Tales from da Hood Read Free

loves to fuck, but nobody can hit that g-spot like me.
    Nessa is running in and out of traffic.
Beep-beep-Beep
, cars are blowing their horns for her to get out of the street. The bitch is running like Flo Jo in the Summer Olympics. Then I realize she's heading toward the Slip at Shockoe. I don't know why but I keeprunning behind her. Since we aren't the type to hang in the Slip, I can't understand why Nessa is willing to die to get there. Maybe she knows a nigga there she can turn a quick trick with; whatever the reason, I ain't gonna stop chasing the bitch. Besides she's wearing the skirt I bought from Rainbow and the track of weave I got her ass from Ruby Red. If I have to snatch my shit off her ass, I will. The bitch is straight up disrespecting me; the more she runs the hotter I get.
    When we get to the front door of the club, the bouncer motions for us to go in. Nessa is about two people in front of me, but he knows we're together. He's a big fat mutherfucker from Nine Mile Road. He used to do security at the convenience store over there, so I just nod and he knows what time it is. You see, he's tricked with Nessa before and he knows she's my ho. I give his fat ass a half smile as I look at him. I remember Nessa telling me how that nigga wanted her to put her finger in his ass. She told me she was able to get two fingers in at one time. She said that big nigga moaned in sheer delight as she shoved them shits in his ass. He must've been used to taking it in the rear. He paid Nessa $35 for a finger fuck. Now he standing at the door, acting like he the mutherfucking man and shit. I got no respect for da nigga. Nigga lets us in for free, 'cause he ain't want his secret to get out.
    By the time I get in, Nessa is sitting at the bar. Her shoes are back on and her shirt tail is hanging out. I walk over to the bar and whisper in her ear, “It's okay, baby. Go fix yourself up.” Nessa stands and walks toward the back to the restroom. I scope the room, seeing wall-to-wall drug dealers, a couple college cats, and a bunch of low-life bums who ain't doing shit with their lives except throwing them away. You can tell who the niggas from the streets are because they never dance; they just flex their gear, represent their hood, and nod their heads to a few rap songs. The college niggas is up dancing around to house music, that shit that Baltimore gets down with, andthe slum-ass niggas, man, they whack asses is always on the dance floor at the Slip, dancing harder than the broads. Me, I just sit back and chill. I order me and Nessa a couple Alizés, and wait to see what's up.
    When she returns from the back, she doesn't even look like the same ho. Nessa has wrapped her shirt around her waist and tied that mutherfucker in a perfect bow. I don't know what the fuck she did to the collar; she must've tucked that mutherfucker under or something cause that shit was gone. She's combed her weave out and that shit is looking jive sexy. Her lips are shining. I guess she borrowed some lip gloss from one of the chicks in the bathroom, 'cause I don't remember seeing any in her Dolce & Gabanna bag.
    The Slip at Shockoe has an interesting set-up. There are tables and chairs for eating, a place in the back for taking pictures, and a small dance floor. There's a long glass mirror on the wall so people can look at themselves as they dance. I am sipping on my Alizé when suddenly I hear a nigga yelling, “Damn, man, that bitch is bad.” As I turn to look, Nessa has taken over the dance floor. She is jamming with all eyes on her. I notice a lot of chicks standing and watching, trying to take in a few slut moves. Nessa works that ass like something you've never seen before. Her skirt is well above her hips and her ass and thong show every time she bends over. The DJ is spinning “Rump Shaker,” the jam by Wreckx-N-Effect, and Nessa is making that songwriter proud. My shit gets hard just watching her move; Nessa's ass moves like waves in the ocean. I