Real Wifeys: Get Money Page 3

  “Huh, baby. Get on this shit with me,” Make$ said, the coke already making his tongue sound thick in his mouth.

  I opened my eyes to look at him as he sucked the tip of his finger and then dipped it inside the world like it was a mini bowl of Fun Dip or some shit. He pressed the coated finger to my mouth.

  I didn’t like him getting high, and when he wasn’t on that powder I always talked to him about slowing down. But when he offered me some of his world I took it. He said getting high together while we fucked gave him something to look forward to if he was going to stop doing it all together.

  “I love the hell out of you, Make$,” I whispered to him before I unrolled my tongue and licked the coke from his finger. I made sure not to hit a lot of it. I wasn’t trying to get hooked, and the shit just made me feel nervous. I didn’t like it and I damn sure didn’t plan to love it.

  Make$ reached one hand down behind me and turned the knob. He lifted his head and looked at me. “It’s locked,” he said with a little smirk of his lips.

  “You know how your mama go,” I said, looking at him through lids heavy with wanting his dick inside of me.

  He laughed and nodded. “Good looking out, baby,” he said, before kissing my lips again.

  I turned in the small space between his body and the door, wiggling my ass against his hard dick as I tried to make room to unlock the door.

  “Man, fuck it,” he said, his lips pressed against my shoulder.

  The sound of his belt and pants dropping soon filled the air along with the noise of his crew partying it up in our living room. He brought one hand around to finger my wet and swollen clit in circles that made me cry out against the door. He backed away from me. I looked over my shoulder as he fell back against the wall of the hallway, his dick hard and hanging from his body. “Back that ass up on this dick, girl,” Make$ said, closing the diamond pendant.

  “Sit on the floor,” I told him, pulling off my thong and hitching my torn dress up around my hips. “I wanna ride that dick, baby.”

  Make$ dropped to the floor and I squatted to ease my pussy down onto his dick. He sucked away at my exposed titties as I worked my hips, bringing my clit against the base of his dick. His shit wasn’t itty-bitty but it wasn’t nowhere near an eleven-inch beast. But we were straight. Like I said. He sucked. I fucked. I always came faster when I got on top.

  “You know I had to come home and celebrate with my wifey,” Make$ said, leaning his head back against the wall.

  Needing the feel of his hot mouth and tongue on my nipples to push me over the edge to a nut, I guided his mouth right back to my jiggling breasts as I enjoyed the feel of my clit being stroked.

  “Celebrate what?” I finally asked, panting for breath as I felt the pressure building deep in my pussy.

  “We booked for shows all summer long and I got a meeting with Platinum Records in the morning,” he said, before grabbing my breasts and licking away at both nipples at once.

  I fucked him harder even as disappointment nipped at me.

  Not even free-falling through a high intensified by an explosive nut could erase that a major deal moving him over to Platinum Records meant him going back into the studio to work on his sophomore release. More money. More fame. More lonely nights . . . for me.

  2

  Two Months Later

  I felt like a celebrity my damn self as I walked inside Club Infinity in New York with my cousin Eve and our friend Michel right behind me. The three of us were looking, smelling, and feeling good. Eve and Michel were my friends and my distractions when Make$ was away. And most nights that we went out, we headed straight for Club Infinity, one of the hottest spots on the East Coast. Celebs rolled through like nothing. The biggest names hosted parties.

  The line was damn near around the corner, but when we walked straight up to the door it was on my own steam and not because my cousin Mali was working security, like the first time I brought Missy and Goldie there. Being the wifey of Make$ had its privileges, and we were led straight to a VIP booth upstairs, with the neon lights flashing against our bodies.

  Once we was set up with drinks, we settled back against the leather booth circling the area. It was hard not to have a ball at Club Infinity. I picked up the flute of champagne Michel handed me before I stood up on my spiked peep-toe platforms and walked over to the glass wall surrounding our VIP area. I moved my hips to the bass-driven music as I looked down at the crowd below us. Nothing but a good time. A damn good time.

  I wished Make$ was there with me and not in Miami doing yet another show. He hadn’t lied—the amount of shows he did was increasing. His summer was fully booked, and I overheard him and his manager saying how adding Goldie and the girls to the shows was the reason. I forced myself not to think about the show they were putting on. I’d never been to one of the shows, and I made sure not to watch any videos of them on the Internet. I had enough of my own tits and ass to see.

  I knew how some of the bitches working with Goldie rolled. Coko and Ming was two freaky lesbo bitches who stayed fucked up and fucking—especially for some money. Goldie didn’t know about they side-hustle but I did. They used to laugh about double-teaming some dude in bed and doing whatever it took to make him hit high notes like a woman.

  I hated that I pictured them and Make$ fucking.

  I felt anger and jealousy eat me up inside at the thought of that bullshit. I quizzed Make$ nonstop about his time on the road but what was he gonna say, “Yeah, I smash on the regular out on tour?” Please. It was bad enough when I had to worry about groupies and shit, but now my man took pussy with him on the road. He had plenty of money to burn, and that was right up Coko and Ming’s freaky alley. And to top all that drama? I hated that Goldie and them got to see my man perform. She got to travel with him and be up on the stage with him in those bright lights.

  Me? My ass been ordered to stay behind. Stay home. Hold him down while he worked and have the pussy ready when he got home to play.

  I stayed on Make$’s ass to catch him slipping on me with some other bitch. And I did whatever I had to. Snooping. Sniffing. Questioning. Fucking and sucking. Whatever I thought it took to not feel that crazy panic at the thought of him fucking around on me. Falling in love with another bitch. Leaving me.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep swallow of the champagne.

  My only consolation? Goldie was my eyes and ears on that motherfucka. So far so good.

  “Where ya man at now, Luscious?”

  I looked over at my cousin Eve as she walked up to stand beside me, looking tall and thin and cute with her short jet-black pixie cut. Her pink strapless dress was short and her gold heels were high.

  “Miami,” I told her, leaning over to say it into her ear over the blaring music.

  She raised a brow in question. “Ain’t no way I could have my man touring and whoring while I sit at home. Fuck that shit.”

  I gave her a wink and a smile that everything was cool. Nothing but a motherfucking lie.

  Eve was my cousin on my mother’s side, but she wasn’t the type of chick to share your business with. It wasn’t that she didn’t have my back; she just was immature as hell. We was the same age physically but definitely not mentally. Cool as we were, the chick couldn’t hold water, so I fed her with a long spoon and kept her from stirring too deep in my shit with her Maury-like dramatics. She was cool to party with but a definite no-go on anything serious.

  Humph. Eve always had some bum-beat niggas around her. She didn’t believe in boyfriends and kept plenty of “friends.” I never dipped and told her what to do with her life—even when she caught one of her “friends” sucking a dude’s dick.

  Because I didn’t tell her what to do with her heart and pussy . . . she wasn’t going to tell me what to do with mine.

  Michel stepped up on the other side of me in a black sequin romper and smelling heavily of some flowery perfume that I knew was sprayed everywhere. Wide-set decorated smoky eyes that any tanned Jersey shore chick wou
ld die for were locked on topless dancers doing sultry acrobatics from metal poles suspended from the ceilings.

  “Those fake titties defying gravity like a motherfucker,” I said, cutting my eyes up to Michel, who towered over my five-foot-seven-inch frame with damn near four more inches.

  “Yes, honey, and the show is even making me want to let my dick swing,” he said, his voice soft and effeminate—but Michel, aka Michael, was all man. He took drag to a whole ’nother level. We’d been friends since I moved into my first apartment, and he was the only person I let do my hair and makeup. Bootleg unlicensed stylist or not, Michel was self-taught and the shit . . . and he knew it.

  We all laughed as he squatted his long and shapely legs as if his dick would miraculously slip from the tape securing it in the crack of his ass and make a shadow on the floor. Apart from his family and his lovers, we were the only ones who knew he wasn’t one hundred percent woman. He tucked his dick. That’s his business.

  Michel was the perfect tranny for those brothas wanting to enjoy the tricks and treats of a man but wanting their lover deep undercover as a woman. He would’ve stumped the whole Maury audience on one of those “Man or Woman” shows. And the bitch had a gaydar that was out of this world.

  He already assured me that Make$ was straight. Yes, I asked.

  Michel was also good for a teaching a bitch how to suck a dick proper. Fuck that. Who knew a dick better than a man?

  Thanks to him and the afternoon we spent practicing with a dildo, I could make a nigga nut in a minute or less—one of the reasons I had Make$’s head gone from my brain game that first night. Swallow it. Gargle it. Ow!

  “Yo, Luscious, ain’t that your mother-in-law?” Eve asked, pointing over the rail toward the bar.

  I looked down where she pointed and talk about being disappointed. I felt that shit all in my guts. Seeing Peaches in her five shades of red fucked my night up. Seeing the bartender sit a bottle of Patrón in front of her really wrecked my shit. One, Peaches couldn’t handle her liquor and two, I knew that shit went right on Make$’s tab . . . and the night was still early.

  “Dayuuum. I see that bitch more than I see my own parents,” I said, drawing it out as I stomped my foot. No, I didn’t give a damn how childish that was.

  Michel and Eve laughed at the expression on my face.

  Wasn’t a damn thing funny about a future mother-in-law who was just fifteen years older than me but acted twenty years immature.

  I just thanked God Peaches and her crew didn’t spot me in the club, because she would’ve lamped in VIP with us all night and invited them pigeons flocking behind her. Nothing.

  “I guess the chick with her think she Nicki Minaj with that ratty-ass pink and blonde hairdo?” Eve asked.

  Michel’s brow lifted. “Got that quick weave looking like a lost weave,” he said, lifting a hand to smooth his own shoulder-length auburn lace-front wig.

  I couldn’t do or say shit but laugh.

  Deciding to ignore Peaches, I turned and grabbed the bottle from the bucket of ice to refill our glasses. And we had a ball . . . especially when “Moment for Life” came on. It had dropped more than a year ago but that was my theme song in my head.

  “I wish that I could have this moment for life . . . ” we sang together, dancing around the VIP area.

  As I closed my eyes, pressed one hand to my chest and raised the other to the ceiling, I thought about making it through my struggles . . .

  My parents cutting me off when I dropped out of college . . .

  Stripping to survive and pay my bills . . .

  Not stripping good enough to get off that dead-ass day shift . . .

  Struggling to afford to pay the rent on my shitty apartment . . .

  Eating Oodles of Noodles and Dollar Store canned goods damn near three times a day . . . every motherfucking day . . .

  Wearing the same jeans three times a week with different cheap-ass shirts because I put paying my bills before clothes shopping . . .

  All the faces I done shook my ass in . . . all the sweaty hands on my body . . . all the funky breath in my face, and all the laps I grinded on . . .

  The chance we took on our lives and our safety stripping in Goldie’s apartment right up until the night we were robbed at gunpoint . . .

  But all of that was behind me. I made it.

  “I wish that I could have this moment for life . . .”

  Now, at this moment in time in my life, things were so different . . . so much better . . . not everything but most things. I was happy for that. I said the lyrics harder and sang the chorus louder.

  Things were a little better between my parents and me.

  No more stripping.

  A better apartment and a better lifestyle.

  More clothes and shoes and things than I could ever dream about.

  Money to burn . . . and with Make$’s career blowing up, that meant even more money to burn.

  Being in love.

  And then maybe marriage and babies. My own family.

  Shit, my life was good. I was blessed. I was thankful for all the good and just praying for the end of the not-so-good.

  “Oh shit, Luscious, look. Oh my God! Look!” Eve screamed, gripping my arm like she had claws.

  I opened my eyes and looked where Eve pointed just in time to see Peaches get backhanded across the face by a heavyset chick who looked like she was in less of a mood for Peaches’ bullshit than me.

  “Let us pray, Lord Jesus,” Michel said, shaking his head. “This ain’t looking good.”

  I knew some dumb shit would pop off.

  I watched over the rim of my glass as the big girl yoked Peaches’ little petite ass up by her throat and shook her like a rag doll. That’s gotta hurt.

  Nicki Façade tried to jump on Big Girl’s back but just got shook off like a fly. Peaches’ other friend didn’t even fuck with it and disappeared into the crowd.

  “She better sit her ass down before the last of them tracks get snatched,” Michel said.

  The shit was funny but I knew he was serious as hell . . . and so was the big girl.

  “Luscious,” Eve said, her tone all disapproving and shit.

  “What?” I asked, making sure to sound extra blasé because I really didn’t give a fuck.

  There was a crowd starting to circle the drama.

  Big Girl drew back her arm and landed her fist dead in Peaches’ mouth. Blood squirted out like crazy while Peaches’ little body was lifted off her feet as she fell back into the crowd. Everybody in the circle leaned back with nasty frowns on their faces.

  I released a breath that was maxed out with aggravation. Like I said, I knew something was gonna pop off, and I should’ve hauled ass when Eve first pointed Peaches out to me. I pushed my flute into Eve’s hand and stepped out of my shoes to kick over at her too. I was down the stairs and through the crowd in no time. I had to make myself ignore my pretty feet sticking to God knows what on the tiled floor. Ugh!

  Much as Peaches pissed me off, I couldn’t stand there and watch Make$’s mama get her ass beat—no matter how much she probably deserved it. Or how badly I wished it was me delivering the smackdown.

  “Yo, Peaches, you all right?” I asked, squatting down beside where the crowd let her land on the floor. My stomach turned at the blood running down her chin.

  “What the fuck you think?” she snapped before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  I barely heard her over the music. Peaches’ scuffle had barely made a blip on the radar of Club Infinity. Except for those in the immediate area, the party was still going strong.

  Suddenly the neon lights flashing across Peaches’ face disappeared. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  “I ain’t scared of you, you Precious-looking bitch,” Peaches yelled over my shoulder, bloody spit landing against my skin as I helped her to her feet.

  “Oh, you want some more?” a deep voice that was more masculine than Michel’s asked.

&nbs
p; I felt like slapping Peaches my damn self. Instead I turned around and held my hands up. This big bitch does look like Precious for real, though, I thought, before I took a deep breath and swung, catching her off guard. Three quick punches. They landed between her eyes, sending her head back.

  “Damn right, Luscious,” Peaches yelled from behind me.

  I straight blocked her the fuck out and dashed around that big bitch to kick the back of her leg hard as hell before she got her shit together. She dropped to her knees and I pushed against her back with both my hands to knock her ass down the rest of the way.

  A big bitch like that, about two hundred and seventy pounds? Shit, I had to fight dirty. Fuck the dumb shit.

  Peaches started doing the dougie just as the house lights came on and the music faded away. Somebody had dropped the dime to management about the fight . . . and my ass was glad. Shee-it!!

  “Oh my God, she peed on herself,” someone hollered.

  I looked down at the floor and sure enough a puddle of pee spread across the floor from between the big girl’s thighs.

  My mouth fell open in shock as she jumped up to her feet and squared up in her own pee with her dukes up like she was really ready to straight whup my ass. Oh shit! My eyes got big as shit and I wished like hell I had Goldie’s taser, because I would shoot her one to her neck and drop her.

  I could tell she was embarrassed by the fists to her dome and wetting her damn self.

  I saw my damn studded shoe flying through the air. My heart ached as that motherfucker missed her and landed in the puddle. I looked up and Eve shrugged apologetically with just one shoe under her arm.

  Oh hell no. Who wanted a pissy Louboutin?

  She swung. I ducked.

  I can’t even lie: I was glad when security came rushing over and got between us before she could really put in work on my ass.

  I motioned to Michel and Eve that it was time to go as they “escorted” Precious, Peaches, and me right through the crowd and out the door to the street. Those waiting in line to get in was glad for the show. Hella embarrassing.