A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles (2 page)

“I told you before that you have to be an example to others. I will not allow you to bring shame to this family. We worked long
and hard to build up our sterling reputation, and no one will ever get the satisfaction of talking bad about the James family—at least not while I’m alive.”

“But Ma, can’t you at least talk to Mrs. Tarsha and ask her questions about the group? They’re not singing about sex, drugs, or murder. They’re singing good music.”

My mother laughed as if I’d said something funny. “And what is good music?” Before I got a chance, she answered her own question. “Good music is music that uplifts God’s holy name. Good music is not music that leads to sinful engagement. If you sing about being in love, then sooner or later you’ll be singing about making love, and one day you’re going to be tempted to do it. R&B and hip-hop music ain’t nothing more than the devil’s way of getting God’s children to commit sin. They have hidden messages behind the lyrics, and you are not allowed to sing those songs while living under this roof, and if I
ever
find out that you are, then you will be out of here!”

“But, Ma …”

“Goodnight, Melissa. This discussion is over, and I suggest you stop while you’re ahead.”

And there you have it, folks: a typical one-on-one with my mother. It was like someone picked up a remote control and pressed the
MUTE
button every time I talked about pursuing my dreams. Music is my sole purpose in life. Not one day goes by without me writing a song or performing in front of the mirror behind closed doors. I know that one day I am going to be a superstar, so I will do anything, and I mean
anything
I need to do to make sure that happens.

After realizing that this conversation wasn’t going where I wanted it to, I walked into my bedroom, slammed the door, and called Jasmine to make sure she’d made it home safely. “What’s up, girl?” she answered. “Were your parents tripping about you coming home late again? I know they were,” she said, giggling.

“Yeah but I told her that our game went into overtime and blah, blah, blah. I told her what she needed to hear.”

“So when are you going to tell her that you joined the group, Melissa? Sooner or later you’re going to graduate from high school and then you can’t use the volleyball team as an alibi.”

I walked over, slightly opened the door, and peeked out because my mother was known to stick her ear in a couple of cracks around the house. “Girl, I tried to talk to her about the group tonight but she started to talk fucking crazy. Basically, she said if I sing R&B then I’m going to be tempted to fuck.” Jasmine burst out laughing so loud that I had to move the receiver from my ear to avoid a busted eardrum.

“Little does she know, huh,” she replied while still laughing. “She still thinks that her precious Melissa is a virgin. She would really like to know the business.”

Since I was an only child on top of being a preacher’s kid, I was sheltered and overprotected. And on top of that, it didn’t help that my body started developing early. I had a figure that was any parent’s nightmare—especially a pastor. People always ranted and raved over my beauty, which assured me that I was born to be a star. I’m 5′7″, with a smooth, light-skinned complexion and hazel eyes. My curves could put Pam Grier to shame. I have more hips, ass, and tits than the average bitch. My cinnamon-colored hair flowed like I was in a Revlon perm commercial. I was stunning—I knew it, my parents knew it, and everyone else did too.

As I said earlier, I’m no saint and I don’t want to be anyone’s savior. My parents were so worried about preventing me from fucking that they couldn’t see that I have been giving it up for over a year now. As a matter of fact, I lost my virginity in the church’s parking lot to Charles Manley, the boy who played drums in our youth choir. Come to think of it, I was giving Charles head for about three months before we actually had sex, and every single sexual episode took place somewhere on the church grounds.
And just in case you’re wondering, I don’t feel bad about it because the majority of the kids at church were fucking each other. For me, having sex in my father’s sanctuary was a way of balancing the stress that my parents threw in my lap from day to day. It was my way of rebelling against them for being my shadow’s shadow.

“I can’t wait to turn eighteen years old. Then they won’t have any say-so in my life. I tell you, when that day comes, we’re moving to Atlanta, Georgia, and striking it big, girl.”

“Atlanta,” Jasmine repeated. “What’s in Atlanta?”

“Everything is there, Jasmine. Haven’t you noticed that all the latest R&B singers are coming out of Atlanta? Usher, Monica, and 112 are all from Atlanta, and that’s where we need to be to get exposed.”

“Well, as soon as you turn eighteen, we’re moving to the A,” Jasmine said, giggling again.

“Mark that date on your calendar,” I advised her, knowing good and well that I was going to do it. Jasmine might think it was a joke, but I’m dead-ass serious about moving to Atlanta. I know there are plenty of opportunities out there waiting for me.

Jasmine and I then talked for a few minutes about concepts for a track that I had to write for the group. A couple of times I could have sworn I saw someone’s shadow outside my door, so I decided to end the call before I got caught. “Well, let me get off this phone before my mother comes in here and asks me who I’m talking to this late. I’ll see you in school tomorrow. Bye-bye.”

“Okay, girl, and don’t forget that we have practice tomorrow after school, so tell your mother something believable, okay? We need you in this group, and we’ve come too far for you to get caught now. Just make up a good lie.”

“I always do,” I reassured her before hanging up. And I damn sure always do!

For months I continued to juggle my two very separate worlds like a pro without my parents catching on. I came close to getting
caught once or twice but, overall I held my own. At times, I felt like I was suffering from multiple personality disorder. In the presence of my parents, I was the churchgoing teenager who sang her heart out each and every Sunday and moved the congregation like any adult who stood at the pulpit. Everyone would praise me and tell me how talented I was. “Your voice is a gift from God,” they would say. I made sure to hit very powerful notes from my diaphragm and put on an Oscar-worthy performance when singing, just to get the crowd moving. In my eyes, singing at church each Sunday was no different from the shows that I did throughout the week with the group. My main goal was to give the people what they wanted.

On the other hand, when my parents weren’t around, I transformed into a sassy member of the group Pretty in Pink. Every moment I could spare to sneak into the studio with the group, I was there. And whenever we had a show to do, I always managed to trick my parents into believing that I was doing something productive after school. Likewise, I found time to sneak around with my new boyfriend, Shawn, who I might add was two years older than I.

I had the game down pat, and no one played it quite like me. Jasmine’s mother, Mrs. Tarsha, was very cool and down-to-earth. Shit, she was young herself. She had Jasmine when she was only fourteen years old, so she was more in tune with our generation than the average parent. She understood how it felt to be young, in love, and in need. She didn’t mind when Jasmine, Tiffany, and I had company over to her house. She even allowed Jasmine’s boyfriend to sleep over. She said she knew we were fucking already, so it made no sense to try to stop us. Her way of dealing with the situation was to give us condoms and say, “Wrap it up and don’t make any babies like I did, because it will interrupt the flow of the group.” I thought she was the perfect mother, and I can’t stress enough how much I loved and admired her.

Mrs. Tarsha was the manager of Pretty in Pink and her husband, Mr. George, was our entertainment lawyer. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with. Mr. George spoiled Mrs. Tarsha rotten like she was his own child, which is understandable, considering that he was nearly sixty-five years old. She’d had about five plastic surgeries so far, drove three sports cars, and lived in a phat-ass crib. Jasmine was one lucky girl, I tell you.

We had just finished our fifth song on the album when my boo called and asked if I could stop over at his house because his roommate was gone for the night. From the moment he told me that we were going to be alone, I knew it was on. My pussy began to moisten the crotch of my panties from the thought of how good he made my body feel. “What a perfect way to end a perfect day,” I mumbled to myself as I grabbed my pocketbook and headed out the door. I just wrote and recorded a very hot song and now I’m going to get some dick; bing-bang, life is grand!

It was 8:00 p.m., which was perfect because I had two hours to spend with Shawn and head home without my parents suspecting a thing. On my way over, I sprayed on perfume, touched up my makeup, and fixed my hair. All of this would be in vain, because all Shawn was going to do was mess it up as usual. Still, I had to be cute as a button.

My boo was cute and sexy, and had a nice flow of dough coming in from hustling for his cousin, Rex, who owned the studio that we were recording in. He drove a Black Tahoe, and always gave me money whenever we hooked up, so it’s safe to say that I enjoyed hooking up with him as much as possible. The dick was good, the head was marvelous, but the best part of dating Shawn, or should I say Shawn-Da-Don, was that he was a dynamic producer. As a matter of fact, that’s how we met.

Mrs. Tarsha took us to Rex’s studio to listen to some instrumentals and he was down there making a very hot track for this
rap group called Black Out. She kept telling me how pretty Shawn thought I was and gave me the okay to go over and formally introduce myself. Then she made us exchange numbers and suggested that we go upstairs to the bedroom to talk more privately. To make a long story short, I fucked him not even an hour after that, and from then on, Shawn began to give the group free tracks, which saved Mrs. Tarsha a lot of money. The way I saw it, I was investing in my career.

Shawn knew the drill about me lying to my parents to spend time with him, so we never wasted time on foreplay when we hooked up. It was always a strong, hot physical chemistry that pulled our bodies together like magnets.

I knocked on the basement door and within seconds, my boo opened up wearing nothing but a pair of Polo boxer shorts. Damn, this brother looked like a scrumptious Snickers bar, and I was feeling mighty hungry.

“Hello, baby,” he greeted as he opened the door and looked me up and down like I was a buffet table and he didn’t know where to begin. “What’s up with you tonight?” Very much aware that I was pressed for time, I simply reached into my pocketbook, pulled out a red nylon cloth, and stuffed it directly into his mouth.

“That’s what’s up with me tonight,” I replied as I made my way over to the couch and began removing the rest of my clothes. I was racing the clock and wasn’t going to spend a minute engaging in small talk. For me, there was nothing to talk about.

Shawn pulled the cloth out of his mouth, looked at it, and saw that he was holding my thong. Being the freak that he is, he slowly rubbed it across his face and sniffed it.

“Oh, so you’re ready for this dick, huh? Well, bend that phat ass over and let me see that juicy pussy.” Before turning around and assuming the position, I stood up, stuck my tongue deeply into his mouth, and stole a big kiss. The texture and deep stroke of his tongue sent bolts of friction to my clitoris.

The way I passionately sucked his tongue only made me yearn to put other parts of him into my mouth, so I kneeled down and removed his boxers. His big cock stood up in front of my eyes as if it was standing to sing our national anthem. As a matter of fact, I was damn near saluting that shit in my mind; that’s how official it looked.
I pledge allegiance to this dick of the United Dick Suckers of America
.

I wasted no time sticking Shawn’s love stick deeply into the back of my throat as he began thrusting back and forth. As soon as he felt the first stroke, he grabbed a handful of my hair and let out a loud moan. The sound of his baritone voice going up two pitches like he was singing falsetto gave me confidence that I was doing a very good job.

“Damn, damn, shit, baby. You suck this dick so fucking good. Oh yeah, suck that shit, bitch.” The dirtier he talked to me, the more turned on I got. I began to switch up the flow of my head game while wrapping my lips deeper and deeper around his dick until the entire thing became shiny and hard. I then took his balls in my hands and massaged them while sucking his luscious pole.

“Wait, baby, stop, stop before I cum. Please don’t drain me, Melissa. I want some of that good, wet pussy.” A bitch knows she’s bad when her man has to beg her not to make him erupt. That right there shows me that I’m in total control when a dick is between these strong jaws.

“Do you really want me to stop?” I asked, looking straight into his eyes, with his dick still plunging to the back of my throat. Nothing turns a man on more than a pretty bitch sucking his dick while looking him dead in his eyes. It’s the thrill of that forbidden innocence being displayed in a sexual environment that gets him. And if you really want to add sparks to the room, let one teardrop fall down your cheek. Sounds crazy, huh? Try that shit and watch how fast that dick erupts.

“Melissa, stop! Baby, you’re about to make me cum; stop!”

“Okay, I’m going to be a good girl tonight. I’m not going to take it from you,” I arrogantly replied as I walked back to the couch, planted my face in the cushion, and bent over. You know, giving him the facedown, ass-up position.

“Come on and fuck me then, Shawn.” I knew that I was in charge, and I loved every second of it.

I didn’t get my last word out before he put one of his legs up on the couch, pulled me closer to him, and inserted every inch of his dick inside me. The first stab is always the most painful. I screamed because it felt like it went straight into my back.

My pussy was drenched to the point that my juices were running down my legs. Shawn tried his best to work me out, but the truth is, I was just too damn good and wet. I knew he was going to cum any minute now because his strokes slowed while his heavy breathing increased.