Jessica's New Life

Making Plans

Trey had been talking for five minutes on the inadequacies of the US penal system, punctuated by brief nods and exclamations of approval from his two ex-con friends. "...it's changed - there was always dangers but now a man can get shanked in there for nothing. You got to be ready, always got to be alert. You rely on your wing-men to watch your back like you watch theirs." He nodded to Deon and Marquis. "That's why we still hanging - got a bond, saved each other's lives. Deon had a wife - she quit rather than wait five years. We all got records - if it wasn't for a good friend helping us out we'd be back on a corner dealing now."

"In theory..." hastily added Deon. Trey seemed to have forgotten for a moment that they'd been spinning the line to these sweet little white girls that they'd been locked up despite being innocent men.

"Err, yeah, in theory," Trey hastily corrected himself. "Being in there - you have to adapt. You need the ink, you need the attitude, you even need to start thinking like you was a criminal or something - not the wrongly-convicted innocent men that we all was."

He showed the girls his full-sleeve tattoo detailing 'thug life' and recognising the lost lives of old friends. He saw their eyes almost pop out of their heads. He looked over at Marquis and the big man undid his shirt and opened it to reveal a hard-muscled torso decorated with tattooed incidents from his past. Marquis never showed much emotion but he had a small smile as he noticed the white-bread students drinking in the sight. They couldn't get enough. One thing you could say for the pen was that if you kept your nose clean then you got plenty of time to work on your body. That last joint even had a pretty-good gym, folks paid good money for that shit outside. He casually flexed a pectoral and the tattooed image of himself appeared to grope a topless white pole-dancer. A pair of awesome hazel eyes both opened that little bit wider as Kathryn watched him.

"No chance to rehabilitate - 'cept we got lucky." Trey finally stopped talking and there was a pause.

Deon had already said his piece, also at some length, while the girls scribbled copious notes and now Kathryn turned to the man still re-buttoning his shirt. "Mr ... err ... Marquis, do you have something to say?"

"Same as them," grunted Marquis. Jessica smiled to herself - Marquis was a man gifted in many ways but speech-making wasn't one of them.

"Ummm ... thank you?" said Maddy. Her long blonde hair fell forward as she made some final notes and then closed her pad. "Thank all of you. This has been so great. To actually have people in the system with first-hand experience has been just wonderful for us."

Kathryn nodded emphatically but then realised what impression they might have given. "But of course we are terribly sorry that you were convicted when you were innocent. That was terrible - we wish you hadn't had to go through that just to help us out."

"It was almost worth it," said Deon smoothly, "but you only just caught us while we ARE in the system."

"What do you mean?" asked Kathryn.

He pulled up his right trouser leg. "Anklet came off this afternoon. As of tonight we are free men. Court order ends and our curfew's finally over. No need to get home by eight-thirty - first time in a LONG two months!"

Jessica raised her eye-brows. She might have known there was a reason these three had scheduled their last meeting for tonight.

Trey smiled and then suddenly looked crest-fallen. Jess noted that his acting skills weren't of the best - she waited for what she knew was coming.

"Problem is that now, what with being just released and looking like we do, what chance any of us got of a date. First night of freedom and we gonna spend it sat back at the crib just talking to each other, like always. Even with good friends that gets tired. That's why it's been so cool to talk to you lovely ladies - even if it has just been about the injustices loaded upon us. Shame it's all over really, would'a liked to get to know you all as people you know. After all you understand us three so well. But there, that's how it has to be."

Deon seemed to have had a great idea and suddenly interjected, "Unless, of course, now we finished up with business we could just chill awhile and hang." He smiled at Jessica - a woman who he knew VERY well already, at least in the biblical sense.

Jess prevented herself rolling her eyes at him. The guys were rough diamonds but she thought she'd got them figured out pretty well. They weren't psychos or rapists - they were just men. They wanted some attractive company for a while and, after all, why not? If the girls were happy about it then she'd no problem with it. They could meet a lot worse hiding behind an executive desk or a winning Hollywood smile.

The two students looked at each other - each hesitant to speak first.

"After all your help..." said Kathryn nervously.

"...and it might be fun." Maddy signalled her agreement.

The words were hardly out of her mouth before the wiry form of Trey had moved across the room to sit on the sofa next to her. Marquis picked his chair up and planted it next to Kathryn. Which left Jessica and Deon. She noted happily that he seemed quite satisfied with the arrangement. Why not - he was on a certainty!

They'd been chatting for about fifteen minutes when the front-door closed and Emily got home clutching two shopping bags. She took in the scene and smiled. "Hey guys, great to see you again". She glanced at the clock.

"Hey, babe, no need to watch that clock. Anklets came off today - that's why we having a party," said Trey.

Emily noticed Trey's arm casually hung on the top of the seat behind Maddy's blonde head. He did seem to like blondes - after all he'd hit on HER pretty hard both times she'd met him before. Ah well, in this life-style you had to learn to share. Something else got her attention though.

"Party ... I don't call it much of a party. No music, no beers, no..."

"Sobriety tests," reminded Deon.

"Anklets came off - so no mo' tests," rumbled the massive figure of Marquis. He didn't talk much but what he said was usually to the point.

"Shit, thass right, I can have a real drink for the first time in pushing six years!"

"Sorry, guys, I haven't got any in," said Jess. She did have a bottle of red but she didn't think that was quite what the occasion called for.

"We got something a bit better," giggled Emily - flagrantly ignoring the negative signals from her friend. "Jess has got a stash of the best weed you've ever tried."

"That would have to be VERY good weed," admitted Trey.

"I'll prove it," said Emily and rushed to get the stash.

Within five minutes there was a music channel on the TV, with a young Black artist singing of his love for his girl, and the guys had rolled a fat joint which was making its way round the table.

"Not the best, but near enough," said Trey and passed the joint on.

Maddy took a big drag and held the smoke. Jess was a bit surprised - but then reasoned it probably wasn't her first rodeo. God knows, even Jess herself had smoked a couple of times at college.

Marquis' giant paw took the joint and sampled. A silent nod to Jess signalled his appreciation.

He handed it on but Kathryn didn't take it. "I haven't, you know..."

"Don't do nuthin you don't wanna," came the deep bass of Marquis. Meanwhile, he was thinking what else she might not have done. He hoped to introduce her to a lot of new things in time. "But this is real mellow - just take the edge off."

The girl hesitantly took the joint and made the gentlest token draw on it. She held and waited - nothing much happened, the world certainly didn't end.

"Come on Kath," yelled Maddy, "don't let the party down. Take a real one."

This time Kathryn took a deep draw and she did feel the weed make its presence known. Emily and Maddy cheered her and Kath felt good as she passed the blunt on.

Deon approved the weed - which, as his two old friends knew, stood for something. Deon's professional life had pretty much centred around that particular product.

Emily took a huge drag and held the smoke deep, deep, in her lungs for long seconds before finally reluctantly expelling it.

"Hmmn, good girl," came from Marquis.

So, the joint finally reached Jessica. She wasn't happy. She was the students' placement supervisor and knew that Emily could get VERY crazy if given the chance. She didn't think she should encourage this. "I don't smoke," she said simply.

"You don't smoke but you got a huge stash of killer weed," laughed Trey as he waved at the bag on the table. "Come on, Jess baby, be friendly."

The girls gaped at Trey calling her 'Jess baby' but she'd had enough of being 'respectable' and 'responsible', that was the old her and she was never going back there. Instead, she decided to go with the flow and took a hit herself.

Everyone cheered until Emily broke the mood, "Just thought - I only got two pizzas. They won't last long now," she giggled.

"Shit," said Trey, "I know what I want - I wanna go dancing. Go to a club - make a night of it. Been a long time - even longer since we went out with such fine girls."

"I don't know..." said Kathryn, it was obvious she and Maddy were nervous about being seen clubbing with three Black ex-cons.

"Don't worry, sweetness," said Marquis taking the girl's hand, "no-one gonna recognise ya where we going."

Compliments of the House

Where they were going was a club in the south of the city, which basically meant that it was a Black club, one not too unlike the one where Jessica had started her wild ride. The first thing she noticed was the sign stating that it opened six days a week, with Wednesdays private. That caught her attention.

"Who owns the club?" she asked.

"Man called Antwan," said Trey, "used to know him before I went away."

Inside the club Emily and the girls' eyes were like saucers. They'd never been anywhere where THEY were so obviously the minority. There were African-Americans everywhere. The only two white faces they saw were women behind the bar. Each contemplated turning round and getting the hell out. But that would disrespect the men they were there with and it would show cowardice. They were modern women and this wasn't 1950 for God's sake.

At the bar they quickly got the attention of one of the women - well they did rather stand out in this clientele. Trey ordered a drink for each of them and then told the girls to go ahead and dance. He saw how jittery they looked and figured the more they danced and the less they thought the happier they'd be.

Marquis led the four White girls out into a less densely-packed part of the floor and they rather self-consciously started dancing while the huge man glared at any young buck who tried to cut out one of his herd. Some random-assed Black stranger hitting on them now could ruin everything.

The woman behind the bar was in her early 40s, well put together, and as she reached across to grasp Trey's sleeve he noticed a 'T' tattooed on her forearm. "Your girls look fucking terrified," she said into his ear.

"Sensory overload," Trey admitted, "they never been anywhere like this."

"Same with a lot of our first-time white girls," said the woman, "should I help them out a bit - on the house?"

Trey looked at her cautiously. "We don't need no help - none of that date-rape shit."

"No, no, no," she rushed to explain, "this is just a little something for cases like this. It won't knock them out or make them do anything they don't want to do. It just takes away the nerves and removes some self-consciousness, that's all. Helps them really express their true selves out on the floor. Next time they come they won't need it but the first time is hard for a young White girl."

Trey was sure she spoke from experience and he looked to Deon but his friend just shrugged.

There was a commotion to his left and four white girls, all about 20 years old, suddenly rushed to the bar.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..." said a sweet little redhead with the pale skin of a descendant of Irish immigrants.

"Shut up, Caitlin," hissed her friend, "you're drawing attention. Let's have a drink and then get out."

"Eeeeeekk," said a third girl just behind her friends.

"What's up Tammi?" said the fourth and then stopped as she too felt a large hand cup her tight white buttock through her skimpy clubbing outfit. Megan joined Tammi in turning round only to see laughing Black faces all round them.

Deon took pity and went and stood in front of them. "These are my guests - don't disrespect them."

"No foul," said one of the men, "we just figured they was here to fuck like most of the snow-bunnies."

Deon glanced round but it seemed the music had prevented the girls hearing the man. He pointed at Marquis and his party and said, "You girls are all welcome to join us if you want. Get you a drink?"

The girls had noticed his help and now clutched at the life-belt he was offering. "Thanks, we just came to try out a new place."

Deon watched them head out towards Marquis, Jess and the rest. Just trying out a new place, huh. He knew better than that. Rich white girls had been doing it for hundreds of years. 'Slumming', seeing how the other-half lived, viewing the vice and squalor and then escaping back to their ivory towers. Here with the added thrill of venturing among the 'darkies.' Well, they seemed to have bitten off more than they could easily swallow. It might choke them or they might find they liked the taste and end up craving more.

He turned to the woman at the bar. She had the drinks ready and showed him a small bottle in her hand. Deon nodded to her.

"For all of them," she asked.

"Fuck yeah," cut in Trey and three drops of liquid were added to each of the eight girls' drinks.

Rock the DJ's World

The DJ looked over the club from his high vantage point. It was nearly time. He'd played that damn song so often - he should be sick of it. Except, and he smiled to himself, he wasn't a damn fool. There weren't so many cuts GUARANTEED to get the whole house engaged and keep them moving until either the music stopped or they collapsed from exhaustion, whichever was the sooner.

Like he did most nights at this time the DJ thought of David, or 'Masta Playa' as he was known professionally. They'd grown up together in the worst part of H-Town. It had been real bad even then, a rotting slum where almost no-one stayed who had a chance to get out. Only the victims stayed - and, of course, their predators. He'd visited David a few years back and been shocked by just how much worse things had got over there. His old-time friend hadn't seemed to care. It was still Masta Playa's home turf, where he operated - where he did business.

As young men they had both loved music, collaborated a bit on some demos and such, the way young boys do. The DJ smiled to himself again but the smile died on his lips. There had come a parting of the ways. He had kept to his music, worked his way up through house parties and small gigs until finally he got residences and now, when he wasn't touring the world, he would work around Antwan's clubs. The vibe was always good there. David had seemed to forget his music and had instead become Masta Playa. He'd also found another way to make a living - a way appropriate to his new branding.

Then five years ago the song had come out. The DJ had heard it and KNOWN it was a hit straight away. No question and no doubt. When he saw the video he'd nearly died - first because it was David, his one-time friend. Second, because of the shit-storm that it had to be going to create. It did, of course. The video was banned in about every country there was. But nowadays there was the internet. Didn't need TV or Radio or high street stores. The kids went to streaming sites and paid for downloads. Every cracka politician and churchman who shot their mouth off just helped shift more copies of the song.

Masta Playa had written about what he knew, the DJ realised that and it saddened him more than he could say. But, be that as it may, you couldn't deny that the evil bastard could lay down a mighty cut. Now it was pretty much a staple of clubs like this, clubs that were almost 100% Black. Not segregated, of course, but Antwan's doorstaff knew his requirements. Any white could come in - so long as they were female, attractive and looked under 35 years of age. Just a taste of the tender white meat to season the dish of his club. Not enough to annoy the sistas beyond the inevitable, just enough for some of the brothas who enjoyed variety now and then. At weekends they could get fifteen or twenty white girls brave enough to try their luck here - on a week-night like this seldom even half that.

He looked out over the club again. The sea of humanity, over two thousand packed into this big ex-factory. All there for a good-time and having one too. Dark faces shining with sweat as they moved their bodies to the beat he was laying down. Couples enjoying a night out together, new couples meeting for the first time, young men and women seeking a partner just for tonight. The way it had always been, the way it would always be.

The DJ smirked. The eight or nine white girls at the club were pretty much all dancing in the same small area. The sistas protected their space and guarded their men. Little white girls who strayed too close would be told to 'fuck off and dance somewhere else.' Over the evening they'd congregate in one corner of the club, one where the Black girls were prepared to tolerate them. Once he saw that happen he could dust off old Masta Playa...

"Romeo," he heard shouted into his ear. He'd been lost in thought and hadn't heard his boss coming up to join him. Now he shifted his head-phones off one ear. "Romeo, you think it's time?"

"Yeah," the DJ answered, "they're letting this beat wear down. They need a new injection of energy." He glanced behind Antwan and saw he had a white girl in tow. Well, a young woman rather than a girl - not the usual college student out for a whiff of dark danger. No, this was no little girl, she was a damn fox. Real easy on the eye. He felt his cock hardening in his pants. Shame he was at work.

"Put it on next," said Antwan, "and I'll leave Jessica here in the box with you. She ain't never seen a DJ working before and I'm sure you can find something to interest her." Then he turned to the woman, who was looking out over the crowd since she was unable to hear their conversation over the noise of the music. "This man is an artist, plays the crowd like his instrument. He's waiting for just the right moment and then he'll shift the mood. See the screens?" He pointed at huge screens mounted on two of the walls of the club. "Means we can play videos if the track's got one, otherwise we got cameras showing what's going down at this moment. Just like at a sports stadium."

As he spoke a camera shifted away from the Black couple it had been showing. Now she saw Emily, Maddy and Kathryn along with their new friends. They looked so isolated out there - tiny pale specks in a mass of dark bodies. She saw Emily back up her big white booty against Trey and grind against his crotch. The two students were both being more restrained. Perhaps, somewhere under the buzz from alcohol and weed, they realised that the only thing between them and the tens of hungry Black men surrounding them was the presence of the men they had come with. The big Black tattooed ex-cons that they had come with.

She grinned. The other girls seemed to be getting on alright. They were four friends from a local college who'd wanted to 'see somewhere different.' It had perhaps been a little more 'different' that they'd thought because they'd quickly gravitated to Jess, Emily and the two girls. Safety in numbers? Megan was now sandwiched between two men with her hands in the air and a big smile on her face. Tammi was being held hard in the arms of another Black suitor. The two others were on the far side together, with a pack of men surrounding them, targeting them.