Hooker to Housewife Read online

  “Baby, why don’t you come over here and kiss Daddy’s dick?” Andre said.

  Why not? If Chantal didn’t, the next bitch would. She had no problem giving Andre head or whatever else he wanted anytime he pleased. She tried to fulfill every sexual fantasy he had and then some. The way these chicks were putting it out she had to stay on top of her game. Chantal gladly got down on her hands and knees in her new $10,000 dress and deep throated her man’s penis and had him cumming before they reached the third stop light.

  Seeing how aroused Andre was got Chantal all worked up, so she massaged his dick to get it back to a rock-hard position. Since she never wore panties, she simply lifted up her dress and straddled her man. Andre was grabbing at her dress trying to get a hold of her voluptuous breasts. Once he did he put his warm mouth around her erect nipple and squeezed the other breast, going back and forth. Andre was moaning in pleasure and they continued to fuck until the driver told them they had reached their destination. Even then they stayed in the limo for another fifteen minutes until both reached their climax.

  Chantal had to throw it on Andre like that every so often so he wouldn’t forget who had the best pussy out there. Everybody has a gift and seducing a man was Chantal’s gift. She knew how to put it on her man like a professional. Sometimes she wondered if she was too good. Andre knew about her past for the most part, but at the same time she thought it bothered him a little when she screwed his brains out. She assumed it made him think that every man had gotten the complete mojo package like that and not just him. But what in the hell did Andre expect? Being the baddest bitch inside and outside of the bedroom used to be Chantal’s livelihood. That’s how she got him and that’s how she planned on keeping him, too.

  TWO

  Promiscuous Girl

  When Chantal met Andre in the spring of 2002 she was about to get evicted from her $7,500-a-month apartment on the Upper West Side; she could barely pay her electric bill. Times were hard. She had been dating this big time rapper and a superstar basketball player, and both were hitting her off lovely. She was pushing a drop-top Benz, traveling to all the hot spots, and chilling. By this time she was ready to lock one of the cats down and have a baby to guarantee some steady income. The problem was she was fucking them both raw and she couldn’t take the chance of not knowing who the father was. She decided it was time to cut one of them off and reasoned the rapper had to go. Rappers make good money, but not that superstar NBA paper. Plus, the rapper already had a baby mama. He could never spend a holiday with Chantal and would constantly cancel at the last minute because his child’s mother would call for some emergency regarding their snot-nosed kid. Chantal never liked playing second fiddle and her NBA player was child-free and perfect for the taking.

  When Chantal cut off her rapper friend, he wigged out. He went through all her belongings and found out that she was messing with Michael Mitchell. He whined, “You not dealing wit me no more for that punk-ass basketball nigga? Fuck that!”

  When Breezy-B spotted Michael at a club he put her on blast like a scorned lover. He told Michael all the different positions he had dicked down Chantal and about the ménage à trois they did with this stripper chick who worked at Magic City in Atlanta. He just put all her business on Front Street.

  Later that night Michael came over and cursed Chantal out. “You trick-ass bitch. You ain’t nothing but a tired-ass ho. Take that contaminated pussy elsewhere. I don’t want no part of it.” After calling her all sorts of sluts and hoes, he then took the keys to the Benz and had the dealership people pick it up the next day. He took back every piece of jewelry he ever bought her and some that she didn’t even think he gave her. To make matters worse, he snatched up the last bit of stash money that he would always put in her top drawer, too. Talk about being devastated: Chantal’s cash cow checked out leaving her destitute.

  The next day Chantal stayed in bed and cried her heart out. She had no man, no money, and no car. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t sell her jewelry because Michael took it all. She had no savings and no one to call for help. Chantal called Michael hundreds of times trying to get him to take her back, but he wasn’t hearing it. She was so desperate she finally broke down and called the scorned rapper.

  “Yo, please help me out. Because of that shit you told Michael, he ain’t fucking with me no more. I’m dead-ass broke,” she pleaded.

  The bitch-ass rapper chuckled before saying, “I got you, shorty.” Chantal let out a deep sigh of relief. “There’s only one catch,” he added.

  “What’s that?” she asked, figuring he wanted to get between her legs one more time, which she was more than willing to do under her humbling circumstances.

  “I’ll hit you off with some cash. You just have to let me and my five homeboys run a train on your trifling ass.”

  “You sick son of a bitch. I’m bad off but not that bad.” Chantal slammed down the phone. By the time the second month rolled around the building manager was trying to put her out on the street.

  Chantal’s back was nailed against the wall and all her options were gone. She couldn’t go back to Chicago because her parents were still pissed that she stole money from them and had never attended college, just to pursue what they considered the faulty glamorous hoochie-mama life. She had no friends that could put her up because they, too, were holding on to their last dime and wondering where the next one would come from.

  One night while mourning over her predicament, Chantal’s girlfriend Arlene called and told her Jay-Z was having a listening party and they should stop through. She was in no mood to go to an industry party, but Arlene said they could have a couple of drinks and unwind. It sounded good, especially because of the depressing mood Chantal was in. She put on some skintight jeans with a red, low-cut sweater and a pair of high heel boots. She brushed her hair back in a ponytail and spread red lip gloss across her luscious lips.

  When they arrived at the Fiesta Lounge it was on and popping. Mad heads were holding court in the Euro-style spot. The décor had touches of red, exotic greenery, mixed with Asian accents to create a dynamic atmosphere. Chantal clicked her heels on the bamboo floors as she rushed the open bar and immediately had a shot of Hennessy. She was trying to forget about the shambles her life was in at the moment. Arlene was sitting on an ivory Barcelona chair, mingling with some A&R guy.

  Chantal was downing her fourth drink when she heard a man say, “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Chantal slowly turned around and the deepest, most intense eyes were staring her in the face. Despite her buzz she knew that the eyes she was gazing into were those of the famous Andre Jackson. His videos were in rapid rotation on MTV and BET. He had endorsements out the ass and had just launched his own high-end clothing line.

  “What did you say?” Chantal asked, starstruck.

  “I said you are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Why don’t you come over to my table and share a bottle of champagne with me?”

  “That’s okay, I’ve already had too much to drink.”

  “Then why don’t you come sit with me and keep me company?”

  Chantal’s head was starting to spin and sitting down sounded awfully nice, plus Andre was fine. She followed him to an elevated, glass-enclosed VIP area that overlooked the room. It had an unobstructed view of the stage so she could still observe the action, but then again there was no one in the spot that could give her better action than Andre Jackson.

  “So what’s your name, beautiful?”

  “Chantal.”

  “I’m Andre Jackson.”

  “Oh, you trying to be funny. I know who you are; everybody knows who you are,” Chantal said sarcastically.

  “I apologize. I wasn’t trying to be funny. I figured it would be rude not to formally introduce myself.”

  “No need to apologize. I’m enjoying being in your company,” Chantal purred.

  “Likewise. So what is your profession, Chantal?”

  “I’m a model/a
ctress,” she answered knowing full well that was the job description every wannabe industry trick out there used instead of the title “well-paid hooker.”

  “How nice,” Andre said, sounding amused since he hadn’t seen her in jack. “Would you like to be the lead in my next music video?” he asked, fully expecting she’d jump at the opportunity.

  “Is it paying?”

  “Of course, all jobs do, or at least they should,” Andre said.

  “No doubt then, just give me the day and time and I’m there,” she said, giving Andre the answer he already expected.

  He figured why not give her the part. If it wasn’t her it would be some other groupie that sucked off the director for the role and they wouldn’t be half as pretty as Chantal.

  As Chantal sat back talking to Andre she considered that the sun might be shining bright for her again. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost. If she could bag Andre Jackson then she, their kids, and grandkids would be set for life. So when he said the magic words, “Would you like to go home with me?” Chantal jumped at the opportunity. She quickly looked around for Arlene to tell her, but when she wasn’t within reaching distance, Chantal was like, “Oh well.”

  All eyes in the club followed the fabulous-looking pair as they hit the exit. They couldn’t help but wonder who the lucky beauty was leaving with the most eligible bachelor in New York. As they walked outside and the valet pulled Andre’s red Ferrari to the front, they hopped in and sped off into the night.

  Andre was zooming so fast on 208 North he almost missed the Summit Avenue exit. He eventually drove up to a long winding driveway that led to his fabulous mansion in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey. Over three and a half acres surrounded the architectural masterpiece situated on the crest of a hill. The stunning Tuscan-style estate had a gated entrance and a state-of-the-art security system. Chantal reflected back to the first mansion she ever laid eyes on in Chicago when she was ten years old. This was just the kind of home she envisioned herself luxuriating in.

  When they entered the palace, Chantal was overwhelmed by the soaring mahogany ceilings, massive rooms, walls of glass, and marble, cherry, and limestone throughout. She followed Andre to the luxurious sunken living room that was enhanced by a television projection system, ashwood floors, and cherry-trimmed doors opening to a courtyard. She almost hesitated to sit down on the pristine plush white couches, because growing up in the Southside of Chicago, houses like this didn’t exist. Even after hitting New York and fucking with top-notch bailers none of them was doing it like this. When Sheila E. sang “The Glamorous Life,” this had to be it. Chantal sat back admiring how amazing Andre’s digs were and how she could definitely imagine coming home to this every day.

  While Chantal was scheming on how to make this her permanent residence, Andre was standing near the wet bar looking her up and down, imagining what her body was like underneath the tight jeans and revealing top. “Why don’t you try a line of coke?” he offered, preparing her for the sex down.

  She was a little taken aback because Chantal had smoked weed and popped a few pills but never fucked with the white girl. But hey, she was willing to try anything once. When she knelt down by the glass table and snorted three lines through a hundred dollar bill, Chantal felt like her nose was on fire. But then instantly her body started feeling warm and loose. A surge of sexiness came over her. She felt like she was a sex goddess or something. After snorting two more lines and having a glass of champagne, Chantal was wired.

  “Baby, take off your clothes, so I can get a good look at you,” Andre said, ready to fuck. Chantal couldn’t drop her panties fast enough and he was impressed with the buxom beauty. He put coke on her breasts and down her stomach and snorted it and fucked her at the same time. The shit was crazy. Chantal felt like she was Paris Hilton starring in some porno movie.

  Andre’s tongue was down her throat and he was pounding on her so hard Chantal thought she would be on bed rest for the next three weeks. His dick was huge and he kept going deeper inside of her until Chantal thought her pussy would explode. Then he flipped her around and started hitting it from the back. He had his hands around her waist and was pushing her ass back to make his manhood go deeper and deeper. She had never felt this good in her life, and Andre was wondering if Chantal’s pussy was the best he had ever had. She didn’t know if it was the coke or the dick but she was open. They both reached their climax simultaneously and then passed out.

  In the middle of the night, Andre woke up and carried Chantal upstairs to his bedroom. When she opened her eyes late that afternoon she found herself under what seemed to be a white fox fur blanket. She wondered if Andre had a fascination with white, because the whole décor in his bedroom reflected such. She then looked around, but Andre was nowhere to be seen. Chantal got out of the bed and stepped on the white marble floor. When she went in the bathroom she noticed a letter was on top of the sink.

  Last night was unbelievable. I had to step out,

  but please don’t leave. I’ll be back shortly. Feel free to

  make yourself at home.

  Andre

  That was exactly what Chantal wanted to do, make herself at home. She had no intentions of going anywhere. Andre Jackson was the cream of the crop. She was never going to let him go. After reading the note six more times Chantal picked up the phone and called her girlfriend Arlene. When she answered the phone Chantal heard the grogginess in her voice. Since neither had a job it wasn’t surprising to still be on shut-eye at three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.

  “Arlene, wake up!” Chantal screamed through the phone.

  “Chantal, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me, wake up.”

  “Girl, what the fuck happened to you last night? I was looking for you for almost an hour, then someone said they thought they saw you leave with Andre Jackson. I was like, please, if my girl had lucked up and got with Andre Jackson she would be blowing my phone up bragging about the shit,” Arlene said, laughing through her wooziness.

  “I was too busy getting the best twist out of my life to pick up the phone and call you.”

  “So they were right. You left the party with Andre Jackson. Damn, Chantal, that’s big. So what, you just now getting home?”

  “You don’t have caller ID?”

  “Yeah, my shit said ‘private’ when you called.”

  “When I normally call you from my crib doesn’t my name and number pop up?”

  “Yeah, so what’s your point?” Arlene snapped, still not putting two and two together.

  “Bitch, stop smoking weed, your brain is slow. I’m still at Andre’s house—no, make that mansion.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “Nope, I’m lounging in his king size, white fur bed. It’s like the clouds are surrounding me. Yo, on the real Arlene, his crib is some other next level shit. You ain’t never chilled in no place like this. It’s like that shit you see on the movies but this is real life.”

  “Where that nigga at, while you talking all free with the tongue?”

  “He had to step out, but he left me a note saying to make myself at home. I think he fell in love with the pussy last night. It’s all good though, because I fell in love with the dick.”

  “He let you stay in his crib by yourself, he must be open. You must have put the classic X-rated move on him that we mastered.”

  “Damn sure did. That shit works every time. I put something extra in my move for Andre because he’s special.”

  “ ‘Special’ is an understatement. After that bullshit with the basketball player, Andre might be your last hope for the glamorous life we all reaching for. As soon as that nigga walk through the door get down on your knees and swallow him up. You fuck and suck him so good that even if his mind is telling him to send you home, his body is begging you to stay. You feel me? You do as I say and you’ll be Erica Kane out this bitch,” Arlene said, point-blank.

  Chantal listened intently like she was the go-to player on the team, allocat
ed by her coach to make the winning shot for the NBA championship. She had nothing but the utmost respect for Arlene. When Chantal had stepped on the scene, Arlene was already a seasoned veteran at the game. Even though she would give all the other groupies shade, she instantly took a liking to Chantal, primarily because she was a younger, prettier version of herself. Seven years Chantal’s senior, Arlene was the envy of all the up-and-coming industry chicks. She was pregnant by the most sought after R&B crooner on the airwaves. Arlene locked him down when he was at the height of his music career. Unfortunately that height lasted all of fifteen minutes. Traveling on private jets, sitting front row at the Grammys, and luxuriating at five-star hotels came to a halt by the time their son turned one. The once shining star left Arlene and the baby high and dry when the endless cash flow came to a halt and Arlene had to take a job as a receptionist just to keep food on the table. For months Arlene wondered why her man bounced and left her and their son with nothing. She soon learned that at the same time she was pregnant, he had another girl in LA who was pregnant with his child, too. He decided to make it work with her because, unlike Arlene, his other baby mother had a job making great money and didn’t need anything from him. She was able to hold it down. That news crushed Arlene. Chantal was right there being schooled through Arlene’s tragedy.

  One day when Chantal was at Arlene’s apartment soaking up another dose of her words of wisdom she said, “Chantal, watch and learn from my mistakes. You don’t want to end up struggling the way I am.”

  “Arlene, it’s not your fault that clown-ass baby father of yours bounced. You don’t have anything to feel bad about. You were getting straight dough from that nigga and living good. So maybe right now you’re on down time but it will all come full circle and you’ll be right back on top.”