Oregon-eyez'd Living

By Aaron Birt

Portland Oregon hoes are a dime-a-dozen and true pimps come once in a lifetime. Adonis was groomed by Portland's most infamous hooker and schooled in the art of seduction, so there was only one path to choose. He decided to follow in his parents' footsteps and enter the GAME. Whoever coined the phrase 'pimpin' ain't easy', had it right. Adonis finds himself in the underworld trying to build something out of nothing and experience the trials and tribulations of his chosen profession. He quickly realizes he has to learn on the job, have a vision, and a solid plan in order for anyone to believe in him to the point where they are willing to be successful by any means necessary. Just as Adonis has his program up and running and plans to tour the West Coast, an unfortunate event happens, forcing him to leave Portland prematurely. Knowing that he is wanted by cops and OP's, he takes his show on the road and his seduction skills and street smarts are really put to the test. Another unfortunate event lands him back in Portland after his trip out of town. One mistake makes his rising empire come crashing down. His bright future dims and he must find a way out of a very tricky situation. Come on a journey and view the world through Adonis's Oregon eyez.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667865881

Book preview

Chapter One

Kalani

I pull my gold-colored Audi Q5 SUV to the curb behind a gray aluminum Chrysler 300 parked in front of my manager’s two-story white house on Stanton Street, a Northeast residential back street lined with trees and similar houses. A light Spring rain falls from the night sky, leaving the streets of Portland Oregon shiny and slick.

Sa’novia, my manager, had invited me over to discuss business. She has plans and a location to open a high-end gentlemen’s club downtown. I guess she’s either going to try to recruit me or proposition me to invest in her venture. Sa’novia’s my mentor in a sense and she’s kind of my hero. She represents everything I aspire to be. Whatever I have accomplished lately has been because of her. Her guidance, her advice, her wisdom, and her inspiration.

Sa’novia beat the odds. She survived a sexual abusive foster care system and used what she had to get what she wanted out of life. At 16 years old she made the fatal mistake of falling in love with a slick talking pimp named The Lord. She described him as the light skin God’s gift to all women. Model pretty, charismatic and captivating. He turned her out by selling a big dream. The Lord had a tender dick for the young Sa’novia. She was fast, young with a tricks appeal galore. She was a pimp’s dream, and she knew it. Six months into their first road trip, he got her pregnant. He begged her to get an abortion. She refused, so he beat her up and left her in Oakland. After all, he had a nice stable of hoes.

Sa’novia had the baby at Emmanuel hospital in Portland, a beautiful son she named Adonis, after the youth in Greek mythology who was loved by Aphrodite the goddess of love and beauty. That was almost two decades ago. Once she had the baby, she went back to doing what she did best. Hoeing, she learned a lot on Union Avenue (the hoe stroll) and became a renegade (pimpless hoe) to support her son until she chose up with another pimp to upgrade her situation. This pimp fell for her too. He played stepdad to her son, made her his bottom bitch, and blessed her with priceless ISM (game). She stayed with him for ten years until a jealous hoe crossed him into prison for fifteen years. Sa’novia had enough ISM to strive and survive.

With her pimp in jail and Union Avenue changing to MLK Boulevard, the last real hoe stroll was gone. Eight-second Avenue was for junky hoes and the internet was slowly talking over the game. So Sa’novia landed a job at a strip club. Portland Oregon has the most strip clubs per capita in the world with over a hundred. Just as much as Portland is known for creating Nike, bi-polar weather, a heart-breaking NBA team, it’s also number one in America for sex trafficking and known to breed successful pimps and stomp down (loyal) hoes. Sa’novia played the strip club because it was the easiest place to find tricks.

Then the owner of the strip club fell in love with her. He was the biggest trick of all. He knocked her up, moved her out to Happy Valley, a suburb border lining Southeast Portland, and tried to square her up. They got engaged but it didn’t last long. After their daughter Arianna was born, Sa’novia wanted her independence back. She didn’t want to playhouse wife, she wanted to own a business and to work. So they split up. She accepted a job at another strip club, moved back to the Northeast and took her two kids with her. She hit licks, saved up, worked up to a manager position and enrolled into Portland Community College to get a business license. Years passed and now she finally had the money and knowledge to open a gentlemen’s club. That’s her success story, she beat the trap. She now owns her house, owns a duplex unit that she rents out, and lives the life she desires.

At Thirty-Six Sa’novia doesn’t look a day older than twenty-one. She has chocolate skin, big, dreamy eyes, and pouty lips. She got a boob job and a Brazilian butt lift to defy her age’s natural gravity. I’m not sure if she’s still in the game but rumor has it that she still has some loyal, generous sugar daddies. Being an OG, she is quick to drop jewels on me and other girls with potential. A lot of young hoes/strippers adopted her as a mentor. She always has solid advice, a good perspective, and solutions you should’ve taught yourself.

I am her favorite protégé. I am easily top three of the baddest bitches in Portland. Picture a Barbie doll built like Kylie Jenner, that’s me. I have over 200k followers on Instagram. I’ve had Philthy Rich, Celly Ru, and Mozzy in my DMs trying to get me to choose up. I’m a stripper, hoe, and an Instagram model wrapped into one beautiful package. I make extra money on Only Fans and Premium Snapchat. I’m about a bag. I know I’m a bad bitch, mentality wise and physically speaking.

I never entertain broke niggas and I charge boss niggas. You gotta pay to play and I don’t pay pimps. Never have, never will. I’m a renegade, self-made. I’m very high maintenance. Pedicure and Manicure stay on point. Make-up is always flawless. I spend bands on designer clothes, shoes, and bags. I’ll only push a new, foreign whip. I’ve spent over ten bands on my body. I got my double D’s and my big bubble butt done by California’s best surgeon. I came a long way from foster homes and a two-year jail bid – I’ve traveled all over the United States. I have two apartments, one out here and another in Las Vegas. I have two new cars, no kids, no worries, and a supportive group of friends I can rely on. Life is good!

I could use some good dick though. It’s been a while since I got piped down properly. Gang members usually got the juice, but I am not gonna go that route anymore. Don’t nobody want to be dodging bullets or visiting a nigga behind glass. So now I avoid them like a deadbeat avoids child support payments. I would consider blessing a D-Boy with some free pussy. At this point, hustlers moving serious weight are the only ones with serious action at taming me. I want the power couple life. Two hustlers in love. I won’t let a nigga depend on me financially or play build-a-boyfriend pimp. I will invest in his hustle if I see the mutual benefit and substantial return on it. I’m picky and my type is the last of a dying breed.

I grab my Gucci purse, climb out of the Audi Q5 SUV and head to the front door. This is my first time coming to Sa’novia’s house. I take the steps to the porch and quickly knock on the macron door. I shiver when a cold gust of wind passes. A long moment after the door finally swung open.

On the other side of the threshold stood the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in person. He looms over me by a foot and I’m five-foot-four. His movie star good looks catch me off guard. Causing butterflies to flutter inside my flat belly. He has silky curls in a short afro that’s papered and sharply edged and flawless mahogany skin. He has a chiseled, high cheekbones face with almond shaped black eyes fringed with seductive long lashes, straight brows, and perfectly shaped full lips. A trimmed mustache and hair on his chin is the only facial hair he has.

My gaze drops below his head to check out the rest of him. He’s naked except for a plush black towel sarong around his hips. He’s built like an NBA player. Broad shoulders, muscular pecs, sculpted six-pack, defined arms, and long legs. He’s every girl’s wet dream come true. What the fuck Sa’novia? She’s got one fine ass nigga answering her door. My eyes ride the long bump sarong against the towel. I’m out-of-pocket, I found myself looking up into his dreamy eyes.

He grins, showing off straight teeth that gleam like pearls. My panties turn into a puddle. Since I haven’t been fortunate to cross your beautiful path, I can only assume you’re here for my mom? He poetically says in a deep, hypnotic voice.

No way! Adonis?

Chapter Two

Adonis

I’m the real definition of a mac (master and control). I’ve been bred to be a real mac since the sandbox. I was raised and taught by a real hoe. Growing up, hoe money paid our rent, bought me school clothes, jewelry, my first car, and groceries. My weekly allowance was hoe money. I’m a real pimp’s bastard and a whore son, like Donald Goings book character. I’ve learned GAME from a pimp step farther and knowledge from a stepdad who owns a legitimate business. Those three influences made sure I grew up sharp.

I’m the perfect mixture of my parents. I inherited my biological father’s looks, charisma, and silver tongue. I got the wit, charm, and intelligence from my beautiful mom. I grew up spoiled but I’m not a rich kid. I have no sob story of rats and roaches, welfare, and food stamps. I grew up in the hood and never struggled.

Mom raised me differently. She kind of groomed me to become a mac or a pimp. She instructed me in the art of seduction and physiological manipulation. Her excuse was, she wanted me to be aware of the evil intentions of a woman’s nature. She didn’t want any girl using me. I soaked up all her lessons. She trained me to become the perfect ladies’ man. She told me what girls really liked. So I dressed nice, learned to cook, played sports, and evolved into a good listener.

She had a co-worker take my virginity at the age of 13 and teach me every useful trick in the bedroom. I spent hours learning foreplay techniques, pussy eating routines, and exotic positions. If I ever fail in the lifestyle, I could always be a porn star. Mom or my sexual professor had no regrets about stripping me from my innocence. Again, she did it for my benefit, sounds twisted huh? It’s just my reality and trust me, I never complained. As far as I was concerned, she was giving me life skills.

Thanks to her, every girl I get involved with falls in love with me. It’s annoying. They get clingy and desperate and would steal the sun to please me. I take full advantage of this. I started off taking little girls’ lunch money. Then I sweet talked them out of their weekly allowance. Now I brake (get money from) bitches. I have a rule, I’ll fuck a girl one time for free, but if she wants to fuck with me, she has to pay me. Period. You would be surprised at how many girls agree to that.

I got a gang of bitches. Bitches spread out across Portland’s metropolitan area, and bitches in different area codes. They all tell me I should be a model. I got bitches in all shapes, sizes, and flavors. I got an army of them on call and no clear favorites. I’m the pretty boy who gets four hundred likes on Facebook, over five hundred views on SnapChat, a lot of friend requests, random messages from girls who have the nerve to ask me if I’m a catfish, just to start a conversation, and my dick game gets a lot of recognition. I’ve had girls’ fake pregnancies, put sugar in my gas tank, hack my social media, lie about fucking me, and spread rumors about me having HIV and Herpes! Of course, I provided medical documentation to prove these crazy, conspiracy theories were false.

I got girls who do it all. I got a couple strippers. I got a girl who works at Popeye’s. I got a couple college students. I got hood rats without occupations. I got girls who work at every mall. I got a girl who does caretaking for elder people. I got an older girl who owns a small bar. I got two girls who sell drugs. I got a few girls who boost clothes. I got an older, ugly black chick that does credit card fraud and bank schemes. No matter what they do, I benefit from it. Connections are very important to me. What kind of girl I don’t have, is a girlfriend. What the hell are those?

It’s Friday night and I don’t have shit to do. The homie Bare Face is having a studio session and invited me to slide. I belong to a clique called Members Only. It’s a new clique made up of my high school circle. There are only five of us. Jay Glizzy, Bare Face, Finesse, Zyshawn, and I. That’s the selected few. We keep our clique just to day ones. Our sole focus is getting money and knocking bitches. We all have hustles. Bare Face and Zyshawn rob shit, Jay Glizzy sells drugs and brakes bitches, and Finesse does everything. So far, we’ve been cordial with other cliques and gangs. We are not looking for funk but we ain’t ducking it either. We’re just doing us, trying to come up.

I won’t be busy for hours. I have to pick up my stripper bitch Zoriah when she gets off. She has some money for me. To buy some time I decided to take a shower. Mom’s house has everything you could want. She had it remodeled a few years ago and hired some interior designer. Now we have comfortable vintage furniture in earth tones, plush carpets, fancy curtains, stainless steel appliances, tasteful art, a fish tank, every technology gadget, and a large HDTV in every room.

My bedroom is right beyond the front door and hooked up nicely. I have a polished wood floor, a king-sized bed between identical nightstands, a closet overflowing with the latest gear and stacks of shoes in boxes lined against a wall. I have a PS4 and an XBOX One that I never use. I keep my area organized and clean. I haven’t been in a rush to leave the nest because mom lets me do whatever the fuck I want. It’s funny because while I get free reign, she’s super strict with my 11 year old sister Arianna. Arianna’s smart, obedient, and clueless.

On my way back to my room after a delicious shower, I hear a knock at the door. Arianna’s upstairs in her room and moms in the living room on her iPad, so I’m the closest to the door. I stroll past the kitchen, down the hall and open the door.

The blonde snow bunny on my doorstep is one of the baddest I’ve ever laid eyes on. She might be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in person, and I’ve seen a lot. She looks like a surgically enhanced Barbie doll with her platinum blonde hair and sexy, big blue eyes topped with fake, long lashes. She has a straight and narrow nose, fine cheek bones, thick lips, and a squarish jaw line tapered to a pointy chin. Her white complexion is perfectly tanned. Her make-up is perfect, she didn’t overdo it. She is short, curvy, and thick. Everything about her screams high class hoe. She’s wearing a baby blue, white, gold, and black Versace track jacket, airtight white leggings, and white Versace Chain Reaction sneakers. This bitch has a major style. What really captures my attention is the diamond encrusted name plate suspended from a short, diamond tennis chain around her neck. The sparkling diamonds spell out her name, Kalani.

I catch her sizing me up, baby blue eyes glued to my package. When she lifts her gaze to meet my eyes, it was like falling into a clear blue, bottomless ocean. She has the type of eyes a nigga could drown in.

Keeping my composure, I greet her sweetly. Since I haven’t been fortunate enough to cross your beautiful path, I can only assume you’re here for my mom?

She flashes me perfect teeth. "You’re Adonis?’ I see question marks in her eyes.

The one and only I step aside to let her in. She’s in the living room. I point straight ahead and shut the door. 

Thank you she replies in a soft, sexy voice. I watched her head down the hall. She has a huge, round ass straining against her leggings. Her ass cheeks switch side to side as she walks, I noticed happily.

I need to make a trip for some Backwoods. There’s a corner store just around the corner on 7th and Knott Street. I toss on a Ralph Lauren jogger suit and some Nike Foamposites. I leave the house, hop in my 2008 Chrysler 300 and slide to the minimart. I park at the curb, hop out and enter the store.

The only other customer is a petite blonde girl with a tan. She is standing near the cooler with her back to me. She’s dressed like a young, typical thot. Mustard yellow spaghetti strap tank top, H&M jeans, and fresh blue and white Retro Jordan 9’s on her small feet. I wouldn’t even consider trying to holler at her. What would be the point? I bet she has a cheap phone, lighter, and EBT card in her pocket, maybe a bus pass. She’s not in a position to do shit for me, so she’s not worth my time.

I continue to the register to buy a double pack of Honey Bourbon Backwoods. The legal age limit to purchase tobacco changed last year to 21, but the clerks been knowing me since I was in middle school. On my way out the young thot called out to me.

Aye, you? I turned around. She saunters up the aisle towards me carrying a bag of Taki chips and a Snapple juice. She’s cuter than I expected with feline features. The dark roots in her long, sleek blonde hair falling to her shoulders matches her sharp arched brows. Fake, mile-long lashes enhance pretty dark eyes. She could pass as Asian or Latina with her pale gold complexion. She reminds me of the singer Rita Ora. I have a habit of trying to compare people to celebrities. She’s about 5’6 with the slenderness of a dancer. Her titties are small but perky and full. She holds up an outdated Galaxy phone with a cracked screen. My phone just died on me. Can I use yours real quick to see when my bus is coming?" She asked politely, eyeing me hard.

Sure. I handed her my phone since she asked so nicely. Observing her while she checked her Omni bus tracker, I guessed her age to be no older than nineteen.

A minute later she handed me back the iPhone. Wait, she holds up a hand don’t I know you from somewhere? She studies me closely. She sets her snacks on the counter and points at me. I can see my identity finally dawn on her.

I wait. I know I’ve never laid eyes on her. I’m good with faces.

Ain’t your name Adonis? God’s Gift on Facebook? She recognizes me. This usually goes one of two ways.

It is, I said coolly.

Her big smile shows off a thin gap between her front teeth. I knew it! She says excitedly. We are friends on Facebook and on SnapChat. She looks awestruck like I’m famous or something.

Oh yeah? What’s yo name on there? I asked, watching her pay for her snacks with an EBT card. 

Chyna Staxx.

Never heard of her.

Didn’t you used to fuck with my friend Piper? Now I smiled. I know Piper real well. I used to catch the bus for a long journey to fuck that pretty, green-eyed white girl in Lake Oswego.

We used to fuck around, I confessed. Is she still yo friend?

Chyna grabs her snacks. Not anymore, but she used to talk about you all the time.

What’d she say? I could only imagine.

Good things. Her smile let me know she heard about my dick game. Good, that helps, I thought. We moved toward the door.

When’s yo bus come? I decided to see how fast I can get her. She’s already giving me the easy vibes.

Twenty minutes.

You got time to blow a stick with ya boy? I opened the door for her.

Her face lit up. Hell yeah. Blow dat baby shit.

Hop in, I motion to my aluminum Chryslers 300. We hop in the car. I make a U-turn and arrive back at my house. Where were you headed? I ask, turning left on Stanton Street.

Lloyd. The Lloyd Center Mall. The three-story wall is a short drive from here but a long walk. There is a little honeycomb hideout beneath my house. On each side of my house inverted cement ramps lead to private four car parking garages divided by a cement wall. Not many people in this middle-class neighborhood know about this spot. I drive down a ramp and park in privacy.

I’ll be back in a sec. I get out of the car, walk to my room, grab the weed, and return to the car. I turn the car on. Chyna pulls a phone charger out of her back pocket, and plugs her phone in. I put on some mellow music to set the mood and let her roll the tree. We’re smoking Gorilla Glue number 4 tonight, straight from the dispensary.

This is some gas, Chyna comments, sprinkling pretty, green buds