(RECAP)
"Fuck you, now tell me what's up with that shitty fuck boy Officer Johnson?"
"I guess he's got two main topflight bitches who rank way above you and Phoebe because he hooked them up, one got a bracelet and his number two, got a diamond ring Charity. So, I don't know, maybe he's got a list and you were naughty."
"What's so funny nigga?" I loved how she verbally went street when pissed.
"I'm just saying that I figured you might wanna start rolling that snowball down the hill, if you get my drift." Charity was quiet for a minute pondering the metaphorical handcuffs I'd just removed from her wrists.
"Restrictions?"
"If it gets back to me; you're going down with me and no Mandingo."
"You promised me Andre before I got involved in your shit."
"Okay you're right; so if you gotta burner phone I'll get right to work on delivering that dildo to you post haste Charity."
"I think I have one or two laying around; got my first because Jayson kept going through my iPhone after somebody snitched me out. How'd you know I had a burner phone?"
"Because you're a conniving bitch." I laughed as she mumbled something inaudible into the phone.
"Oh I wanna stick three fingers in your asshole and make you my puppet nigga." That was definitely not what I wanted to hear knowing she threatened me with a hand cupped over her mouth.
"Charity?"
"What?!"
"Can I have a titty pic?"
She hung up in my face as I continued laughing my ass off.
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MAXIMUM BADONKADONK Chapter 12
Featuring:
Charity Gilbert-38F-29-39 (19 years old)
Phoebe -34DD-26-38 (28 years old)
Tressie Fisher-44EE-44-48 (23years old)
Andre 13.5
Guest Star: Esther-46-38-62 1/2 (47 years old)
Carlie Kelly-36C-25-36 (20 years old)
Cameo: Shawnee Thompson a.k.a Ms. WTF?!! (34A-32-??)
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"Wow, I guess Charity's motivated."
Almost eight hours after I took the cuffs off my "partner in crime" was running wild online as evidenced by several social media pages. In short the lesson was reinforced that you never underestimate a scorned woman in any capacity. I myself had recently taken that class and was now getting a refresher course as an observer.
Charity Gilbert started contacting Officer Johnson's myriad hookups and side chicks sowing the seeds of dissension with a razor sharp edge. I was bearing witness to a real life butterfly effect I'd weaponized by forwarding pics of the luxury jewelry gifted to Carlie Kelly and Rashida Sikes, respectively. Memes disparaging black men started popping up across several pages along with negative testimonials about the good Officer Johnson.
"Oh shit, it's getting real out on these streets." One humiliating pic posted on one female's page revealed a pair of Officer Johnson's tighty whities with a skidmark up the middle of its interior. It got me wondering why some woman would take a pic of that let alone save it for prosperity.
Before I could finish that thought another pic appeared revealing the officers feet sticking out from under the covers of some young ladies bed. One sock had been removed revealing some gnarly looking fungus on his toenails. There was an accompanying second long clip of the woman who favored Phylicia Rashad removing the single black sock before looking at the camera disgusted.
"Damn bruh, you need to hit up that Dr. Scholl's my nigga." It was passive revenge but felt invigorating none the less as I found another interesting clip.
My laptop screen was completely filled up with some sister's big, bubbled butt in a pair of ill-fitting booty shorts with the now universal phrase "DIVEST" emblazoned across the ass in the OLD SPORT cheerleading font.
This was a clip that saw the weird Muppet looking woman with a head full of dreads pluck down glowering in front of the camera producing a large pair of scissors. This disturbed female presented the scissors to the camera leaning back suddenly producing a sneaker.
It was one of the BIG BALLER brand, a single shoe of a pair easily worth 495.00. This woman identified by the simple screen name of Funkadelic Poppy began methodically cutting the toe off the shoe.
"My only regret is that your foot isn't in this fucking shoe."
I was shocked at the authoritative sound of her voice as she cut through the shoe holding the severed piece up in front of the camera. I surfed around finding more disparaging comments posted to the officer's main page most focused on pics that contained his wife. I found a link left by some anonymous woman identified only by a shit emoji.
"Aw damn bruh; say it ain't so."
That link led to a homemade sex tape that seemed to be filmed without the officer's consent. This humongous black woman that looked like something akin to Jabba the Hut was basically engulfing Officer Johnson in an abomination of cowgirl styled sex as he screamed reaching several octaves.
"I'M CUMMING BIG MAMMA!! I'M CUMMING SO HARD FOR YOU!!" I could make out his head, and arm and one foot under the generous folds of flab draped across her mountainous body. Big Mamma had this incredulous look on her face mouthing "WTF" to the hidden camera.
"Nigga you just put it in." I gathered this female wanted the sex tape to prove that she'd actually slept with him.
I almost dialed up Charity to gloat but thought better of it. I decided to let her continue wrecking online havoc with that fucker's life. She was probably having the time of her life as I closed the page checking my emails. Luckily, I found a notification from my community college beckoning me downtown for a critical meet and greet for prospective film students.
I got cleaned up and hit an Uber downtown arriving on campus thirty minutes later. On my way to the campus, I checked my original page finding that my auntie Esther's dual video clips were racking up views and even more coin. The comments section was stuffed to the gills with encouragement and various offers including one from a very persistent sheik inviting Esther to Dubai.
"Tips open lips." I typed three words and received five hundred bucks on my cash app five minutes later. That caught me off guard, so I logged out instead of continuing the unintended catfishing episode.
The city college was a series of two buildings on opposite ends of one downtown block adjacent to the elevated track which snaked through the heart of the congested area which was pretty much wall to wall people during rush hour and most of the day.
I was headed to the main black six story building which was the site of the original campus before an uptick in student enrollment necessitated the purchasing of an additional building around the corner with other classes situated in some surrounding office buildings. My car took us past the newer building which had a large gathering of people loitering outside it even though the summer classes were sparse.
I found myself people watching noticing quite a few honeys strolling up the sidewalk. I couldn't help but wonder what each looked like in their birthday suits feeling inherently ashamed of those thoughts when one or two would catch me looking from the car window. There was the thought that my recent activities had corrupted me in some way.
Ever since I'd met Erica Walton that fateful evening, I'd been on a slippery slope that led right to the now infamous Ms. One, who I suppose was my mortal enemy at this point. I chaffed inside as I got out of the Uber feeling that she'd probably forgotten me. Nuking Vicky Stone was her parting shot which left me devastated.
Despite the emotion elicited by those memories, I fought to shove them to the back of my mind as I walked into the main building getting directions from the concierge desk just inside the door. My actual classes would be taking place around the corner in the newer building which was mostly earmarked for the performing arts and some administrative offices on the top floor, but today I was headed to a second floor classroom for an orientation of sorts.
My phone chimed in my pocket as I walked the moderately packed corridor to a set of elevators at the end of it. There was a garbage can with a rounded top between the lifts with some sort of flyer attached regarding the film workshop I was taking.
As I got closer, I noticed the floor leading up to these elevators was littered with these flyers. I snagged one of the lime green pieces of paper perusing it as a bell sounded signaling the arrival of the lift. I was unprepared for the rush of people going in opposite directions finding myself literally swept up into the nearest car. Getting used to the deluge of people surging in was somewhat disorienting. I got my phone out finding some emoji texts from Yoli.
"Checking out some classes downtown." I'd got into the habit of texting her as if we were actually talking. Yoli would only respond back with emojis and I respected that remembering her insistence on getting better before we met again.
Yoli responded with a thinking emoji, then followed up with kissy face and love emojis. I smiled to myself glancing up finding my gaze resting on this big chunky butt in some thin pinstriped pants with this ridiculous visible panty line. The owner was some doughy looking redhead with a buzzcut who noticed me looking and placed a binder over the middle part of her squarish, clunky backside.
"Sorry." I whispered.
Luckily, the elevator opened at that moment sweeping both of us into this narrow corridor with an inordinately high ceiling stuffed with students, visitors, and faculty. It felt like visiting an alien world of sorts leagues different from the completely black high school I'd graduated from a little over a year ago.
I hadn't intended to take a year off before pursuing higher education, but it just worked out that way other than the occasional attempt by my wayward father to get me to enlist in the military. I nudged and bumped my way through the corridor eventually getting inside this classroom after having to present an ID to some teacher's assistant.
"Oh hello, my name is Steven and I'll be one of the instructors running the workshop next month." He was some thin guy who reminded me of Richard Belzer with a duck dynasty beard.
The mood was casual as evidenced by his light blue denim shirt, skinny jeans, and canvas sneakers. I introduced myself briefly before finding a seat near the back of the classroom which had this oblong rectangular floorplan. My prospective peers were disparate, a melting pot of students mostly Caucasian with the rest an even spread, racially speaking.
Each desk had a cheap paper folder on it with a number of handouts inside. I filled out a form or two for the workshop and one elective one sheet which asked some multiple choice questions as part of a social exercise. One of the questions asked what fictional character I felt like. My answer later struck Steven amused and curious.
"James "Sonny" Crocket, from Miami Vice?" He questioned from the front of the class drawing attention to me along with some laughter and one or two jeers.
"Uhm, yeah I guess."
"Care to explain?" He put me on the spot in front of everyone making me a bit anxious, but I answered the only way I could.
