Ecstasy- Rapper imagines

My Woo- pop smoke

"Basharrrr," I whined as he blew smoke out of his mouth. "What I tell you about doing that around me?"

"My bad woo," he says, dying out his blunt. Ian mind him smoking, I just hated the smell. He leans down to kiss me but i scrunch up my face and turn my head. He chuckles and kisses my forehead.

"I'm being for real Bashar," I say sternly. "I gotta go by my mama in a few. Ian tryna smell like weed."

"Fuck she gon do about it? Yell atchu? You 19, you do what you want," he responds black. I guess this nigga forgot I was black. That my mama is black. He tryna get me beat?

"Nigga, now you know she can still whip my ass," I say, dead ass serious. He laughs to himself, and pulls me into him.

"Then just don't go," he says, kissing down my neck. I push his head away from me and cross my arms.

"I'm going, and you're coming with me," I say, pulling out my phone to avoid eye contact. Ya see, Bashar's never met my mom. Pop's not the kinda guy she'd ever approve of. He doesn't care about what she thinks. He just wants me. He respects my moms, but he don't care about her approval. But I do.

"For real," he asks, lifting up my face with his index finger and thumb.

"Yeah."

"Bout time, had a nigga thinking you embarrassed of him." Bashar smiles, and kisses my forehead.

"It's gonna happen eventually. Why not now? I'm dating you, not her," I respond, faking my confidence. Fake it til you make it.

"Want me to go shower first," he asks, sniffing his shirt. This nigga knows me so well.

"Yes please," I respond with a smile.

"You coming with," he asks with a smirk, standing up and holding out his hand.

"Yes please," I respond more seductively, following him to our bathroom.

3:45 pm

"You finished woo," I hear from downstairs. I apply a coat of lipgloss and check myself in the mirror one last time. I know I'm only going to see my mama, but I still wanna look good. Show her he makes me feel beautiful. He makes me want to do better. He makes me, me.

"Coming." I spray one last spritz of my Victoria secret 'Pure Seduction' perfume, before heading downstairs. Pop is at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone. I go behind him and place my chin in his hair. I did his braids last night, and then shits came out fire. Mama always said I should do hair, Bashar says the same thing. I might start.

"How I smell," he asks, looking up at me. I sniff his clothes and all I smell is Gain and Versace Eros Flame.

"Like the father of my kids," I say, leaning in for a kiss.

"That's a big ass bet," he says, connecting our lips. After a quick 2 minutes of making out, we finally get in the car and start driving to my mom's house. My anxiety gets bad the moment we pull into the neighborhood.

I want my mom to love him. I mean, Bashar is everything. But he's a gansta. He sags his pants, and smokes blunts and carries guns. And his music doesn't help that. Don't get me wrong, I love it. His glock turns me on. But Pop in and of himself is just the perfect person. I hope she can look passed his 'thug' and see his true heart.

"If she don't like me what she gon do, shoot me,"he jokes. He holds my hand, as he turns into the drive way. He knows this street like the back of his hand. When I lived with my mom, I snuck out almost every night to see him. Those were the days.

"She will, trust me," I say, unbuckling my seat belt. I take a deep breath before opening my door.

"Close that shit right now," pop tells me. I close the door back and roll my eyes. So fucking extra. He comes around and opens the door for me, holding my hand to help me out.

"Can you pick up your pants a little more," I ask him.

"If it makes you happy," he says, picking up his pants and adjusting his belt. "Shit make me feel gay."

"Hush," I say, laughing. He intertwines our fingers as we get to the door. I open it without knocking cuz I mean, I just moved out not even 3 months ago. This is still my house. "Mama, where you at?"

"Kitchen baby," she responds, obviously from the kitchen. We walk in, hand in hand to see her doing her thing over the stove. She turns around and looks at the both of us up and down. "Hey baby, who's this?"

"Mama, this is my boyfriend Bashar," I say, and Poppa extends his hand to shake hers.

"I got seasoning on my hands baby, ion want you to mess up your shirt," my mama says with a laugh. "You smell good. What cologne is that?"

"Versace, ma'am."

"That's that rich nigga cologne," my mama jokes, going back to seasoning the chicken. "It's good to see y'all still together."

I look at Bashar and Bashar looks at me. Mama just laughs.

"Whatchu mean," I ask, with a gulp.

"I remember that car. Used to pull up around 10 every night, come back around 3 in the morning. Don't think you slick," she answers, adding more black pepper.

"Oh my gosh," I say, putting my face in Bashar's chest as he laughs at me.

"Mhmm. I let you do what you wanted tho. You was 18 then, it's yo life na," she says, smiling at the both of us. "Y'all cute."

"'Preciate it, ma," Pop says, taking a seat at the table. I sit beside him. Ma puts the pan of chicken in the oven to bake.

"When imma get my grand babies?"

"Ma, really?"