chronic. For years we’d also heard rumors that he was a pimp, about how he had a stable of hoes selling snatch for him even though he was still married to Antoine’s mother. No one believed it though, not really — shit that cool never happens in Portland.
His pad is dimly lit and smells like a concoction of Caribbean oils and Nag Champa. The Isley Brothers echo softly from a record player spinning in the corner, and above the fireplace — surrounded by framed photos of his kids — he’s got a Samurai sword on display. In the living room, right next to a big-screen TV, he’s got a colorful fish tank bubbling with exotic fish. This is an old-school cat indeed.
“Have a seat,” he beckons to a black leather couch. “What do you need?”
“A half,” CJ says.
“Alright, I can do it for fifteen hundred.”
“Fifteen hundred for a half-ounce?!” it comes shooting out of me.
“Oh man,” Sweet Tea sighs, running his hand through his perm. The frustration of dealing with these two amateur gray boys is visibly agonizing.
“That’s the ticket for half a POUND. If I’d known y’all was gonna interrupt my fuck session for a lousy half-ounce, I woulda never answered the door.”
“That’s our bad,” CJ says, all cool-like. “This is the first sack we ever copped, and we wanted to test the market first.”
“Alright, alright,” Sweet Tea says. “You cats seem solid, and you know my son, so I’ll hook you up today. But if you wanna keep fucking with me down the line, you’re gonna need to get your order up, dig?”
“We can dig it,” I say. “Don’t expect anything less.”
“Good,” he nods, satisfied. “Aye yo Tracy! Monique!” he yells down the hall toward the bedroom. Then comes the sound of two purring kittens.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Bring yo asses.”
I hear the pattering of footsteps on the carpet, and then I see them — two Black Beauties, selected to win. Built like prized Arabian mares, these bitches are rap video fare. Wearing nothing but see-through silk panties, they let their perky D-cups bounce freely like Amazonian foragers.
So, the rumors are true! Sweet Tea is a pimp alright, and a damn good one at that — what with animals like these in his stable — and in Portland, of all places!
“Take care of our guests,” Sweet Tea commands. “I’ll be right back,” before disappearing down the hall.
The girls have a seat on the couch between me and CJ. I’ve got a heat going something fierce, and I feel blood filling up my prick like a hypodermic needle.
“Whatever business y’all have sure must be important,” one of them says, “cause Sweet Tea don’t like to be interrupted while he’s screwin’.”
“Shit, neither do I,” the other one says. “Y’all left us horny as hell.”
“Girl!”
They giggle in that way whores do even though nothing funny’s been said.
“So is he,” CJ says, pointing at me. “He’s never even been laid.”
The bastard — he knows I’m self-conscious about that. I must be the last virgin left at Grant High School, and maybe in the entire state of Oregon. No way people will buy weed from a guy who’s never had no pussy.
Of course, as soon as CJ said this the whores start clawing at me like vultures on a carcass. Now, I’m engulfed by brown flesh reeking wonderfully of cocoa butter while I suckle at their teats like a baby piglet.
Suddenly, one of the whores pulls out my swollen unit, mounting me like a gaucho on her trusty steed. I feel the lips of her cunt gripping my sword through her panties. She begins gyrating back and forth, groaning with pleasure. No way this’ll last long. I fight as hard as I can, but it’s useless — she’s a powerful buck indeed. I unleash the goo, and it projectiles onto my chest and neck and a few drops splatter onto my cheek.
“That’s it?” she says.
CJ falls to the floor, laughing so hard he has to clutch his sides.
“Congrats, Johnny!” he wails between hyena cackles.
“That’ll be three hundred bucks,” she says.
“Wait, what?”
“Oh, you thought this pussy was free?” she snaps, waiving an acrylic nail in my face.
“But, I didn’t even put it in!” I protest.
“Run my motherfucking money, nigga!” she yells at the top her lungs.
Soon, all of us are shouting — CJ, the two naked whores, and me with my pants down, drenched in my own cum.
“Enough,” the baritone-deep voice brings the room to a screeching silence. Standing there is Sweet Tea, holding the biggest bag of weed I’ve ever seen.
“They were trying to shake me down, Sweet Tea.”
“Course they were. That’s what I trained ’em to do.” He snaps his fingers and the whores retire to the other room, cold mugging me as they leave.
“Get that bed warm for me,” he says, cupping a handful of ass-cheek with his massive palm as they walk by.
“You’ll have to excuse my bitches,” he says, plopping down on a chair in front of CJ and I. “In the jungle, it’s always the female lion that’s more ferocious than the male one, you feel what I’m saying?”
He takes out a digital scale and reaches into the black garbage bag filled to the brim with smelly buds.
“Let that be lesson number one,” he continues, filling up two sandwich bags and licking them shut. “All these distractions in life, but the only thing you need to keep your mind on is paper.”
He pulls out a wad of hundred-dollar bills as thick as a baseball and tosses it onto the table.
“Where I’m from, we call it ‘Go,’— G-O — and do you know why? Cause when you got it, it’s a green light. You ain’t got it? Shit, you’re stuck at the red, Jack.”
And so it went.
I’d been reluctant coming here today. After all, what chance did I really have of making a living in this fickle business? Sweet Tea just erased any doubt. He’s got it all: money, a mean pad, and bad hoes. But most important is what he doesn’t have – a job or a boss. If he can do it, then with any luck, I can too. Feels like my whole life has been a preview to this — the feature presentation. Hustler, drug dealer — who knows how far it’ll take me.
Sweet Tea lights up a Marley spliff and passes it around.
“I’m giving you twenty-eight grams, a half an ounce each. You pay for one and I’ll front you the other.”
I pick
