I been a grown man a long time now. Well, maybe being thirty-threeās not that long a time grown up, but itās enough to know the lay of the land. Hell, even as a boy of ten, I would know to steer clear of Joe-Dogs and anything he holds dear. I could ask my nephews, the ones still in primary school. Even they would know better, but I didnāt. And what to show for it now? I got what I deserved. Joe-Dogs would say I should die for it, but Iāll beg to differ on that. Besides, right about now, heās got bigger fish to fry than me. But still, bottom-line: Katrinaās gone, and Melinda was gone before that, and I got chased out of my own town, too.
You get good enough at what you do, word gets around. Good thing is, you take care of the right people, and you keep it so only the right people find out what youāre so good at. Or if youāre really the man that plays his cards right, then both the police and the criminal know where to come when they need your help. Lucky me, thank my dad, whatever, but Iām good at not just one thing. You need a lock picked? You call me. You need to find somebody? Come visit, tell me who they are, I find them. You need to take back whatās yours, you say? I got the connections. I can make that happen, so long as thereās enough in it for me to make it worth the while.
And the people that need these things, and theyāre all walks of life, they know where to find me. Judges looking for their own justice, businessman robbed, but got a solid look at the perpetrator,especially if thereās a witness. The stupid crooks donāt stay crooks, or at least, they donāt keep what they steal too long, not with me involved.
Relatives of the local gangster chief, you ask? Ah, you already know the story, youāre just anxious that I tell it. Well, okay. You know Katrina, right? Hell, everyone knows hot-ass Katrina, even though she been gone almost a year now, we all talk about her like sheās still here.
I was in my office. It was mid-day, just after a storm blows through and the sun is shining again. More heat, more sweat, and I was just thinking about maybe closing up and retreating for a long weekend, just for the hell of it. What goodās the blessing if you donāt take time to enjoy it, right? And Melinda, selling the real-estate full time now, she had more spare time than sheād admit to, but I know sheād take off work with me if I said the word. So I was about to do just that, when Everton comes in. Heās got my mail from downstairs, but heās doling it out an envelope at a time and just staring at me, like I know heās not there for just that.
āWhat is it, Everton?ā I said, just to get him to come out with it. By then Iām hungry, too. The Juici Patties from down the street been wafting in the window all damn day.
āYou know Katrina, boss?ā he asks, with this look like Iām supposed to know, but I donāt, I just look at him. Surely itās not just a name quiz, Iām thinking. āYou know the gyal,ā he says. āJoe-Dogsā pickney. She be eighteen, nineteen now.ā Oh lord, I think to myself. Katrina. Well I hadnāt seen the girl in years, not since I was at Doctorās Cave beach some two, three years before and there she is, teen girl with Dog, her daddy, the baddest man this half the island. Nobody dare talked to her then, we just look from far away. Heard about her since, yes, maybe caught a glimpse in a restaurant, maybe not. I knew she lived the street royalty life a little bit, but I donāt make the club and party scene too much these days. I knew she was a wild child. After that, didnāt matter, because I knew she was Joe-Dogsā child. You donāt mess with a gangsterās girl, be it the child or the lover. These things are just common sense, you know.
āShe put the word out, boss. Wants to talk to you,ā Everton says. Now heās gauging me, because I can tell this girl, or whoever does the talking for this girl, Katrina, put the screws to Everton to talk me into something.
āWhat in the hell does a girl with a gangster daddy want with a white man in the shadows?ā I ask him, honestly. Everton smiles. The smile that says: āI can stop beating around the bush nowā.
āWhat does she want? Access to the money he wonāt give her,ā he says, and he leans back, satisfied that heās done his part now. “She knows you can do it. You might be the only man in Jamaica that can do it without it getting back to Joe-Dogs.” And Iām supposed to scale this gangsterās wall, risk my life and limb, and just take a few gold bricks for the party-girl daughter, yeah? Call me skeptical, but Everton keeps on. āItās a real fuckery, boss, ātis true. She tell the whole story to me down at Margueriteās, not even one hour ago, and I promise her I tell you first thing. The gyal turn eighteen, he promise her the riches to live on, but going on a year now, the man lie.ā
āSo itās like a street gang trust fund deal then,ā I say. āThatās a shame. Bet she wish she never wrecked that Aston Martin they find crunched in the gulley last year, I bet Joe-Dogs still mad about that. You know the time,ā I remind Everton. āThey even called me to get the prints, marching through mud and mosquitos. Katrina did it, the police say, but they couldnāt get a match off the birth prints. Surely, Katrina, though, even though she say the car got stolen.ā And now Evertonās uneasy again and so I have to placate him and ask him just what the hell Iām supposed to do to get him off the hook.
āJust meet with the gyal,ā he says. āShe know where to find you. And donāt worry, boss man, she wonāt bite, even though she look like she do,ā he says, laughing at me.
Well, I didnāt think much of it, for one, two days. Then, on the third day, who walks into the office, come ten, eleven in the morning? Katrina herself. And Iāll be damned if she donāt look like she bites indeed! Not that she looks nasty, or ugly; no, quite the opposite. Itās more of a vibe, like she donāt take the guff from nobody for no reason. She stands maybe five feet, maybe five-one, hundred pounds give or take. A dollās face if there ever was one, with hair thatās had the high-dollar white womanās treatment, with the red-dye highlights. And you would think it would look a mess on a girl with that deep, deep dark skin, like the African royalty of old. But no, it all comes together and takes the breath away. Beautiful in a hard but delicate way, like she could scrap at the drop of a hat, then kick you a few extra times for making her break a nail. But those full, grown-woman breasts, long lashes, and pouty lips go a long ways to soften it all up.
And so she explains her predicament to me, but without really explaining it, you know? She talks in riddles, waiting for me to say too much, I think. Like I have to be cool enough to go along on whatever crazy scheme sheās gonna try to talk me into. And I guess I say all the right things because the next thing is her writing down her number for me. And the girl is glammed up solid! Gold bracelet, gold rings, just a heap of gold hanging off this tiny woman. Even her fingernails are bejeweled. You can tell sheās laying down the big American bills for the Chinese lady at the Ritz-Carlton to work her very best magic on her little hands and feet.
āSo, you figure out where we eat tonight, yeah? Then you call me, Iāll be there. Need the big-time plan and youāre the man to plan it, understand?ā The girl talks blunt and straight, not too educated, and she might not bite but she can damn well bark. And I want to be polite and say that yes, I do understand, but when she turns around to leave, I was made to understand something completely different. Believe me when I tell you that what I thought was beauty on its way in the door was just childās play compared to what looked back at me on its way out. Got-damn! You want to talk about a booty? Now Katrinaās booty- or specifically the image of it looking back at me when she walked out- is etched in this manās brain for life. I see it every night when I go to bed, and I wake up still seeing it. And you know what Iām talking about: it aināt the fat booty, which there aināt a thing wrong with, but itās like the Lord took a regular girl and put a fat girlās ass on her.
No, this backside has the perfect twin-bubble handfuls, you know the kind. Like the finest artwork, pictures never do it justice. It defies gravity. Itās soft but you know you could bounce a handful of coins off it and youād be picking them up across the room. And framed by those strong, fit thighs and a slim back? Understand, right now, she walks out of there and Iām thinking, āno way Iām meeting the gangsterās girl for dinner, too insane,ā at the same time, Iāve got a wood ready to bust out the zipper on my pants.
Well, you can guess what happened next, but the first thing I did was call Melinda, to let her know something came up for work and Iād be out for the night. At that point, I didnāt even know that I was going to take Katrinaās bait for sure, but the offer was heavy, man. Maybe you say, ābut never mind that sheās Joe-Dogās own flesh and blood, the girlās still teen!ā Well, be that as it may, if you saw this Katrina, you would see I had no choice. I needed to clear my schedule in order to clear my head and make a plan. Foremost in my mind, in a place I could not shake loose, was the vivid image of Katrina dropping that round ass on me, watching it eat up my wood and rest down on my loins. Mind you at that time, I hadnāt seen the girlās naked skin like that, but in my mind it was still clear as day.
So where would I take this gangsterās girl? She says she wants to meet over a meal, itās the least I can do, I figure. And a girl that look like that, no matter if she eighteen or forty-eight, you want to really do it right. But the top notch joints in town, like the Boathouse: too high profile, with the whoās-who there every night. They notice everything. Or Margueriteās, but hell, Joe-Dogs practically runs the place. Katrina herself is there all the time. Got to stay lower profile.
Ah, but then I remember, Mr. Adamās place, a good drive past town but close enough. Heās got the cozy little joint on the beach, just past the long row of all-inclusives that hug the main highway. Heās got the big straw roof, where everybody sit outside and they serve fresh fish, jerk pork, and Red Stripe. He also has the motel, mostly fishermen and the island weekend folk that stay there. The whole thing: casual, man. Out of the way, too. So we meet up then part ways, nobody knows. Perfect! But just one hitch, when I finally get the gumption to call the girl up, just like she asked:
āI needs a ride, man,ā she says, then gives me an address up near the top road- not where Joe-Dogs is known to stay, mind you- to come and find her. Staying with friends, she says. In the in-between time, Iām only left to remind myself how stupid this idea is, and when I show up at the little hillside house to pick up Katrina, Iām feeling doubly-stupid, man. This girl, sheās nothing but trouble. I knew that already, but Iāll tell you what she wore, and you can believe it or not: a midriff shirt thatās hanging off the front of her tits up top, bright red peep-toe heels down below, and in between, the tightest jeans you ever saw. Well, tight everywhere except the very top, where the top hem was completely cut off, and here I am looking at the top humps of her ass just hanging out, showing me the crack. Sounds like true skank, right? Well believe me when I tell you, all it looks on this girl is like pure sex. And you think I have a shot to be businesslike? Tall order, for real. Also, she got these bright tattoos running all the way down her back and on her ass too. On black-as-black skin, I got no idea how they look so bright, but they do. And I canāt stop staring at all of this, but the look she give me when I finally see the girl in the eyes, says to me: stare all you want, white man, here it is. I think Iām less nervous if she just calls me a pig and snaps me out of it, but she loves the attention.
At Mr. Adamās place, I order my usual: the ackee fruit and saltfish, and Katrina orders nothing. She says sheāll eat some of mine and orders rum on the rocks: serious drink for a fine tiny girl, gangster daddy or not. And she drinks half of it before saying a word, just making me sit there, look at the ocean to keep from staring at her, and the whole time she stares right at me.
āSo you take time from your busy night to talk to a man you donāt even know,ā I say, just to break the ice with this girl.
āNah, man. I know you well,ā she says. āEverybody know what you do. Besides, I met you at your office today, was pleasant, no?ā Sheās smiling at me, just toying. āSo now I know you both ways.ā
āBoth ways,ā I say. āArenāt you missing another way that a man and a woman can know each other?ā Why I would say such a thing, no idea, but Katrina donāt miss a beat.
āYou are right about that, man. One way to know me still hanging out there,ā she says. āBut you can dream!ā She shouts that last part with a flourish and a wide smile, and now I got strangers turning to look at me with this young flashy girl. Nobody I know, thank the Lord. I just smile and let it go. I mean, sheās fourteen, fifteen years my junior. I got no business with the monkey business anyway.
āSo tell me, what we got to discuss here,ā I say, and this time she tells it to me straight, the whole thing. About her daddy, Joe-Dogs, and the promise he made.
āI wasnāt eleven, twelve year old, understandā¦but he make a promise. He repeat that promise every year: that when I turn eighteen, he give me the money to be my own,ā she says. Now in my line of work, my ability to read people is the difference between getting what I need and getting nothing. With this girl, it reads like a book. She might be a badass when the cards fall her way. But without that? Without bad-ass Joe-Dogs standing behind her, being the daddy? Just another lost girl, I can see it in her eyes. Sure, theyāre fierce at first glance, but get a bit of the rum in her, let her talk, and out comes the girl, just like any girl.
āWhat do you mean, to be your own?ā I ask. Katrina leans forward. Not to lower her voice, just to make sure I pay close attention, as if that was a problem.
āTo not be the gangsterās girl my whole damn life,ā she says. āI turn nineteen four weeks ago. I want to be my own girl, you know? I ask him again about the money, he just laugh and say āgreedy bitchā. But he still lay down the law, right?ā She slurped down the rest of her drink and ordered another. Feeling sheepish with my Red Stripe Light, I order a rum and rocks, same as her, and let the girl talk. She explains it all to me, including the most important part for her: where Joe-Dogs keeps a big money stash and how I can get it. The girl even has her own plan for me to implement! And finally when I say that I will look into it and try to help her with this situation, she relaxes a little bit, but that donāt mean she quit talking. If not for the booze rounding off her edges, the girl probably would have talked all the way through till morning. But she eventually turned her aim to me.
āSo what can you tell me about you?ā she says. Sounds polite of her, right? But itās not. Sheās fucking with me, but at least sheās good at it. āI hear a few things, letās see if I learn something.ā I ask her what sheās heard but she rebuffs me. āWe get to that after you tell me some things first,ā she says. The girlās flirting with me, Iām sure of it. And sheās shifting in her seat, making her tits jiggle underneath that haltertop. I canāt stop looking, but Katrina donāt care. So what do I do? Something I almost never do: I talk about myself, to this young girl. I tell her things she shouldnāt know; things even Melinda donāt know. And the more I go on about how I started to do the things I do, and all my different irons in the fire, I see her just taking notes with her eyes. Just as Iām wondering what sort of calculation sheās making, sizing me up like she was, she says this:
āAnd I hear youāre the white man with the big bamboo āround here.ā
Now hereās the thing: everybody on this side of the island knows everybody else. And Iām not exactly an old monk when it comes to sampling the fairer sex. Iāve had my fun, especially before settling down with Melinda. So the word gets around that I have a blessed endowment, fair enough. Should it make news that a white manās carrying āround a big dagger? Maybe not, then again maybe itās rare. Better that than to be the dark-skinned Jamaican with the tiny stem, no? Be that as it may, she hears about the big bamboo between my legs, who am I to deny it? The truth shall set you free, but still, thatās not the kind of claim you can cop to. What happened to the mystery of it?
āWhere you hear some crazy stuff like that?ā I ask, and I feel looser, right? Like even though I donāt really want to discuss my cock with this dangerous girl, itās better than the thought of holding up her dad for a few hundred thousand in American cash, which is her proposal to me.
āI know things,ā she says, all cocky, and holding up her empty rum glass for somebody to refill, but nobody sees it. āBut I can find the proof,ā she says, and right there in the restaurant, with all these fools seated around us, Katrina take her bare foot and press it right into my wood! What was half-hard is now full-hard in no time flat! The girl donāt make it obvious with her face either. Sheās looking around for the waitress, needing that drink. In the meantime, I got five little toes pressing into my shit like sheās stepping on the gas in a getaway car.
Itās all more than I can think clearly through, now. Right then, I should be thinking things like, āpolitely decline to help this brat and get her back to town without being seen with her,ā but with the ball of her foot running up and down my hard-on, I got only one coherent thought:
āI need to work this girl over, and it canāt wait.ā
So thatās how I took the most foolish path ever, and tell her we shouldnāt discuss business out in the open any longer. Itās like she knew that was coming, and shoots out with, āyeah, man, where to?ā
āThe owner-man here, Mr. Adam, he owes me. We take a room overlooking the sea and talk private. No name on the books, nobody bother us.ā And thatās all she needs to know. She stands up with her rum drink and walks out with it. I lay down the big Jamaican bills, covering the food and the drinks, and follow her towards the motel rooms, watching that blessed ass move in those tight jeans, with the crack staring up at me. The dirtiest things are in my mind, thinking about that naked little body touching mine, and Iām too cock-blooded right then to realize it looks like Iām stealing a plantain in the front of my pants, for real.
The roomās real spare, just enough space for a bed and a chair with a desk. The sliding glass door opens out to a grass lawn and then to the waterfront. Itās all real quiet here, nobody around. Jamaican surf donāt make the big waves and noise, not on this side. Mostly what you hear come night-time are the tree frogs and the wind. And the girl follows me right in and she stands up on the bed to where sheās looking down on me. Her tits are right in front of me, poking out at the midriff shirt. I can smell her skin.
āSo youāre gonna help me get my money, right, man?ā sheās saying. And I realize she got up on the bed, heels and all, just so she could have the upper hand here.
āThis is gonna take some working out,ā I said, cussing myself on the inside for saying what I was saying but what was I gonna do? I got the sweet smell of young sex filling all my senses, there was no room for smarts, believe me.
āMm-hmm,ā she says, just hovering there, man. āSo we work it out then,ā she says, and those little hands are touching my chest, feeling me up a little. āWhat do I call you, anyway, man?ā
āYou call me anything you want,ā I said. I didnāt care about anything beyond what was underneath those clothes, and since thereās no cooler in a place like that, the airās swampy and sweaty, even with the windows open, and this girlās making me want to pounce.
āAlright then,ā she says, all cool and low-voice. āI call you the Money-man then, since you gonna get my money.ā
āHow about just my name?ā I ask, and now my hands are where I wanted them to be for the last hour, on her skin, right there at the waist.
āNah, man. Fuck dat,ā she says. āHow about just ābossā? You wanna be the boss?ā Youāre damn right I wanna be the boss of at least one thing right then. And thatās when I lay the girl down and put my mouth on hers, tasting the sweet young breath mixed with Appleton rum and a trace of the ganja.
I get the girl right out of that shirt and she shimmies out of those jeans, releasing that juicy ass. No panties, but I knew that already. Then she goes to work on my pants, pulling them off, unbuttoning my shirt. Real quick, we get down to nothing, just my tall stocky body in a white skin, and this little black-as-night goddess. And she may be small, but sheās all woman, understand that: the round ass on flared hips, and hanging on the front are the most beautiful titties that could ever come free.
āThey was right, boss,ā she says. āYour wood is big, man.ā Then she kneels down to suck on it, almost reverent-like. Not the girlās first big stick to suck on, that much is clear, and that sweet mouthās got the numb suction working straight away.
Katrina. Gangsterās girl, flashy girl, all contrast. Her skinās so dark and so smooth that the light glints off it like its polished wood. Her eyes and teeth are the brightest bright, just like the gold that hangs around her neck, and fingers, ankles and wrists. And then thereās that huge, colorful tattoo that snakes all the way up her back and then down both cheeks of her ass. All of that pales though, compared with the real goods: the treasure. And they say all women are the same under the skin, but not true, man. No way. Walk in my shoes, youāll see. The black Jamaican girls got the brightest, pinkest wet pussy, no lie. I donāt care how, I just know itās true. It almost glows, itās so bright. Hotter, too, like that deep mahogany skin traps in the heat, then if it all goes right, they release it in a sweaty tangle on a hot humid night on the coast. In the case of Katrina, youāre never the same afterward.
Her ass is backed up to me, wiggling just to tease, and the colors of her tats are muted in the dark light, but my touch is just fine. No stretch marks, nothing short of perfection. And when I take my long shaft in my hands and easy the head into her folds, I see that bright pink tunnel looking back at me, and the heatās sucking me in. Iām giving it to her nice and slow, let the girl breath and moan her way through it until sheās used to me, right? Real Gent. Silly me, I donāt want to hurt the poor girl, but I was about to be shown the way.
The girl breathes and moans, all right, thatās true. Most Jamaican girls, do. Not like the American and English teens that scream and laugh their way through it, like itās a roller coaster. No, man. Sex is serious business here, and a good Jamaican girl of any flavor will grind down like an animal in heat: no talk, just feel. But Katrina takes it to a whole other level, and she talks plenty, but all of it through her movements. I want to be gentle with her little body, but she drills me with it, swallowing me up to the root with ruthless power and efficiency. Backing up, I feel her pink sheathe stretch around my shaft, squeezing it, soaking it, deep as it can go, before releasing it again.
If I was a religious man, maybe I could compare it to that, but all I can say is that it was not one thing short of a re-education. Iām no dummy in bed, a good cocksman. You donāt hear what she heard about my wood if I was going around killing girls with it. But this girl makes me feel like a student, no lie. And in that hot room, with our bodies slick with sweat, I hover over her but sheās totally in control, with her black ass rippling a deep wave that bounces across all her curves each time she smacks back on my pale skin. A re-education. Breaking me down to build me back up again, to make me understand that she owns me, completely. I wouldnāt know it yet, but I would, just as soon as she lifts up and turns her head to me. I cup my hands on her tits, feeling the nipples between my fingers, hard as rocks, then the hot breath on my cheek, and those wild eyes leering back into mine.
āLots of boys want to do things for me,ā she says through the heaving breaths. āBut you know the way to get inside me, boss?ā There she goes with the boss again. I go a little more flush just hearing her say that word to me. I donāt answer her, but she goes on anyhow. Iām on the edge, feeling her pussy and her words completely, they’re all that matter. āChange my life, steal for me. Steal for me, boss, and Iām yours.ā And all the while Iām still deep inside that perfect body, and the second time she calls me boss, thatās it.
Iām yours, she says. With that, she plants a seed deep inside me, and I shake and grit my teeth, spurting my seed as deep as I could send it. She knows she’s got me too, and slows that pink pussy down, gyrating, sucking me in deep, wanting to take everything into her womb while Iām pulsing something fierce against her insides. Oh hell yeah, man: this girl is a true baby-maker, even small as she is, no doubt. She has the curves and the deep pussy for it, when the timing all lines up. And when I finally pull out, watching that pink slit light up as I back away, I wait for my sperm to spill out, but I think her body kept it somehow. Collateral. Steal for me, boss, and Iām yours.
Now, I canāt even pretend that this is when I come to my senses and decide to take her home, buying me some time to wiggle my way out. That option was off the table as soon as she showed up at the curb with no underwear and everything on display. Now, I just want more. I want all of her. I turn her over, sucking on her tits and not five minutes later Iām back inside her, back in heaven, fucking her deep. Her legs are wrapped up around my body, digging her feet into my skin, and our hips are colliding noisily, violently. The bed is soaked from all our sweat and cum, and we add more to it really quick: I got my whole weight against her clit and she shudders hard. Those quick breaths in my ear and those hips taking control of my cock from the inside, itās all too much to bear. I groan and flood Katrina’s pussy again, adding even more hot to the hottest chamber on the pink planet. I look down at her when the flash and the ecstasy pass, and she just smiles, like she knows she owns me, before I steal a damn thing.
I fall asleep with her straddling me, rubbing my shoulders, and I can feel her wet slit against the small of my back, our juices leaking out onto my skin. The whole while, dancehall plays on the old radio and the frogs sing their harmonies outside. Finding bliss among peril, itās the way of our people, you know.
Via: https://www.lushstories.com/stories/interracial/the-gangsters-girl-part-1