HardWhite Loves Twerk ’n’ Jerk

Editor’s note: This is part of a “hood novel” that Bert Burykill is writing. Read the first installment here, and the second one here.

The county jail ain't that bad. I lie in bed all high and toasty listenin’ to music, plottin’ on my next move, and readin’ the Scrabble dictionary to build my vocab massive. It’s not sleaze-breeze easy to make a man outta yourself when locked in the stinkin’ clink, but I’m focused and dedicated to suck the most love outta it while languishin’ in anguish in this damn bitch.

I spent the entire day on the phone going back and forth with my people in the streets trying to contact Twerk ’n’ Jerk again. My man, RockBottom, plugged me in with her through our grrl, GutterBitch, a while back. Trouble is, homegrrl runs the street wild and I don’t even know if she’s still alive, in the streets, or sellin’ ass down South.

It took me a couple stressed out days before this fat-fuckin’-assed, fuckin’ freak of the week, piece-of-work-in-the-mouth, hog-smokin’ honey finally picked up the phone. She agreed to go meet GutterBitch, who had found my dog food just where I left it, to get that fuego shit wrapped up nice and tight for the handoff. When I got called to the visit room, my hog throbbed to gargantuan gremlin status, and I wondered if I was excited for the honey or for the get-high.

When I saw her, my dick was like, “wassup,” cuz grrrl was sportin’ the Gucci-patterned extensions with the fake-ass eyelashes tickling her painted-on eyebrows. She had on the skintight pink and melted coconut gelato Louis V bodysuit suckin’ her thickness in all the right places, huggin’ the good lovin’ out that bonediggy boom-boom bomb body till my bone popped crazy.

“Yo babydoll, how’s things?”

Bitch was cool, too. Her smile revealed that gap in her teeth that earns her the extra dollar with the youngbloods. She came in for the kiss, the lumps of drugs in her cheeks barely visible. “Things is good,” she breathed in my ear. Her breath smelled like Lifesavers.

I kissed them fat fuckin’ lips and pushed them open with my stinky tongue and sucked a couple lil’ balloons into the back of my mouth, and then I just lingered… that wet hole sent a lightning bolt straight out my dick. But I remained cool, composed, and contemplative. “Makin the money? Jobs good? Dancin’ yo’ ass off?”

“Yeah, it’s work. I can feed my kids, buy them the new Jordans every week, but I still need a man, though… and I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout you a lot. I hope you beat this case, get out soon and maybe try to hold me down.”

An incarcerated man will do some dumb shit. I married a 74-year-old grandma from Riverhead once when I was behind bars. That didn’t end well, but, this ball-lickin’ bitch looked better than butter drippin’ off a hot biscuit…

“Yea grrl, it’s all doubley-lovey-dovey. When I get out, lo mein, I’ll take you to the top with me… Red Lobster every night, a mansion, a Range, smell me? Even a big fuckin’ boat to put in the water and cruise around ’n’ shit, like naked, yo, but, umm… first, I gotta ask you somethin’.” I licked my lips and touched her hand soft like a homo would do.

This is one bad bitch, but I’m quite sure I saw her blush—she knew I was about to hit her with that playalistic pipe-game poeticness. Dummy probably thought I was about to propose or some dumb shit… “Yeah, what you gotta ask me, baby?” The words dripped out her mouth like velvet lubrication into my ears.

“You know I get real stressed in here with a lotta angry aggression and sometimes… sometimes, I feel like I might kill someone’s fuckin’ face, lo mein? So you basically savin’ my life bringin’ me this work, chickn’ chow mein?” I needed to work up the balls to drop the deal-sealin’ bomb.

“I smell you, boo, I think you’d do the same for me if I needed it.”

I licked my lips and squoze her hand tight, makin’ heavy penetrating eye contact. “No question help is what I need… but, right now, it’s not enough, I feel like I might do some real dumb shit, I’m so tight, I think I might explode, and it’s just so good that you’re here. I, I gotta lotta love for you, pork lo mein?”

“I think about you at night and dream that we have babies together and they look exotic, like the cute little Japanese snow macaques I used to feed peanuts to at the zoo while they beat their dicks off. It makes me so happy that I make you so happy…” This bozo broad shed a tear and I knew I was fittin’ to blow a load today! “You can’t explode, babe—you gotta keep a cool head and then do your thing when you get out, doodoo stain? So, I can take care of you.”

“Yeah, I figga dill pickle, but, really what I wanted to ask you is, feel me, I want you to take care of me.” I busted out the HEAVY EYE CONTACT and the WET CRACKER LIPS. “If you just help me explode in your mouth…”

She held my hand tight as a fist-pussy—she was an eager beaver but so young, dumb and full of cum-fusion. She furrowed her fake brows and whispered, “But, I already gave you the package… What do you mean?”

I licked my skinny, fat cracker lips and let the butter ho know, “I need you to suck my dick…”

She took it like a champ, smiled the sweet smile of a pro who knows how to make a man’s ego grow, and my shit got stiff as shit. “Well, why didn’t you just say so, daddy? I’ll make you shoot a fat, dope rope-chain before ya shit even get hard…”

I raised an eyebrow, licked my lips, and let the fine bitch know, “Too late… It’s already hard… Hard about a yarrrd.”

“It’s lucky for you that some girls were put on God’s pretty planet strictly to swallow nuts and I just happen to be one of them…” Twerk ’n’ Jerk put her hand under the table and found my sweaty Jesus. “Just realize once I suck you dry, you won’t be able to get me outta your head, maybe not never…”

“Yea, sho’ you right…” I pulled my hamcock out right there and slapped it on the table balls and all. Two little kids ran by laughing, playing tag. I leaned across and whispered like Barry Black (the white Barry White). “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, ma, but time is of the essence… the CO ain’t lookin’ and my joint is leakin’ messy…”

NEXT: HardWhite is Getting Married! (TO A MAN!!!)

Bert Burykill is the pseudonym of our prison correspondent, who has spent time in a number of prisons in New York State. He tweets here. 

Previously: Down in the Hole