Her lips were obscenely full and curvaceous as was the rest of her body. They seemed to pout, smirk, and sneer all at the same time. If she licked her lips around any group of men it was a sure bet that somebody’s dick would get hard. That dick sucker pucker of hers was a perfect argument that fellatio was not an unnatural act and that at times nature even seemed to favor it. Her breasts were pornographically exaggerated. They burst through her shirts like over-ripe fruit ready to explode with nectar. She had an ass that was perfectly round and firm, but it too was exaggerated beyond all sane proportions like two basketballs squeezed together into a skirt that usually crept high up her chocolate thighs so that the bottom of each ass-cheek was visible as was the neatly manicured mons.
You could almost hear the wetness between her thighs as they swished together as if the rubbing of her own flesh against her sex kept her constantly aroused. Her lascivious curves, her movements, her voice, her attitude, even her scent was a fuck me, bitch-in-heat musk, thick with pheromones. She never wore a bra and so her tremendous mammaries bounced and swayed with her every movement. Even though she had hair that looked like it had never seen a comb, even with those worn down flip-flops she wore on her feet in the summer and the tacky white pumps she wore the rest of the time, even though her clothes were always a little shabby and she didn’t look quite clean enough, or neat enough, or proper enough for anyone to ever call their girlfriend, her very essence was sexual and you’d have had to be half-dead not to notice. She had the best pussy in town and she knew it.
Yolanda had been my babysitter when I was seven and eight years old. She was only twelve years old herself then and already far from innocent. All my homies had her as a baby-sitter and almost all of us had our first sexual experiences with her. I remember she used to sit me on her lap and pretend like I was her baby. I would suckle on her breasts, which at twelve were already 44DD and she would fondle my genitals and masturbate herself. I guess, looking back on it now, she had molested all of us. But we didn’t look at it that way and still don’t. If she had been a guy or something or if she had been old or unattractive then I might feel differently. As it was, I always looked forward to her visits. She made me feel special. In the hood fucking the babysitter was normal. It was just a part of growing up.
When I was ten I got my own key to the front door and Mom decided I no longer needed a babysitter. I didn’t see her again until I was twelve and puberty was kicking my ass. It was her that I fantasized about when I woke up with the sheets tacky with semen. I thought I was going crazy. All I could think about was tits and asses. I used to get into fights two or three times a day just to give my mind something else to think about. Then one day during the worst of my pubescent satyriasis I went to visit Yolanda. My mind felt like it was rending itself to ribbons with tension and frustration. I thought I was turning into some kind of sex fiend.
“Boy, you just becomin’ a man is all. It’s how your body gets prepared for you to make babies someday. Thinkin’ about sex all the time is just part of it. That’s normal. Fuckin’ is all men think about anyway. It’s just worse for you now because you ain’t really done it yet. I can take care of that for you though. Come on upstairs to my room.”
She led me by the hand up to her room. I wasn’t nervous at all when she undressed me. After all, it was Yolanda. She’d seen me naked dozens of times. When she touched me though, it felt better than I could ever remember it feeling.
“I’ll do it for you this time. But you’ve got to learn to do it for yourself. If you don’t learn how to jack-off you might just go crazy. All that cum might back up and clog your brain.”
She started stroking me slow and steady until I felt like I was going to explode. Then she bent down and took me in her mouth. Her lips and tongue worked me into a frenzy. She slid my manhood up between her breasts while she continued to suck on me and soon I was vigorously fucking her cleavage. That first orgasm felt as if I was having a seizure. I thought I had broken something. When the semen erupted from my organ I stared at it expecting to see blood. It felt like my brain was going to shoot right out my urethra. Yolanda rubbed my cum all over her nipples. She licked the last drops of semen from my spent organ and then lifted each breast up to her lips and licked them clean as well. I was transfixed as I watched her gobble up my seed. To this day I can’t get the image of her beautiful pillow-soft lips glistening with my semen or of her serpentine tongue lapping up my cum. I started going over her house everyday after that and she showed me every possible way to please and be pleased by a woman.
After I got out of Daniel Boone, Yolanda became like a surrogate mother for me since my own mother refused to speak to me after learning that I was working for Scratch. She cooked for me. She bought me clothes. She listened to my problems and offered advice. And she fucked my brains out.
As I rushed over to her house my mind was fixated on the idea of getting my head buffed by those big sexy lips and of course drenching her beautiful breasts in my cum again.
When she answered the door she could sense that something was wrong.
“Did you and your mom have another fight, baby?” she asked while reaching out to caress my face. Just the feel of her skin against mine instantly relaxed me.
“Yeah, but it’s cool. I ain’t trippin’”
“Uh huh. Look, this is me you talkin’ to, not one of those other dumb ass hoes you fuck around with. I know when my baby ain’t feelin’ good about something. You don’t need to front with me. I know you’s a hard nigga, but I know your weaknesses too. Now what is it? Is your moms givin’ you grief about workin’ for that white boy again?”
It wasn’t like Yolanda approved of me blastin’ fools for Scratch or anything. She was just a hell of a lot more open-minded about it than Moms was. She was willing to talk about it, giving genuine thought to my point of view, whereas Moms wouldn’t even talk about it. As long as I was involved with drug dealers she had nothing to say to me. Yolanda, so often the victim of harsh criticism herself, was less quick to judge and condemn. Still, that didn’t stop her from letting me know how she felt about things.
“You know that you and Huey are two of the brightest kids in this neighborhood. If ya’ll stopped fuckin’ around in the streets and took some kind of interest in school ya’ll could make something of yourselves out there. Ya’ll could be whatever ya’ll wanted to be and wouldn’t have to go around shootin’ and killin’ to do it. I always imagined that someday I’d pick up a magazine and read about you being some big-time politician or activist or something instead of another tool of the white man in the genocide of our people. I’m sorry to put it that way, but everyday I’m afraid that I’m going to look in the paper and see you in handcuffs or lyin’ dead in the streets. That would just break my heart, Malik.”
“Don’t worry, it wouldn’t make the papers anyway. I ain’t that important.”
“Nigga, why is you so damn cold? I used to change your diapers and rock you to sleep at night. I know you ain’t as hard as you front like you is. You just a little baby boy trying to imitate a man.”
“Fuck you, bitch! You don’t know shit about me. Don’t you know most fools would lose their lives for just suggesting that I’m anything less than a man? You know Malik, but you don’t know Snap and that’s me too. That’s who I am out in the street. Snap, the maddog psycho killer that everyone’s afraid of. That’s me. That’s who I am. So don’t get it twisted. ’Cause you don’t know if I might turn around and smoke your ass. You keep pissin’ me off I could put a cap in you right now.”