gender is a spectrum and I exist somewhere in the space between Leeloo Dallas and Pablo Escobar

💵🪪🪐🌴☄️

True Killa

Lord forgive me. But it's time I went back to the old me .

RIP TO THA GREAT, NIP 💙🏁

90's GoldTimes 📸

R.I.P. to the star of my favorite movie from the age of 12,

Mr. Ray Liotta.

We will always have: That shot near the front of the Idlewild Airport (1963), a slammed trunk full of bloody gangster mess, the time you pistol-whipped that date rapist for Karen, the sweaty gripped up paper bag full of guns you got for Jimmy that didn’t fit those silencers what’s tha matta with you?, just no place that’s cold-whoever’s in charge of it, egg noodles and ketchup…

And too many more-RIP.

FIRST DATE. B. **I've been working on nameless character works of fiction** the idea of this is intriguing me so... story is complete. Editing is not. WIP. PLEASE lmk what you think and ideas if you have any thanks. Love Boxx

First Date.

She was reminded of the first time a gun barrel had been ground into the fleshy part of her face. The feeling of the cold steel trying to force a second mouth on her. Everything slowed. The air got thick with violent intent and filled what little space there was in the fox body. Her date was in the driver's seat and she had climbed into the back behind him. Anticipating their two friends would get out prior to her, she politely left them room. But it wasn't familiarity that jerked the passenger door open. A well built, tall athletic man swallowed the gap of the door frame. This stranger, with an angry face screaming at her instead. Spitting out bursts of demands to “give him her shit bitch” and pushing her head impossibly off to one side with his fear inciting, do boy persuader. Looked like a Glock. Might have been a Ruger. Thinking back on it now.

Looking at him. Seeing his rage. Felt it. Understood it. Taking the time for impatience to kick in, her date screamed at her to give him her purse. She was not concerned when she swung her eyes over enough to see him. Even with half of his face covered with unkempt chin length hair she saw his face was wet and covered with tears and snot. His eyes begged her to comply. His mouth trying to join the rest of his face in persuasion while he jerkily handed this man his wallet. Felt that too. And understood it.

She looked down at her little purse on the floorboard between her feet. Both of them were screaming at her. Raising her face back level she felt a shock of unforgiving coldness and searing pain shot into her cheekbone and eye socket. Backhanded with a gun held by a man who means to take what's ours as his. Right. Fucking. NOW. She gazed past her date, through the windshield. Her eyes settled on a well lit plate on the back of a car, blocking any attempt at us just pulling off. God damn Granby St. At 2 a.m. In downtown Norfolk. The scene itself was begging for a carjacking. With ICU treatment after. Or just a trip to the morgue. Breathing with intent, the world slowed and her mind focused. Her own emotions flooded her nervous system. Felt herself. And understood. Fuck. This. Adrenaline hit her system and without thought, she shoved her face into his gun and gained maybe 8 inches back of her space and screamed “FUCCCCKK YYYOUUUU!!”

Now all three were screaming. Them at her, she at him…. He shut the date up with another back hand from the barrel. They looked at each other. It was quiet. Something new. Disturbed. It felt sexual to her. Heavy breathing and moans all around. She snapped up and told him if he wanted “her shit”, he would have to come take it from her. Cold anger leveled his eyes as her right eye swelled shut. Cold anger leveled her good one. Betting he wouldn't pull the trigger. Been to long already. He shoved the bucket seat up and squeezed his massive frame into the back of the 2 door mustang. If he wasn't playing basketball, he should have been. He reached between her legs, snatched the purse and was gone. Just. Like. That.

Tail lights and squealing tires and cries from everywhere. Everything sped up as she saw her date got off easier than she. Their two friends got much worse. His partner worked them over while he was busy with us. She got out of the car and checked, everyone could walk the three blocks back to where they had left. Her friend worked there. A coffee shop. That stayed open til 2 a.m. The elderly friend, insisting on 911 and just wouldn't STOP freaking out until she said shed call the cops… Fine. But not before she called her people first. They arrived after the law by minutes, Thirteen deep spilling out of a panel van and smelling like an over excited death wish. Wielding sawed offs, pistols and ak 47s in plain sight of the police cruiser. Holy. Fuck. She LOVED these bastards! She panicked for the first time that night. For them. She visualized the lot of them, all in their teens, getting forcibly rounded up and hauled off for bringing immediate retaliation for the jacking. She couldn't breathe. Her ex and number one, looked at her face and watched with curiosity as her PTSD parylized her. He laughed, pulled her close and hugged her. Checking her over for damage, as a parent would after a spill off a bike. Annoyance kicked in. “Fuck off!” He laughed, hefted one of the sawed off on his shoulder and said, “lemme handle this”. And walked right up to the officers with the map spread out on the hood of a Caprice. “Mind if I take a look?” he said. Her stomach dropped.

Even though some of the gang were trying to nut up right there, she was shoving them back into the van and tossing weapons about as she says “pull a hot knife through butter”.

Okay. Make thru downtown to the midtown tunnel - 5 miles away. Losing these OTHER boys along the way between a shipyard and the neighborhood they've been crawling out of since birth. Game on. She can't help but grin with excitement for the chase ahead. Bring it.

Throwaways and runaways. Forgotten, unwanted. Wild. Her people. Loyal. Fucked. From the cradle, marked. Quick. Creative. Cruel. And known for these underbellied attributes. 13 boys. And her. Robberies. Moving weight. Fencing. Holding heat down. Forgery.  If crime was an Olympic sport, they took home gold. Damn near nightly. She hated the attention the egos and the nerve of the group drew. She excelled in the cut and under the radar. Yeah, they were fucked up bad seeds, choking out their surroundings, a thriving thing growing uncontrollable from the shadows of the gutter. Making the papers in the local crime section too often for her comfort. Hell, they called the SWAT team their “9 a.m. Wake Up Call” to their faces, offering them coffee. Asking if they have any donuts while they tossed their spot almost every morning for a fucking month. They felt the love.

He walked back to her like a cowboy, strutting with a cop on either side. The trio laughed like old pals. She watched 19 year old gutter punk and two obviously retired soldiers who were now officers of the law. It was comical to her. Only God knows what he said to them. He claps on the back and said “the deal is, anyone 15 and under goes with you. The others ride with me. They looked up the plate you scoped out. I got the address. Promised we'd handle this for them. No paperwork. Were done after that. They got plenty to keep me busy looking the other way. If we are seen leaving our area all bets are off. We get fucked six ways from sunday on shit what will stick. Take em the fuck home AND MAKE THESE ASSHOLES STAY THERE.” The tone. Not the words. The tone, she understood.

“Scrub the place and set it to squeak, you know what to do. Organize and clean out. It's on you. Ill handle this prick that fucked your face up. You make sure they're bored when they stop in tomorrow morning.Youre always so fucking good in the pocket, girl ya your goof troop, all of em blown away and how you cool you weremoving through that shit and handling all professional paramedic an shit taking care of their pussy asses after.” She rolled her eyes. “Their words, not mine” innocence feigned. As this date was his replacement in the dick department for her and he's busting her balls over it. Business and dick, she's keeping separate. This was her first date since they broke it off 3 months before. Living together, working together. Not fucking anymore. It was working out nicely, really. She just needed something though… blow off steam, let loose and strange was good. The thought was yummy. Get fucked and get them the fuck out. Don't call her, she’ll call you. So much for that awesome plan. Dammit. The date was heading towards the ocean front, and her towards the wharfs. Already adjusting her train of thought, pulling off through an alley, barking orders, taking no shit and telling them theyre the FUCKING INSANE for rolling up on the cops dirty and flexing…. !!! Proud. Talking shit about what they WERE ABOUT to pull off but she stopped em. Yeah, She's the “bad guy” not letting em have a little fun with the payback. She arrainged for an old fuck buddy, a few blocks away to stop in. On word he was needed as others were out hunting for some “DUMB FUCKS” that had no idea who that scrawny little face belonged to was. Number 2. That's who she was. Fuck, her pull was as solid as her exes and all the boys in the street hands on. Neck deep in dirt, but keeping the lot of them coming up clean. Shoved a gun. In her face. Half her face was already turning purple and bllack and her right eye swollen shut. No excuses. They'll learn tonight.

Her fuck buddy would baby her too, so shed get her way completely, Bubble bath, massage, catered to completely. Guaranteed orgasms. Yessss. Better than the original plan she thought… Heat grew between her thighs at the thought. She wouldn't have to hit him with the “old times sake” shit again. This will work, she thought. Pedal to the metal and a calculated comfort warms her behind her breastbone. Smiling.  And “technically” she needed his hands for work. On her. Her ex said not to involve an outsider, even for fucking. But she knew he did from time to time. Damn double standards. No matter. Home field advantage, knowing satisfaction is now guaranteed. That “yuppy from the beach”  wouldn't have been able to keep pace. My ex kept telling me all week leading up to this night. Laughing, now at this …he was right.She was more of a bad influence than any of them. An adrenaline junkie, a never ending series of plans to pull off shit more extreme than the last plot. And an appetite for all things carnal. Her, with a mall rat? in a button down Hilfiger and loafers? An ass kisser? She'd ruin him.

Nostalgia.

myself!

DanceWithTheDevil - BG Six Throne Westcoast Gangsta Rap #SmaccNasty #iBlaze.Online 

lil shawty goin offfffff

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That Thug Life Ain’t It

The following is addresses thug culture in the Black collective.

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