not me.”
“Whatever,” Duce said, sipping his drink. He had murdered a man for Cowboy and the bastard still wasn’t convinced that he was a rider.
In an attempt to calm his nerves, Duce let his eyes wonder to the stage in the center of the room. A six-foot Spanish chick with thighs that looked like they could turn coal to diamonds strutted onto the stage. Her body was decorated in colorful tattoos, the most noteworthy of which was a magazine article she had been featured in. It covered her entire right ass cheek and part of her thigh.
She was dressed in a leather corset that pushed her huge breasts up, making them look like two melons that she tried to smuggle in her bra top. Jade green eyes stared out from beneath a mass of red hair, drinking in the onlookers. Her stiletto heels clicked on the wooden stage as she executed a cross-legged strut from one end to the other. The leather whip she carried cracked viciously on the ground ensuring she had every one’s attention for her performance.
From the gym bag that sat on the edge of the stage, she produced a bottle of baby oil. She upturned the bottle letting the oil run down her neck and breasts. With slow, deliberate movements, she began massaging the oil into her skin, coating her in a slick glow. With oiled hands, she forced her double D breasts from the cups of the corset and began playing with the rings that were looped through her nipples. Never taking her eyes off the crowd, she gripped one of the rings between her teeth and began to tug at it. Cheers and whistles erupted from the horny men watching the show, followed by a shower of dollar bills.
She dropped down on all fours and started popping her ass to Rick Ross’ Hustling. Ripples went through the soft flesh every time her ass made contact with the ground. With her ass cocked in the air, you could see the faint red hairs of her bush peeking out through the thong string. She reached back and began teasing the lips of her pussy with her index and middle fingers. Her face was somewhere between pain and pleasure as she dipped the two fingers inside her, jacked them in and out.
The stripper’s thong, as well as the stage beneath her, were now soaked with baby oil and vaginal juices that seemed to trickle from her pussy like a slow leak. With a fluid motion, she yanked the thong off and tossed it into the crowd. A dude holding a Corona caught the thong and buried his face in it. Still toying with herself the stripper reached into the gym bag and pulled out a tube containing ping-pong balls. One by one, she licked the balls and began slipping them into her pussy. The crowd watched in amazement as the third ball disappeared into her vagina. The stripper flipped over on her back and spread her legs wide. Hiking her lower back off the ground with her hands, she began clapping her ass cheeks together in time with the beat. With a grunt, she began shooting the balls from her pussy into the air. By the time she had expelled the third ball, there was so much money on the stage that you could barely see the floor.