Wayward Youth: Lust in the Hood Ch. 01

Late 2003 found me hard up in North Highlands, a divey little burb on the fringes of Sacramento, CA. In many ways, I myself, was a lot like North Highlands at the time. Rough and misguided, with a ton of potential but had instead settled into a seemingly inescapable rut. Also prone to violence, scathing and unapologetic, and not just a little bit ghetto. Yes, North Highlands was all of those things, as was I.

My one redeeming quality is that I've always been the ambitious, hardworking sort, despite the fact that fortune seems to have it in for me. That said, many of the locals who wiled away their days skylarking about on the blocks between my apartment and the liquor store I frequented were surprised that I was able to find work so soon after moving to the area. Especially since I had managed to land what many of them considered a plumb job working the line at a local pizza joint known for having a great selection of ice cold suds and the King's game on a big screen TV for all to enjoy. You'll have to forgive me for not mentioning the name of the place but since every word of what I'm about to tell you is a true story, I want to keep things nice and legal. I might even modify the names a little so nobody thinks this story is about them. There, disclaimer made.

I had actually landed the job through a recent acquaintance named Adam who saw that like himself I was just another able young man down on my luck. He convinced the overbearing, shrewish owner of the place to give me a chance and I tried hard not to disappoint. The job paid fuck all, but I was glad for it and could certainly think of worse jobs which paid less. God knows, I'd held them before.

Once I began working at the pizza place Adam introduced me to another employee Tommy who happened to be one of his lifelong pals. Tommy and I seemed to hit it off from the jump and soon we were getting together after work to smoke blunts and pound cheap beer and slightly more expensive malt liquor on a regular basis.

We generally convened these sessions at Tommy's place. He was 19 or 20 to my 21 years and still lived at home with his family which consisted of his single father Ted, a paraplegic who had been bedridden since injuring himself in a diving accident many years before, and Ted's brother Dutch who cared for Ted seemingly from the comfort of a couch I can't recall seeing him away from in the many times I visited. I never did understand why they called him Dutch given the family's Portuguese heritage but figured it was just a nickname, perhaps one earned during his Airforce days of which he was intensely proud.

Also present were Tommy's older sister Donna, her husband Steve, and their infant daughter, and Tom's little bro Andy. Rounding out the roster was Tommy's younger sister Melanie, a precocious minx a few years Tommy's junior with all the most favorable features afforded by her Portuguese roots and the radiance of oncoming womanhood to boot. She seemed intent on making me blush (or getting me locked up, still not sure which really) by audaciously flirting with me to the point where Tommy had to dismiss her from our presence several times because "the vapors" were just too strong.

Add to this motley mix a ragtag assortment of North Highland's least notable who also seemed to be constantly hanging around the overpopulated four bedroom home and you'll have a good idea of the scene on a daily basis, indeed of many home life scenes of the North Highlands area.

One character you could count on being about most nights was Tommy's cousin DC.

LIke myself, DC was of Spanish descent and had the requisite machismo our people have long been both hailed and reviled for. He had a fiery personality and shifty eyes that gave you the impression that he was just waiting for some shit to jump off. I can't say whether DC was ever packing heat, although many in North Highlands did, but he carried himself in a way that made you wonder. We got along famously.

And like smoke follows fire, DC's conflagrant personality was usually closely trailed by his smoking hot girlfriend Kelly. This story is really about her.

Now I've read a ton of dirty stories but none my friend, however adept the author may be, have ever helped me to conjure up the image of a creature as drop dead gorgeous as Kelly was. Trust me when I tell you this girl was an angel. The light in her sapphire blue eyes even managed to illuminate the dismal room where Tommy, DC, myself, and the rest of our hoodrat friends congregated to swill cheap booze and post up.

Kelly had what I would describe as a heart shaped but still pixie like face, rosy and full of life with a cute button nose and wavy sandy blonde hair she usually kept in a messy bun. She had a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her deeply red lips swelled toward the middle, invitingly so. Her body was lean and smartly proportioned. In another life she could have been a model or better. Instead, she'd had the misfortune to be born amongst the dregs and that's undoubtedly how she came to find herself associated with the likes of us.

Now I'll admit that at the time my world was generally a haze of Olde English and chronic smoke, set to a Cypress Hill soundtrack, but even now in moments of much greater clarity I must admit that Kelly is still one of the most beautiful girls I've ever met in person. Even now as a renowned photographer who commonly does lingerie shoots for men's magazines. She just had that unidentifiable "it" factor that propels some to stardom.

No, I don't really think that the written word can really do justice to a girl like Kelly. Not even if I tell you that she had firm B cup titties that she generally displayed in a spaghetti strap tank top and a round pert little ass she regularly highlighted with booty shorts. Even then you'd have to see her to believe, and once you did you would be a faithful convert.

Her most enduring quality however was that somehow she had come through all the economic adversity unsullied by the harsh realities of poverty. She had a purity about her which while certainly not virginal was clean and refreshing. Perhaps it was her open, friendly nature and a zeal for life the rest of us lacked which set her apart. The striking dissimilarity in character between her and DC could well have been the basis for tales such as Beauty and The Beast. But hey, good girls like bad boys. It's a fact.

Another fact: despite DC's menacing presence I was hooked on Kelly. If I'm honest with myself, probably the biggest reason I hung out at Tommy's was because I knew she'd be around. When you live in the "High" you learn to lower your expectations, but for me at least, spending time around Kelly was one bright spot I could bank on.

Now, Kelly was young (legal but just so) and relatively innocent, but her outgoing friendly nature could be and often was misread by the horndogs around the area as being flirtatious. Still, that didn't stop me from perceiving that I was somehow different though. When we would chat I would feel like all of her attention was on me, and at those times I felt special. I felt important. Big of an idiot as I was though, I was careful not to overstep my bounds because I wanted our friendship to continue if not grow. Also, I genuinely liked DC and he seemed to trust me with her up to a point. After many months of continued friendship with both of them he even reached a point where he was comfortable leaving us alone together in a room. I appreciated the vote of confidence and really didn't want to be a shit friend, but my youthful hormones could not allow me to look past the fact that Kelly was an absolute knockout. I was constantly horny for her.

On many nights I would get a hug from her as I bid everyone at Tommy's a good evening. On those occasions, I would hurry home, and whip off my shirt inhaling it deeply for any residual hint of her body spray that often times remained. This would result in me hastily removing all of my clothes so that I could pleasure myself, often while rubbing the garment along my toned and tanned young bod. To be honest I'm no real looker but I do keep fit, and a lean, well defined frame paired with a cock that would be just as famous for its length or girth is always a recipe for winning favor with the ladies. Even though I was broke as a joke, I still never had any trouble getting laid. That could be due to the fact that my taste for women at the time was about on par with my taste, in beer which was not very partial or sophisticated. Wet and available could very well have summed up my preference for either.

But again, Kelly was different. She created a need within me that sex with another just could not quench. On those nights when I went home with her scent on my clothes, I didn't want to be with anyone else, even if I could've been. I wanted to be left to my thoughts of Kelly.

I would slowly, tantrically edge myself along, stroking my nearly 8 inch cock to thoughts of Kelly and I frolicking in a massive bed with chocolate colored silk sheets or some other luxuriant fantasy such as playing in the surf on a deserted Caribbean beach. It may seem a stretch to imagine a young thug such as I was having such well fleshed out and sophisticated fantasies, but hey, I'd seen plenty of rap videos up to that point. Plus I was the one who became a writer and photographer. I guess the conceptualization aspect of being an artist had always been inherent.

In the fantasies, I had won her away from DC through my smooth maneuvering and managed to set us up with a life that while well provisioned was the sort of lifestyle best left to daydreaming young punks. As my mind conjured this idyllic existence, my hand would intermittently squeeze at my glans between quick smooth strokes of my shaft as the pleasure mounted. I wouldn't come down from cloud nine until I felt my hot seed searing into my chin and chest or felt it sail over my head to splatter my headboard.

Mornings would often find me hungover with my rock hard twenty-nothing physique coated in dry cum. As soon as the guilt and shame began to creep in, I would think of Kelly once again and be able to face another day whipping out pizza pies while doing my best to eat on the the tightwad owner's dime. By doing so I could save my small pay for another night's worth of drinks at Tommy's in order to once again be close to Kelly.

I'm a glutton for punishment so I imagine I could've gone on like this, with an unrequited lust for a friend's woman, for some time. All the while doing nothing to remedy my desires other than enjoying my private fantasies by my lonesome. Mostly because I wanted to remain friends with both her and DC, but also because there is an unspoken rule in the hood that you don't mess with a friend's girl. It was bad for business, especially when there were other fish in the sea. Or chickens in the yard to be more culturally succinct. One random event however changed the whole trajectory of our relationship and of my life thereafter.

It happened on a sunny Wednesday morning in midsummer. I had the day off, and normally would pass such a lovely morning at my favorite strip joint frittering away the cash I had skimmed from the register during the busy Friday night shift I'd just worked.

To give you an idea of how often I was down at the Burning Desire (another clever pseudonym you can easily see past if you were there at the time), I knew all of the girls who regularly worked that shift by their government names. We got along like chicken and beer since, as you can imagine, any gal whose life has culminated in a Wednesday morning shift at the strip club is pretty down to earth. Most were well past their prime if they'd had one at all but I found their imperfections endearing. I shared a camaraderie and much playful flirting and teasing with these ladies whom I viewed as my scantily clad female counterparts in this crazy struggle called life.

On this particular day however I had slept in. Upon waking around one, I realized that I had most likely missed out on my chance to shoot the shit with one of my favorite girls who worked there. Her name on stage and off was Giselle. She didn't give a fuck what people thought and could handle her own if anybody got too close for comfort. She was 37 years old and had three kids by as many deadbeat dads yet her body remained compact with just a slight jiggle of well-proportioned maturity. It occurred to me that the condition of her figure probably had less to do with exercise and proper nutrition than it did with favorable genetics, but regardless she wore the years well.

Most Wednesdays would find me at Burning Desire with Giselle in my lap, my hard on slowly rising to full mast as it sat nestled in her ass crack. Often times we'd go Dutch on a pitcher of MGD and pass the time between her turns on stage lamenting our depressing lives to one another. She was the closest thing I had to a steady girlfriend at the time.

Seeing as how I'd missed her, I pulled on a pair of oversized Nike basketball shorts I would normally wear to augment our closeness but instead of fishing for my stash of one dollar bills, I opted for what was left of an eighth of primo dank I was holding and headed over to Tommy's to get the party started early.

I didn't have a car at the time which was probably for the best since the way I tended to drink things couldn't have ended well. This meant I would be walking the several blocks to Tom's place which was fine with me because it allowed me the time to roll up a joint and smoke almost half of it before I got to his house.

I arrived in a mellow mood and was greeted by Melanie who as usual was all smiles to see me. She ushered me inside quickly and led me past her Father and Uncle who were passed out in front of some spaghetti western on TBS.

For some reason she was holding my hand and almost dragging me down the hallway behind her back to Tom's room. She held her finger to her lips in the universal gesture for "shush" and as we approached the room I heard Tommy's boombox thumping out the song "Whistle While You Twerk" by the Ying Yang Twins. Melanie's green eyes glowed with mischief and I wondered exactly what was up her sleeve until I came in front of the doorway and beheld a sight which caused my jaw to come unhinged.

Kelly was in the center of the room with her back turned to us doing her white girl best to be one of the first in our neck of the woods to master the now ubiquitous dance move. I watched in utter delight as her hips gyrated in and out and nearly lost my shit when she got low and began to really grind it out. Her buttcheeks were fluttering rhythmically and the surprise and delight had piqued the curiosity of my favorite muscle which seemed intent on poking out of my shorts for a better view.

I looked away unable to believe the view presented to me. The incredulity must have been written on my face, but for Melanie's part she never saw it. Instead, her eyes were glued to the raging boner which was painfully obvious since my loose shorts provided no restraint whatsoever. A contented smirk played on her lips. She must have known that, like most guys, I also lusted after Kelly and had set me up so she could gawk at my junk. Well played young lady.

Before I could figure out a way to break off and relieve myself in the family's bathroom the song ended and Kelly had wheeled around in our direction. She giggled and blushed several shades of crimson knowing that I had caught her behaving in such a provocative fashion.

"Nice moves" I said with a small grin growing on my face.

"Oh shut up..." she replied with a tone and smile that said she had received and appreciated what I had indeed meant as an earnest compliment.

Then turning to Melanie she teased "What the hell Mel? Bringing dudes in here when I'm buttnaked working on my moves."

Melanie retorted with "First of all you're not buttnaked, you're wearing a super cute PJ set, that happens to be MINE by the way, and second it ain't "some dude" it's G (a moniker most people in the area called me by), he's like family."

"Oh yeah...like family huh? That's why you flirt with him constantly right? Cuz that's what you do with family?" Kelly chided her.

"Besides," Kelly continued "I don't want my "family" watching me twerk my ass. Okay?"

"But...since you're here G you can help me practice." she said before giving me a dazzling white smile that caught me as off guard as her suggestion did.

"Uh...help you practice...?" I managed in lieu of a more intelligent response.

"Yeah," she said "DC wants me to learn how to twerk for him but I don't know if I'm doing it right. I just want a guy's opinion."

I was about to tell her that she looked like she was on the right track, but all of a sudden my mind had caught up to what was unfolding and stopped me from saying something that might have seen me excluded from further input and participation in her proper instruction on the fine art of twerking one's ass or pussy-poppin as it was also known at the time. If you have now or have ever had a working penis you certainly realize what a grave mistake that might have been.

That said, I wish I would've told her so. To this day if I could go back and do things differently I would've since I'm certain it was this single incident which lead me down the slippery slope I was soon to cast myself down.

While I paused to consider my good fortune in being the one selected to rate Kelly's fantastic ass bouncing performance one of the girls had restarted the song and they were now about six feet in front of me as I sat on Tommy's couch watching them both undulate to the rhythms of the catchy hip hop tune.

Try as she might though Kelly was having a hard time upstaging Melanie who seemed to be a real natural. Even in her silky pajama pants Melanie's twin moons could be seen quaking, affecting the dance in a way that has only recently been bested by the likes of Miley Cyrus. As much as I tried to dodge her inappropriate flirtations, I had to admit that Melanie was certainly a hot little number who would be breaking hearts in a few years if she wasn't already. I really did consider Mel like a little sister though and soon began to feel guilty about checking her out. I switched my focus back to Kelly.

Kelly gave her all through another replay of the same song before sighing in exasperation as the song finally played itself out once again.

"This isn't working" Kelly moaned in a whiny tone that indicated she was peeved with her marginal abilities. "G come stand here and pretend you're DC." she instructed me.

I did as I was told, wondering why I had to pretend to be DC and couldn't just cameo as myself, but figured it didn't warrant debate. I did request a new song though as the other one had been considered "played out" for at least a year or more at that point and we'd already listened to it three times since I'd arrived. Melanie selected a new CD and put it into the boombox before taking her place alongside Kelly facing away from me. I moved in behind Kelly as she'd asked so I could monitor their progress at an unbelievably close range.

As an up-tempo but bluesy R&B song I couldn't place began to play Kelly stopped dead in her tracks and said "Not fair....I can't do it to this. It's too slow." God she even whined in an adorable way.

"Watch me" said Melanie rolling her eyes at Kelly "G, come here." she asked as I moved away from Kelly and moved behind Melanie unsure of what exactly they wanted me to do.

As soon as I scooted over behind Melanie she pasted her body to mine and was enthusiastically twerking into my crotch. I never had been one for nightclubs, but the way she was getting down to business made me wonder what I had been missing. Certainly any club going female must have at least a few years practice over the budding teen, yet this young lady twerked with a purpose. She alternated between standing with her back to me, leaning against my chest and dropping into the twerk's signature squat to do a mean number on my poor but totally complicit member.