Love and a Gangsta. Erick S Gray

       4

      Unless a man undertakes more

       than he possibly can.

       He will never do all he can…

       Omar

      An hour away from the city, I was too excited to even close my eyes and take a nap. I’d been up since five in the morning. The adrenaline flowing through me had me hyped. Being almost home in Queens had me feeling like a young boy on his way back home from camp.

      I glanced at America, and she looked happy. She caught me checking her out, smiled back at me and blew me a kiss. The CD playing was a new young singer named Bobby Valentino. I gently bobbed my head to the track, Tell Me.

      “What’re you looking at?” she smiled.

      “You,” I said.

      “Why…?”

      “You look good, baby,” I said.

      “I always look good.”

      “Right now you’re looking really good, indeed.”

      She smiled again.

      “I can’t wait to stretch my dick up in you,” I said placing my hand on her thigh and gently squeezing.

      “You best behave. I’m like a virgin again.”

      “Indeed, that’s the fuck I’m talking about.”

      My fingers moved up her smooth brown skin, and wanted to continue. The bulge in my sweats became visible again. America noticed. I smiled.

      “Tell him to behave, too.”

      America’s foot pressed against the accelerator, slightly she opened her legs allowing my hand to slide up her skirt. Two fingers penetrated her tight, wet pussy. My index and middle fingers went deeper into her. She moaned and maneuvered the car through traffic. Her juices flowed over my hand, and felt my dick about to rip through my clothing as I continued to finger fuck her.

      “Hmm, hmm, you better stop.”

      “I can’t wait.”

      “You gonna have me crash if you keep this up,” she said squirming around in her seat while trying to keep the Acura steady.

      “True indeed.” I said removing my hand and licked my fingers.

      “You nasty boy,” America smiled.

      “Just trying to get a little taste before I get to the real thing,” I chuckled.

      “You waited over fourteen hundred and sixty days, another forty minutes won’t hurt, hon.”

      “Tell that to my dick.”

      Hearing America chuckling made me even hornier. I wanted to grab her right here and end the drought but I glanced out the window and my attention was averted to NYC. We crossed the New York State Thruway Bridge and hit 87 south. Driving through the Bronx, the city seemed illuminated like a Christmas tree and looked alive. Lots of new cars were on the road. There were different models and makes of BMW’s Mercedes, Lexus and SUV’s. I used to push a black Lexus IS 300. I loved that car. I left it to my cousin, Greasy. I haven’t heard from him in two years.

      “I can’t believe I’m finally home, baby,” I said with a broad grin.

      Joanna woke up as we crossed the Triboro Bridge; she yawned and peered out the window.

      “Damn!” She said. “We home already…?”

      “We’re on the Grand Central, girl,” America said.

      “I know y’all muthafuckas were probably doing the nasty while my tired- ass was napping. I’m gonna roll down this freaking window. I ain’t trying to smell fish all the way back home,” she said.

      “Joanna shut up. You always got sump’n stupid to say,” America replied.

      “Um okay, and you expect me to believe that. Omar ain’t tryin’ to talk, he tryin’ to get busy,” she countered. I smiled.

      “See, he told on himself. Just don’t be making me a Godmother anytime too soon.”

      Minutes later, we were in Jamaica, Queens, driving down the Van Wyck Expressway. I noticed the new Air Train in between the expressway. America told me that it’s been up for two years and it took passengers from the Queens station, to JFK airport.

      It was a quarter past nine when we dropped Joanna off at her crib on Linden Blvd. It was a nice two level split home, with a backyard.

      “Damn, Joanna, you living like this now,” I said.

      “Baby, this is all me, all day,” she replied, getting out of the car.

      I was impressed. It was still in Jamaica, but it looked respectable. I knew she was still getting some of her pops drug money. Even though her pops, Montana had been locked up for a minute. Joanna dated only get-money niggas, who were able to help maintain her lavish lifestyle. America made sure Joanna got inside safely and then drove off.

      We drove to America’s new place. She had a two-bedroom apartment on Merrick Blvd, and 109th Avenue. She had a new car, a new place, and a nice paying job working for Verizon Wireless and clocking fourteen fifty an hour. She was back in school, and making noise with her music. I even heard she put out a demo CD with six tracks. It was doing okay in the streets.

      My baby definitely had stepped her game up. She knew some nigga with a studio in his basement and he looked out for her. But I knew sometimes a nigga ain’t trying to look out for a bitch unless he trying to get some. I trust my shorty, and was convinced it was only business.

      I had my seat reclined, and observed my past. We made our way down Linden Blvd, I tried to look for familiar faces and saw that they were putting up a lot of two family homes. It was still home to me and still my hood. We drove by some of my old spots and saw the bodega were still there.

      “You heard from Omega lately?” I asked.

      “Not in months.”

      I wanted to link up with him and find out what my crew been doing. Rahmel was concerned and wanted me to check on him. I had heard Omega was deep in the game. His name rang like bells and his rep was fierce around the way.

      I followed America into her fourth floor apartment and was impressed by its décor and style. It was spacious, with ceiling fan and large window looking out on the city. A Dell 50-inch HD Plasma TV sat near a window, speakers were in every corner of the room, top with Nakimichi surround sound made me feel like you were at a movie theater. Parquet floors shimmered, and a large Isfahan area rug at the foot of a swanky leather sofa. Next to the kitchen chairs of contemporary oak and round table with a bouquet of red roses adorned her dining room set.

      “Damn, baby, are you hustling?” I joked.

      “This is yours too, baby,” she said, walking up to me and wrapping