Who’s the Real Hustler?

By Danielle Delgado

September 8, 2004

Not to long ago I attended a reunion at my high school where I ran into an old classmate named Ahmed. He proceeded to brag about how he has a lot of money and buys a new car every year and how his fiancé is at home planning their wedding. I was very happy for him; until he told me how people like me are failures because I do not have his degree, his money or his success. He said he was a hustler. To hustle, as defined by Miriam Webster dictionary, means to: Obtain by energetic activity. To sell or promote energetically and aggressively; HASTEN, HURRY; to make strenuous efforts to obtain especially money or business; to play a game or sport in an alert aggressive manner.

 

I had totally forgotten about that conversation until this morning when I was doing my normal commute to my job as an office manager. It was raining very hard and there were train delays because of the weather. When a train finally arrived there were further delays because of sick passengers in other trains ahead of us. We were all stuck in between stations for at least an hour. Tempers flaring, people complaining and panic was building. Personally, I am slightly claustrophobic and when I’m trapped in an enclosed and crowded space I tend to feel sick and scared, but I digress. After a while the train conductor announced that there would be no service into Manhattan. All you could hear was groans and gripes. A young man who was going to his high school in Queens said how am I supposed to get to school? He wasn’t expecting an answer from anybody, but I answered him and asked him where his stop was, and together we looked at his train map and we plotted out an alternative route for him to get to school, while we were still stuck in the train. A young woman, who was late to her job interview, had no idea where she was going and to top that she had just moved to Brooklyn a week ago. We all stayed together and I found out that she too had to catch the Q train going the same way as me. When we finally got off at Pacific Street, we went to look for a working payphone, and there weren’t any (Thanks a lot MTA). So I found a signal on my cell phone and called my boss but I couldn’t hear him because of the crowd. The young woman didn’t have any money on her pre-paid phone so I gave her mine and I told her to call her interviewer and let him know she was running late, while she was on the phone I directed the young man to the train he should take and reminded him where to transfer. He thanked me and was on his way to school. The woman lost the signal on my phone and I told her once we get on the Q she can call him again and get directions to the office where she was to now meet him at.

On the way to the Q train she thanked me for being so nice to her, and I told her it wasn’t a problem and the most important thing was that we find out where she now had to meet her interviewer so that she can get that job. We talked and she called her interviewer again and got the information. Before she got off I gave her my number and I told her that if she needed anything to call me and that my son and I can show her around Brooklyn. I finally made it to my job at 11AM after being on the trains for 3 ½ hours. Talk about a commute!

Now I know what you’re thinking, what does this have to do with being a hustler? Nothing directly; however, it got me to thinking about what exactly I do everyday. I get up everyday at 6AM I get myself ready for work, and my son ready for daycare (with my mom’s help thank God). I get on the train with my son and transfer to a bus in order to bring him to the daycare center, get him settled, and settle any issues with the child care provider. I then walk back to the train station and along the way check in with my grandmother to visit briefly and to make sure she is doing ok and then I get on the train to go to work. Once I get to work I handle not only my work at hand but my day to day issues as well, and then I go home. Once I get home, I make sure my son is fed, cleaned and loved and that most of our things are ready for the next day. By the time I am ready to relax, I am too tired to watch TV, or play on the computer. I simply fall asleep from exhaustion. Back to what Ahmed said about me being a failure. Look at all I do, would a failure be able to handle that? This is easy compared to before and right after my son was born! When I was pregnant with my son I went to work full time and I went to school full time. I had my son during spring break and went back the next week so that I could finish school and get my associates degree.

The true hustlers of the world are the people who go out there and stop at nothing to satisfy the demands of their everyday lives and preserve and exceed their quality of life, not just financially but spiritually too. They’re the single mothers and fathers who shake what their mama’s gave them, to give their children the world they deserve. They are the married women and men who single handedly care for their spouse and their families with no gratitude expected or given. They are our parents who sacrificed the things that they really needed to get us the things that we just merely wanted.

Hustlers realize that it’s not all or nothing. I am a true hustler. I play the game of life aggressively. I’m quick to find solutions to problems that are mine and some that aren’t. I have the drive to get things done, whether I feel like doing them or not. Yes, it’s easy to sell a product or yourself for that matter and be an outwardly successful person. Sure that may be a hustler too, but in reality I believe Ahmed just simply got lucky. The real hustlers have it all, maybe not excessively but they do have it all. I have it all and I know I can exceed “my all” and for that I am truly grateful. And I salute all the other Real Hustlers in life. Are you a Real Hustler? Have you acknowledged the Real Hustlers in your lives?

The Encounter

Written by Danielle Delgado

For Sam, who asked me to write this.

She met him on a summer evening as she passed by a local outdoor coffee shop, where he approached her and asked the question “Do I know you from somewhere?” This was his usual line when he wanted to approach a woman. She was in no mood to talk, but being polite she explained that she often gets mistaken for others and that she didn’t know him. He apologizes with some odd joke and she giggles. It took her off her guard. He invites her to join him and his friends for coffee, and though hesitant, she accepts. It was a cool and breezy that night and she was a little cold because she was wearing only a light dress. She shivers. He noticed this out of the corner of his eye and offers her his jacket; before she can say anything he gently wraps the jacket around her. The group continues to talk and laugh for many hours into the night. She was having an enjoyable evening.

Finally noticing the time, she announces that she must take leave of them but she enjoyed their company and exclaimed that they must do this again sometime (believing that it was the last time that they would meet anyway). She begins to take off the jacket when he looks at her and insists that she wear the jacket and will briefly leave his friends to walk her home. Grateful for the company, she begins to lead the way to home. They continue to talk as they’re walking. When they reach her small apartment she invites him inside and he gladly follows. She turns on the light, and he takes notice of their surroundings. It’s a studio apartment. There is a simple couch and coffee table; her bed is behind an oriental changing screen, for the impression of privacy. He sits down on the couch; she slips off her sandals and pours two shots of whiskey and joins him. Handing him the drink as she swallows hers in one gulp, he follows suit.

He stares at her, noticing her breasts, very visible in the shape of her dress. She looks him up and down, very aware that he’s checking her out. She moves closer to him. He extends his hand to her face and moves the hair out of her eye’s vision, his fingers moving slowly down her cheekbone, moving her face closer to his lips, they kiss. She advances on top of him, still kissing each other. He moves his hands up her back to the zipper of her dress, and slowly begins to unzip her dress. She stands up and he slips her dress straps off of her shoulders and the dress falls to the floor.

Standing there in just a black lace bra and a pair of pink thong panties, she leads him behind the screen to her bed. He follows willingly, undressing himself along the way. He reaches for her, and grabs her close to him; he kisses her shoulders as he removes her bra off of her body. Running his hands down her soft skin, kissing her body; taking her nipples to his mouth, he gently sucks on her nipples then moves his way down to her panties. She tries to play coy, but in her mind she wants him to be forceful, her nails graze the upper part of his back; he is suddenly aroused more by the act of her scratching. He can no longer contain himself he starts to take off her panties and he accidentally rips them; she laughs in delight. He rips them off of her body and spreads her legs apart.

He slides his fingers inside of her, finding she is very wet; he removes his fingers and moves his head in between her legs instead, licking her, making her shiver with anticipation. She draws his head closer to her body. He’s hard; he wants to be inside of her. He moves his head away from her legs, and he lies on his back, pulling her on top of him. She grabs his cock and draws him inside of her. She starts to ride him slowly; feeling him grow harder inside of her, she grinds faster. She watches the expressions on his face. She recalls how a man tries to hide that he’s feeling pleasure, he cannot conceal the pleasure he is feeling. She’s weakened him, this arouses her more and she grinds him faster until he starts to scream that he’s about to cum. This turns her on more she moves faster. He cannot bear the thought of her on top of him anymore, he flips on her back and starts to pound into her; thrusting himself inside of her. She wraps her legs around him; she clings to him as if the world were to end if she let go. She feels the beginnings of climax. She moans for him not to stop, almost begging not to stop. The feelings of climax become more intense. They both cum simultaneously, both are spent. He lies down next to her, kisses her lips. She wraps herself around him.

They both lie next to each other for a while, making small talk. He get up to get dressed and go home, his friends are probably long gone from the coffee shop where they met. He takes a notepad and a pen on her bedside table and he writes his phone number down. He jokes about maybe next time they meet that they will have a proper date. She laughs and gets up to walk him out of the small apartment. She kisses him goodnight and tells him that she’ll call him. She locks the door and walks over to her bed. As she lies down on the bed recalling the events of the evening and she is suddenly in hysterics because she just realized that they didn’t know each other’s names.

The Dream

(In Honor of Victor)

She hadn't seen him for many years, but since they were best friends they kept daily contact. All the things she yearned to tell him she kept to herself for fear of rejection. They always planned to reunite but something always came up and spoiled their plans. And each time they speak her lips burn a fiery red to tell her of the fantasies etched in her mind about him. But at the sound of his voice she loses her courage to make her voice heard. The voice that drew him to her in the first place.

At night she'd dream about him, but never in entirety... only in pieces, like pieces to a puzzle. Each day she'd scramble in her mind to put the pieces together, but she was always missing something. Until one night the dream finally played out in its entirety.

As he slept beside her with only his shorts on, she woke up to find him peacefully sleeping and she stares at him like he is an angel fallen from heaven. The lips that she wished to kiss for years were finally in front of her and she could no longer resist the urge to kiss him any longer. She rose up against him. Her nipples, erect and visible from her nightgown brush up across his chest, as she moves to kiss his full lips. Though only the slightest touch, it stirs him awake. He wraps his arms around her waist and draws her on top of him; pressing her close to his body and she tilts her head to the side and presses her lips to his. His tongue prods her mouth open and she welcomes the full kiss without hesitation.

She pulls her face away and begins kissing down his neck, down his chest... slowly inching herself down his body; stopping when she reaches the waistband of his shorts. She plays a little bit with the waistband, making him shiver with anticipation; not completely sure of what she'll do to him. She gently tugs at the shorts till she's gotten them off of him.

Pleased at what she sees, she runs her fingers down his thigh with one hand and the other hand up his chest. She lowers her head and kisses the inner part of his thighs; caresses his cock in her very capable hands and slowly bring his cock to her lips. She kisses his tip and as she opens her mouth to take him in he lets out this little sigh under his breath. He moans, in bliss, he sits up to touch her, places his hands on her shoulders, gripping onto her. She takes him in deeper into her mouth closer to his base and then her mouth slowly comes back up towards his tip, the top of her teeth very gently graze against your shaft. He combs his fingers through her hair, clenching her hair in his hand at the nape of her neck.

He looks at her body, her mouth, her shoulders, her back; he feels the smoothness of her skin. He sees a glimpse of the erect nipples that aroused him. He licks finger and moistens her nipples to keep them erect. He longs to put those in his mouth, but that will have to wait. He watches her mouth lovingly slide up and down his shaft. The pleasure causing him to pant; he can't take it anymore; he can't fight the urge to release. He lets go of her and lies backward, his body stiffens from pleasure and starts to shiver with the first signs of release. Taking notice she takes his cock in as deep as it can go, the tip hitting the back of his throat; he explodes, they both feel the release slide down her throat. As he cums her hands claw into his hips until he's drained. She slowly pulls away from his cock; he pulls her towards him and kisses her lips. She wraps her arms around his neck moving closer to him.

As the kiss deepens, she bolts awake. Not realizing that it was all a dream, she looks around the room looking for him. It was all a dream. In shock and disappointment, she smoothes out her nightgown fixes her covers and puts her head to her pillow. Slowly, she begins drifting off to sleep when the phone rings.

 

"Hello?" she answers.
"Did I wake you?" says her friend.
"No, I had this dream and I was already awake".
"You won't believe this! I had a dream too. It was incredible, you were in it. It was amazing."
"Funny, you were in my dream too. Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine..."

-The End?

In my thoughts,

Clouded my mind.

Life is too short.

But yet there's time.

Round and round,

Away we go,

Where we stop,

Nobody knows.

When it ends,

I cannot say.

There are only 24 hours in a day.

I long to see you,

I don't know why.

But it will happen when it's time

I awaken,

My heart is breaking.

Alone again.

No one to share

My thoughts,

My fears,

My joys.

In my total solitude,

My reflection in the mirror,

Shows me that I was alone all along.

Like a drug,

Temporary fix.

You were my salvation.

Yet you did not quench my thirst

Or sate my hunger.

I'll move on,

Not on to the next fix,

But towards the golden light which is my soul.

Purge myself of the artificial high that I was on.

The crash is too much to bear.

Affection, it's funny, almost bordering on pathetic, what we as humans do to get it. How we crave for it? What we're willing to do to get it. How it seems that we are not whole as beings unless we have it. We feel like something is missing in our lives if we don't have it. That is what makes us weaker than the animals that we claim superiority over... the need to be "loved".

I mean we don't technically need this affection to survive, we need the basics: Food, shelter, clothing. But after a while, we tend to get depressed over the lack there of, and the depression leads us to not being able to supply ourselves with the basics. It's a vicious cycle.

Our fear of being alone and eventually dying, which is usually alone anyway- I mean how many people get put in the ground in the same casket? Anyway, I'm going off the topic. Why do we as humans have this weakness? Is it a weakness or does it make us superior? I mean you'd think that because we have this need for "love" we would value life more. We don't. We are a self centered society, with little hope for a cure. Not to say that I will discontinue my life, but instead I will relish over the fact that I have the option of stating this to whoever cares to listen or comment.

I do value life, mine and others alike. The need to be loved will eventually end as I will eventually die and its cause may be lack of being loved. Which is the fear; however, fear is only a fear if we are too afraid to face it, so maybe it's not a fear after all for me.

Maybe I should get off my soapbox, maybe I should say more. Who knows, this is just a passing thought which I'm not sure if I'm even going to save or hit the delete button.

What's frustrating is, people choose to be in the situations they're in and I'm far from being the exception. I chose my predicament and my path long ago. People choose to ignore things that will work for them. Maybe it's their need for suffering, who knows, it's not for me to judge. I leave that decision to my creator.

There are always choices in life and if something doesn't work for you then it's up to you to make the choices so it does work for you. And yes, wallowing in your sorrow is a choice too, not a productive one but still a choice.

So does this leave us anywhere different from where we started? Most likely not.

Towards the golden light,

Which is my soul.

I am free.

Towards God,

Towards the Goddess,

Towards the angels that keep me.

Towards the ones that truly love me,

Towards the Arch Angels that I am descended from.

Ride on the dragon.

The mythical beast that fears nothing and loves all,

Slays the demons inside of me.

They were my worst enemy,

Only to find that the enemy was me.

I shall be free.

I'll sail in the sky with the dragons and angels.

I'll bask in the golden lights of my soul.

I'll be received with the God and Goddesses,

With open and comforting arms.

I'll never need you, your drug, or your salvation.

For I have saved myself,

And you are not worthy

To bask in the golden light

Which is my soul.

The Widow's Letter

Dearest,

It’s been some time since you've gone from us. I never stopped thinking about you. It wasn't easy moving on, and I'm still working on it. There are so many things I never had the chance to say. There were so many things that went wrong in our time together and so few things that went right. What is right? What is wrong? Anyway, there were things I never had the chance to say to you. I think this is the only chance I have to say them. So let me just say it.

First of all, I loved you… with all of my heart and soul. I based my life around you. I gave up friends and family to be with you. I gave up myself. You came first. It was the only way you could see that I loved you. My life went from being mine to just an extension of your life. Maybe it was obsession, maybe it was fanatical, but at the end of the day, I still loved you. Even when you were doing all the things that you shouldn't be doing-- which was all the time.

I supported you, financially and emotionally. While you sat and played victim, I worked and took care of and our child and made every excuse for you.  The only difference today is that you aren't my center anymore, I am. Don't get me wrong, I love our child, MY CHILD. Yes, my child. But neglect of one's self is the worst form of abuse. It says something along the lines of that in the Bible.

You’re a son of a bitch. I am so angry at you. I am angry at myself; angry that I gave so much up for you, angry that I let you put me in that position. I am angry for letting you get away with so much; angry for the scars on my back, angry for my Achilles heel. You have always passed the blame or responsibility onto me or someone else. You've lied to me, cheated on me, stole from me and our child, my child!

You always found something to chastise on me for. When I wouldn't put up with your shit anymore, you beat me. For that I am so glad that you're gone. We were like that fable about the little girl and the poisonous snake in the forest. You know how that ends right? Where after the girl helps him, he bites her and she's dying she asks why, and he replies with a smile "you knew what I was when you picked me up". I knew that you were evil to some extent. I did. I also had faith that the good in you would prevail, but it didn't. And when it didn't, you'd blame me and I'd blame me. Because who else's fault would it be, right?

Now I know why you called me stupid all of the time. You were right, I was stupid. But not for the reasons you'd tell me. I was stupid for believing you, for putting up with you, for forgetting about me, for putting my child second to you.

Trust me when I say this doesn't give me any pleasure. Trust. Another thing I can rant about all day. I could never trust you. Because I knew who you really were. I know you hated that I could never trust you. Maybe that's why you beat me. I don't know, you're not here to answer that question.

I've done well since you've gone. I'm working again, in a much better place than you ever thought I'd achieve. I can only move forward from there. The baby... well the baby isn't a baby anymore. The baby is has grown into a wonderful child, so smart, so big. Our child. My child will do better than we could have ever conceived. Unfortunately, you will never know.

Like I said before, I get no pleasure from telling you these things. When you left us, parts of me died too. This is good, because the parts of me that died were the helplessness in me, the desperateness in me. The part of me that thought I was ugly (yeah you helped with that one, but I let you, so there we go).

Remember when you said I'd never have any friends because I was so damn unlikable? I've made some really great friends, and rediscovered the ones that I gave up for you. I go out more. The new friends are wonderful too; they listen without judgment and accept me as I am. I've even been on a few dates. I like the social scene, but I never seem to find anyone worthwhile. I think it is because I've been blinded by the anger and resentments that I've been holding towards you and me. That's why I have to tell you all of this. That's also why I have to forgive you. That's why I have to forgive me. I don't want to go on feeling this way. Look, when you were good, you were good. When you weren't, you were a complete Jack-Ass. I need to move on with my life. I have to let you go. This hurts so much but I have to do it.

So here it goes... I forgive you. I forgive you for your part in all that happened. And I forgive me for my part in all that happened. I give myself permission to move on with my life, and I release my expectations of you. I hope that wherever you ended up, you're happy and at peace. I hope you've found what you were looking for. I genuinely mean that. Maybe we'll see one another again, probably not. Know that a part of me loves you always, the part that gave me my child. And the person that I am now thanks you for giving her the strength to come out.

Goodbye Dearest.

Love,

Danielle