Whos Loving You (14 page)

I
ncarceration was the absolute worst kind of motherfuckin’ confinement for men, not women. Women could cope better with their feelings and shit. They were born that way. For men, being locked up was an emotional fuck. In or out of jail, women enjoyed talking about their problems, but men didn’t give a fuck about hearing another nigga’s headaches, especially if he was bitching about being in love.

Man, shut the fuck up, handle yours, and keep your bitch-ass problems to yourself, or get your ass kicked or beat down…That was how men were raised, not by their parents but by niggas on the street. Niggas to me didn’t come in colors—black, white, or other. A nigga was any ig’nant motherfucker who couldn’t handle his women, his money, or his business. Like that bitch Benito. Hadn’t heard from his ass since I’d been put in this hellhole. I should’ve been his priority. Let me find out that punk went back to Lace, with his tail tucked between his nuts, and I’d kill him myself. Women weren’t good for much. The shit they called spending quality time was a waste of a man’s time.

Women liked cuddling. A real man didn’t give a damn about holding no bitch before or after he’d cum. Women looked forward to shopping; men hated that sissy-ass bullshit. I’d slash my wrist before tagging along with some bitch to the mall, holding her fuckin’ bags. So let me get bitches right. I was supposed to spend my money on them and be their fuckin’ gofer? No way.

What really pissed me off was the women who craved monogamy and voluntarily committed themselves to celibacy. I needed a ride-or-die bitch who was willing to turn tricks to fast-forward my mission of regaining my hundred-million-dollar status. Men just wanted to fuck as many bitches as possible or get paid to let another nigga fuck his bitches. Love the game or hate it, that was the real motherfuckin’ deal. I could find a straight-up whore or a woman who was one paycheck away from prostitution on every, I meant every, damn corner of the world.

The animalistic behavior niggas exhibited behind bars—they’d shank an Italian, poison a Muslim, put a hit out on a snitch, start territorial gang wars to demand respect, stick a dick in any hole, including another man’s asshole, to bust a nut—was fucking me up. I’d learned you never said what the fuck you wouldn’t do to survive until you’d been in compromising positions. I got tired of beating my shit two, three times a day. That was right. I did what I had to.

“Bend your punk ass over, and spread your motherfuckin’ ass,” I said to the new inmate.

My cell mate had gotten transferred to the hospital. He was lucky I didn’t have him killed for watching me jack off every morning before taking my piss. Turned out he’d made several enemies. So I’d chilled and let someone else do additional time for cutting his throat. My intent was to get out on bail. Receiving that letter from Summer was my ticket. The letter I wrote telling her what she had to do was going out in today’s mail.

I considered myself lucky to have a first timer in my cell. Fucking him first gave me less of a chance of contracting HIV or some other sexually transmitted disease. It didn’t make no fuckin’ sense that these trick-ass guards didn’t pass out condoms when they knew what we were doing and sometimes watched us shit packing. That punk-bitch guard just stood in the shadows outside my cell. I guessed he’d seen so many rapes while working here that he knew he’d have to place 98 percent of the inmates in solitary confinement to prevent us from fucking or getting fucked.

I swore I’d never do this, but a nigga was tired of waking up under a pitched tent, with his big-ass dick hard as cement. Gurgling up a chunk of spit, I let it drop dead on his asshole, then slid my dick all the way in. Imagining I was making love to Summer, I ignored him. He was yelling like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” I said, forcing the cum from my nuts. “Damn!” I didn’t want this homo shit to last any longer than it had to. I wasn’t gay, ’cause I’d never been penetrated.

At least there was a code of ethics that meant this kind of shit stayed inside the prison. Once I was free, never again would I fuck a man. I didn’t trust these niggas sucking my dick. I knew a few guys had, ha! yah!, gotten their shit bitten straight the fuck off alligator and snapping turtle style.

The second after I finished cuming, I was sick to my damn stomach and started throwing up all over his back. Pushing him into the wall, I became angry with that nigga, angry at myself, knowing I was straight. He’d seemed straight, too, until I’d taken his manhood. I should’ve had the willpower to suppress my sexual urges.

Lying on my top bunk, I clamped my hands behind my head, then stared at the ceiling. Felt like that cement motherfucker was closing in on me one inch at a time. I couldn’t breathe. Day started feeling like night, and night like day.

“I’ve got to get the fuck up outta here before I go fifty-one fifty,” I muttered. The outside world had no idea how many niggas committed suicide or homicide in this bitch. Not me. I refused to go out either way.

Instincts were straight weird. The phone number on that blue sticky I’d received, I’d never called. Obviously, it was some anonymous trick trying to play me…but who? Why? They probably thought that because I was confined, they had the upper hand. I’d find them after I got outta here, and if their intentions were ill, I’d kill them. With so much shit on my mind, I lay awake for hours, until the sun crept through the window and the lights came on.

Laughing, the eye-spy, bitch-ass guard who had watched me earlier stood outside my cell and said, “Number two-one-three-six-five-four, your balls, I mean your bail, has been posted.”

“Man, that shit ain’t funny. Stop fucking with me,” I said.
Punk ass!

Pulling out his handcuffs, he unlocked the door. “You know the routine. Get dressed, then put your hands behind your back,” he instructed.

Slipping into my jumpsuit, I realized I needed to wash my dick, but if he was telling the truth, I could have my dick, ass, and balls in a hot tub of water before sunset. I turned away from him, put my hands behind my back, then waited for him to secure the cuffs. After we stepped out, he locked the cell. I wanted to say bye to my cell mate but couldn’t look him in his eyes.
Fuck it.
What was done couldn’t be undone. Maybe when he got out, he’d learn to work for himself, instead of selling some other niggas crack.

I didn’t believe this guard. Something underhanded was about to go down. Constantly checking my surroundings, I put one foot in front of the other, heel to toe “Who bailed me out?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Relax. You’re going home. For a short while, until your hearing. So don’t fuck up, or you’ll be back in here before your hearing.” Shaking his head, the guard laughed. “Man, you should’ve saved that nut. Why you break down like that, Valentino man?”

It felt great. Not busting the nut. Hearing him call me by my name. I wasn’t no fucking number anymore? I was a free man? There wasn’t a reason to answer him, but I asked, “Why you didn’t stop me instead of watching?”

The guard answered, “The best advice I can give you is to make sure you get tested before fucking anybody else, male or female.”

What?
“I ain’t gay, man. You know something I don’t?” I asked, staring at him. “You saw me. I was in and out in less than five minutes.”

The guard shook his head. “Don’t matter. That shit happened for a reason. And too many black men leave here infected and pass that shit along to women. Get checked. If not for yourself, for her. The beautiful woman waiting out there for you.”

Beautiful.
I smiled, knowing that could only be one woman. The one I should’ve married. Processing out, I thought they were going to give me the clothes I was arrested in, but I ended up with a fresh pair of black slacks, new shoes, and a black button-down shirt that fit perfectly. I took the fastest shower ever before putting on my new clothes. After soaping up the crack of my ass and my private parts, I rinsed off, got dressed, signed my papers, and got the hell up out of there. I yelled, “Valentino James ain’t never coming back up in this bitch!”

As I exited the gate, my heart stopped. I stood still. What was happening to me? I was really outside. No bars. No handcuffs. Damn. Walking toward the parking lot, I saw a platinum Bentley first. Then I saw her red stilettos, her bare legs, the hem of a red, flaring dress, and her face, beaming brighter than the sun.

Summer ran to me, and I knew she was the one. Her hair danced in the wind. She jumped in my arms, wrapped her thighs around my waist. The rosy scent of her perfume made me forget for a moment where I was. What had I done to deserve Summer? That shit felt ridiculous. On the one hand, I was the happiest motherfucker. On the other, I was fucked up. Was that her car? Summer was the image of her sister, Sunny. Summer was simple sexy, and Sunny had been spicy sexy. But Sunny was dead, and her death wasn’t my fault. I had to make certain I didn’t get convicted of a crime I didn’t commit. Every nigga in prison was innocent if you let them tell their stories, but my shit was real. Sunny had pulled the trigger and put a bullet in her own head. Not me.

Spinning with my woman in my arms, I whispered, “Hey, baby.” Hugging Summer tight, I stood still. When she lowered her feet to the gravel, I stepped back, placing my hand on her stomach. “You don’t look pregnant at all, baby.”

“Well, I am. I’ll show you the ultrasound when we get home. Anthony, I love you so much.”

A tear fell from her eye. Softly, I kissed it away. “I love you, too, baby.”

“When I found out where they’d transferred you, we had to come and get you out.”

“We?” I asked, trying to see through the tinted windows of the Bentley.

“Yes, we. I brought Anthony with me.”

Raising my eyebrows, I sought confirmation. “My little man, Anthony?”

“Yeah, silly. Our son.”

“Let’s get the fu…I mean the hell away from here.” I had to work on not cursing so much. Summer always made me want to be a better man. There was something sweet, innocent, and pure about her intentions. I never had to wonder if she was plotting against me. We got in the car.

“Hey, Daddy,” Anthony said, tugging on my shoulder.

“Hey, man. What’s up? You good?” I replied.

Fuck.
I was so happy to get out, I’d forgotten my family’s pictures. But my son seriously looked dead-on like me. Wavy black hair, light complexion, light brown eyes.

“Yes, sir. I’m doing well,” Anthony answered cheerfully.

A puff of air exited my nostrils.
Damn
. My parents had raised me the same “yes, ma’am, no, sir” way. I was gonna do right by my seed. Summer shouldn’t have to raise him by herself. “Where’re we going?” I asked Summer.

Keeping her eyes on the highway, she answered, “Well, you have to stay close until your hearing, if you know what I mean, so we’re going to my place until the charges are dropped and the case is closed. Then we’re moving far away from Vegas. Somewhere in the south, where we can buy a bigger house, give birth to these two babies in my stomach, provide a safe environment for Anthony, go to church every Sunday, and settle down.”

Settle what? Buy what? Have who? Go where? What the hell?
What if those twins weren’t mine? Why didn’t she throw in a wedding date, too, while she was plotting a nigga’s life?

“They have to drop them. You’re no good to us being locked up, and nothing can bring my sister back,” she added.

Pointing, I said, “Take this exit by In-N-Out Burger. I need to stretch my legs for a moment. Shit is happening too damn fast.”

Summer disobeyed me. She bypassed the exit.

I stared at her, then yelled, “What? Are you deaf! Bitch, take this next exit!”

“Stop yelling at my mommy!” Anthony cried, covering his face.

Summer’s hands trembled. Her voice quivered. “I never take that exit. That’s where my dad and I pulled over the night Sunny was killed. I knew she was dead, because I felt like I’d been shot in the head, too. I wasn’t ignoring you. And please don’t you ever call me the B word again.”

A stream of tears rolled down her beautiful face. What the fuck was I doing? “Baby, I’m sorry. Keep going,” I said.

The next half hour I gazed out the window, happy that thanks to Summer, I was free. She was right. I shouldn’t have called her a bitch. Was that bitch threatening me on the under? I watched cars pass us on the highway. Summer exited in Henderson, drove into one of those new developments, and pressed the garage button. The garage door lifted. Inside the garage were a new luxury sports utility vehicle and a new, expensive four-door sedan. I walked into the house. Everything was so new and, I swear, so perfect that it looked like nobody lived there. Standing in the living room, I realized it wasn’t the money, the cars, the house, or Summer that excited me. To the core of my existence, till the day I’d die, Valentino James was a pimp. I couldn’t wait to hit the Strip tonight.
Maybe I should lay low for a while,
I thought.

“Anthony, go play in your room. Sweetheart, Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Anthony said, running upstairs.

I followed Summer upstairs to her bedroom. A king-sized bed, surrounded by dressers, mirrors, and nightstands, was decorated in all white.

“I’ma take a bath,” I said, closing the bathroom door. Taking off the clothes Summer had bought, I filled the tub, stepped in, and relaxed. A nigga was so glad to let his nuts float for an hour. Enjoying the sunshine on my face, I scrubbed my dick a million times over, or so it seemed, trying to get rid of any disease. That bitch-ass guard had me paranoid.

After drying off, I wrapped a fresh towel around my waist and joined Summer in the bed. She cuddled me from behind. Her breasts, her nipples, her stomach, and her pussy hairs felt amazing against my back, spine, and ass. Her thighs caressed mine. Her knees touched the back of mine. Her legs overlapped mine. Her toes fondled mine.

I’d done pretty good suppressing my sexual urges until Summer caressed my dick, then whispered in my ear, “Anthony Valentino James, make love to me,” before kissing my earlobe.

Instantly, my dick got hard as a fucking rocket. “You got a condom?” I asked, praying she did.