Excerpt of Seduced by a Boss Chick
The manifestation of a boss chick
I always got what I wanted and didn’t care at what expense. I learned early that if I wanted something, I had to figure out how I was going to get it. Life doesn’t come easy for a lot of us out here. Shit, my mom was a single parent after she left my cracked out father. She found the strength and managed to raise three children on her own. I was the oldest, so I understood a lotta shit I didn’t need to and for that, I didn’t have much of a childhood. It changed my life.
Unfortunately, the 80s was party-time for cocaine users. In the beginning, my father used to be the big man around town. He had most of Ohio feenin’ for his supply. He was widely known to have the purest in the state and had more money than he knew what to do with. The thing about him was, he was smart. He wasn’t flashy. He did just enough not to bring attention to himself and saved his money. He had a plan. To hear my mother tell it, he used cocaine one time after his friend talked him into it and he never looked back. It became his downfall. Cocaine was life to him for a few years, that is until he moved on to heroine. That poison was like candy to a kid. Once they got their first hit, there was no turning back. You did stupid shit on that mess, too. All that money he had saved up went right in his veins.
The last straw was when my mother opened a letter in the mail that said our mortgage hadn’t been paid for some time, so we needed to leave. My father didn’t say anything about it the whole time until she confronted him that evening.
“Greg, what the hell is this letter from the bank talkin’ ’bout we need to get out because the mortgage ain’t been paid? You ain’t paid on the house?”
That night he was as high as a flight. “Bitch, who the hell you talking to like that? I ought to slap the shit outta yo bald headed ass. Questioning me like that about this damn house!”
Me and my younger brother and sister were on the couch playing Uno and at this point, I was used to it, but not my younger siblings. As always, they covered their ears and began crying as I took them to my room to distract and protect them as if they were my own children.
Last week, they had a similar argument because he took our brand new t.v. my mother bought hours before and gave it to his dealer for heroine.
It got so bad that we couldn’t have any luxuries in the house because they would be gone before the day was up. He would even harass us for our lunch money before school.
After putting up with the downfall of an addict for years, my mother finally took us and left him behind in the middle of the night. Since she wasn’t working at the time, we were forced to stay in a shelter for a month after that. Once my mother got back on her feet, we moved to the projects that everyone in Columbus, Ohio was afraid to go near-Windsor Terrace.
I hated my father for what he did. He changed our lives for the worst for his own selfishness. He sold his soul to the devil for a pipe and all of us paid the price.
Because of his selfishness, I learned early to never give a man all my love. When you do that, you live in their world and if they fuck up their lives, they fuck up your life and your kids’ lives, if you have any. I didn’t have time for that shit! Living the outcome of what my father did, gave me a bitter heart of ice.
Before he started doing drugs, we lived in a cozy home on the north side of town. We were the basic middle-class family and it got snatched away in a short amount of time. Since my father chose the drug life and my mother was a single parent who was forced to raise three children on her own, I stepped up and did what he was supposed to do. I figured out how I was going to get that money!
Growing up after my mother left my father, I used to see him out on the streets begging for change to support his ridiculous drug habit. His clothes were torn and he looked like he’d been rolling around in shit for the past week. He smelled like piss and cigarettes and looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He was skinnier than Chris Rock on his hungriest day.
One day, he came up to me asking for money and didn’t realize who I was, but I knew exactly who the fuck he was. I despised him so much. I took his change and dumped it in my purse, spit in his cup and walked away like I wasn’t half his DNA. It was exactly $11.11. That’s when I made a promise to myself that I would never struggle.
The early to mid-90s is when we lived in the projects and it was horrible. Sometimes we didn’t have enough food to eat so my mother and I would skip meals to make sure my younger siblings were full and that’s if the roaches or mice didn’t get to the food first. It was as if we lived like slaves and only received what the Masta felt like giving us. Someone was always getting robbed or shot in our area and we slept in fear of getting shot or robbed ourselves.
After living in the hood and needing money, I had no choice but to conform to the projects. Gradually, I started finding ways to bring in a few dollars here and there. Sometimes I took what wasn’t mine by going through people’s cars, purses, or pockets. A few times, I would even venture to nicer neighborhoods with my friend Ma’Keisha and slip inside someone’s house if they left their windows open.
We came up on a lot of things like radios, clothes, jewelry, computers-you name it. All I cared about was the cash to help my mom, so we would sell the stuff to a booster. Other times, I earned it by helping neighbors with small jobs like cleaning cars, babysitting, or helping with groceries. At twelve, I was a true hustler.
I was always a cute girl, so it was never a challenge to get my way. I was very mature for my age and on top of that, I started puberty at ten and was fully developed by twelve. Guys in the area complimented me on my body and how pretty I was. It used to make me feel uncomfortable, but sometimes they would give me money just for being cute and saying hi. Ma’Keisha who was older than me schooled me on how to get the real money.
“Girl, these niggas out here throwing themselves at you. You better get on that. They got money, honey! One of these dudes just may be your ticket out of here. How you think I stay so fly, yo?” Ma’Keisha dug in her purse for her lip gloss. She was fifteen and looked like Aaliyah, but from the Bronx.
I looked uneasy and watched as she applied her bright pink lip gloss on her pouty lips. “I dunno, Ma’Keisha. I’m only twelve. I’m too young.”
Her New York accent grew thick as she gave me the rundown. “Look, yo. They don’t need to know your real age. With that ass and titties, them niggas don’t care. Besides, I’m fifteen and you look about the same age as me, but with a better body, yo! All these dudes want is a girl to kick it with and hold them down. They just throwing money out there, yo!”
As bad as I didn’t want to admit it, Ma’Keisha was right. I needed money bad. My hustle was helping my family, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to help my mother support all of us so we could get out the hood once and for all.
Shortly after my first lesson on getting some serious cash, I had Ma’Keisha fix me up with a little makeup and a few outfits. She also gave me a few pointers on who was who in the area. Soon enough, I was confident enough and began giving the guys the attention they wanted from me in order to get what I wanted.
Want more? Click for your copy today!