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I Got Hired To Write Nicki Minaj’s Biography (Part 2/2)

I write horror stories. I live and breathe the genre. Writing scary prose isn't just a hobby for me: it's my passion.
So imagine my surprise when I was asked to write a biography. No, not for Stephen King or Edgar Allan Poe. But an authorized biography for the one and only Nicki Minaj. Yeah, I was shocked too when I first read that mysterious e-mail.
The offer even said I'd be given full credit... not to mention insane pay. And all I had to do was just give the L.A. phone number a call...
To my surprise, a familiar female voice answered. The unmistakable charismatic and playful tone I'd heard on hit radio since 2010. My college celebrity crush: Nicki. And she sounded overjoyed to be talking to me! Her contagious laughter sweeter than John and Paul's harmonies.
Nicki told me she loved my stories. She praised the scares, the twists, prose, even the Goddamn similes. And most of all, she was impressed by the diversity of my casts.
Here I was standing alone in my girlfriend Ashley's apartment. Just finding out Nicki Minaj had been my cheerleader all along...
She didn't stop there either. The authorized biography meant I'd get the chance to spend time with the artist herself. A one-way ticket to Beverly Hills she was paying for!
"Thank you!" I said to her. "This is gonna be so amazing. My girlfriend loves you! Ashley's gonna lose her shit when she gets to meet you!"
"Well, we can all meet when the book's done."
Slight disappointment sunk into me. "When it's done?"
"Yeah. We can't have no distractions, Rhonnie. We gotta sacrifice!"
Hesitant, I leaned against the kitchen counter. "So I'm going by myself?"
"Look, my man ain't gonna be there either," Nicki continued. "It's just gonna be us geniuses. That's how I like to work."
Of course, my cynical dark passenger kept me from being too overjoyed. But deep down, I wanted this to be true. My future of being a full-time, professional writer looked set. Nicki Minaj had rescued me from obscurity. And in turn, she likely paved the way for Ash and I's inevitable marriage.
Once Ashley got home, I shared the insane news. She was happy. Like a tween ready to meet her favorite pop singer, she broke down in excited screams.
"Oh my God, Nicki called you!" Ashley yelled. She gave me a ferocious bear hug. "See! I told you you'd be famous!" Her hands ran wild over me. "You're such a great writer, babe!" Then Ashley's passionate kiss hit.
Like Nicki, Ashley too had Trinidad heritage. She had the smooth dark brown skin, the piercing eyes. Perfect teeth. And a nice figure considering she was all natural. Her flexible black hair could be amazing in a bun, straightened, or just left alone in its wavy perfection. But most of all Ash had personality to spare. A kind soul full of fiery life and strength.
On the other hand, I was a weird, skinny guy. Not tall at all. Messy straight brown hair and big green eyes. Even at 27, I still told I looked like a high schooler. Never in a complimentary way either. I always though my awkward good looks and goofy smile made it easy for people to walk all over me... Thank God, I had Ash to look out for us.
To my surprise, Ashley wasn't even upset about not being able to go with me.
"Oh, I trust Nicki!" she said behind a radiant smile. "If she says she'll get me there, she will." Ash caressed my face. "Just get the book done, babe. Make me and Nicki proud."
On Thursday afternoon, Ashley gave me a kiss at the airport. Then I was off to Beverly Hills.
There was no warm welcome party at LAX. All I got was a tall man in a psychedelic shirt and tight purple pants greeted me. Too chill to be a chauffeur or gofer. He held up a piece of paper with my name scribbled on it.
"What's happening, man?" he said to me in a Caribbean accent.
Even behind his thick red sunglasses, I could tell he was a friendly dude. A dark-skinned Trinidadian named Kellan. Muscular and in his late-20s, Kellan had the carefree charisma of a cool college kid. Rather than enduring any awkwardness, we bonded immediately.
To my relief, he showed me all the info on his phone. Nicki's directions for what she wanted him to do. Then together, we rode off.
The L.A. weather was perfect. But of course, the traffic wasn't. The ten-mile trip took us a solid hour. All while Kellan kept his radio on the Top 40 station.
"So are you like related to Nicki?" I asked.
"Naw, man," Kellan chuckled. Calm and collected, he navigated the streets of L.A. like a pro. "We're just friends." He faced me. "We're from Trinidad, you know how that goes! We all get along."
Soon, we traveled through a valley of gaudy mansions. And the further we drove, the more isolated the mansions got.
We pulled up the long driveway. And sure enough, this star had a star home base. A three-story brick mansion. Nicki's pristine yard featured more intriguing artwork and statues than a meticulous museum.
The tall-iron pike gates slammed shut behind us. Surveillance cameras were everywhere, but none of the security took away the welcoming aura.
Kellan parked next to a pink Lamborghini. Awestruck, I stepped out. Regardless of the classy vibe, you could tell The Minaj Mansion had character. The psychedelic pillars certainly showed off the Nicki touch. The mansion her own personal playland.
"Hi!" a cheerful voice called out.
My excitement only intensified. Especially once Kellan led me closer and closer to the front door. Closer to that exuberant voice.
There Nicki was standing on the porch. A cross between creative lunatic and Disney princess, the Queen wore a flowing green dress and layers of exotic jewelry. Messy pink hair and a lack of make-up a nice grungy addition to her elegant outfit.
"You made it!" she said through that tough accent.
Before I could even reply, Nicki gave me a warm hug.
"It's nice to meet you," I managed to say through the anxiety.
More radiant than a Golden Age movie star, Nicki confronted me. The smile of perfect teeth somehow soothed my nerves.
"Well, Hell, it's nice to meet you too!" Nicki responded. She motioned toward me. "Look at you. Rhonnie Fordham in my house!"
Inside, there were the framed albums and gold records. Minaj memorabilia in addition to collectibles from all her favorite musicians. I couldn't stop gazing at the many Trinidadian arts and crafts.
Together, the three of us cruised through the spacious kitchen and living room. We walked into a narrow hallway. An antique chandelier hung over the marble floor. I saw only three doors. Close to us were two doors standing side-by-side, the last one all the way down the other end of the hall.
I followed Nicki to the guest room. Colorful walls greeted me. Windows provided a nice view of Nicki's spacious yard. There were Marlon Brando and James Dean posters. A wooden bookshelf showcased a vinyl record player and dozens of horror movie books.
Nicki latched her playful eyes on to me. "It's all yours, Rhonnie."
"I really appreciate it," I said. I got ready to toss my bag on to the comfy bed.
Nicki snatched my wrist in a tight grip. "Oh no, you ain't dressing like that."
Grinning, I watched her hand my bag over to an amused Kellan. "What do you mean?"
Nicki motioned toward my current outfit: the purple tee and sloppy khakis. "Naw, you cute, but you ain't dressing like that here, boo."
Chuckling, Kellan took my bag out into the hallway.
Nicki pulled me in closer. "We gonna get you newer gear, Rhonnie. Some fresh shit!" She opened a closet.
A treasure chest of clothes stared back at us. The walk-in closet was chock-full of nice shirts, khakis, bathrobes, jeans, etc.
At Nicki's insistence, I changed into a better outfit. Tight-fitting khakis and a red tee. She said I looked even better... I couldn't help but think I looked like a cast-off from one of her videos. Then again, the clothes were Nicki's vision so I needed to appease her.
From there, Nicki showed me the room next door: my personal gym. Besides the equipment and flatscreen, there was a huge mirror in the center of the room.
"You're gonna stay in shape in my house!" Nicki said, overexcited. "You're gonna be looking good on my watch, Rhonnie."
"I'll do my best," I replied. I looked over at our reflections. I gotta say, Mrs. Majesty had dressed me up pretty well... She looked like she was even checking me out...
The Queen cackled. "My castle, my rules! Remember that, boo!"
I followed her out toward the hallway. Helped by the giant mirror, I really got a strong view of Nicki's pure physicality. Her beauty. At only 5'2, Nicki felt stronger. She just looked more powerful. Hell, even taller...
Outside of leading lady looks, Nicki had the poise of a star athlete. A model's face with a fighter's ferocity. And while 36 wasn't old by any stretch of the imagination, she looked preserved at a permanent peak. Flawless, smooth brown skin. And a contagious energy. A sharp nose to match a rebellious spirit. Her eyes so big and vibrant. Of course, there was the bodacious booty, not to mention the bouncing boobs. But to me, Nicki's allure ran deeper than the superficial. Besides a pretty celebrity, she was also a mad scientist in rap. An eccentric, creative mind like myself. And ultimately, regardless of the stage name and surgeries, she was still Onika Maraj.
Loud music startled me. Jumping, I turned and looked down the hall.
"Super Bass" blared from behind that last door. The consistent chorus of "Boom, badoom, boom, boom..." like a rap air raid.
"You alright?" Nicki asked me.
I flashed her a grin. "Yeah. Like who all lives down there?"
Nicki gave the room a dismissive wave. "That's where the staff goes. Probably just Martha and Cookie messing around."
Nicki snorted with laughter. "She's the cook!" Eager, she grabbed a hold of my hand. "Come on, I'll show you where we'll be working."
So out of all the home bars and gardens of pink flowers, Nicki's sanctuary here was the home recording studio. The room was small but too cozy to be claustrophobic. Nicki's notebooks of many lyrics ran wild across a desk.
And there, we talked. Just Nicki and I along with an occasional guest appearance from the drunk Kellan. Midnight drew closer. And as the beer and wine increased, so did our banter.
"So Ashley was okay with you coming out here?" Nicki asked in a sly tone.
Smirking, I watched her take another sip of the red wine. "Yeah, well, she's a big fan."
Nicki purred with glee. "So she ain't gonna get jealous..."
"She's your biggest fan."
"Hmm..." Nicki leaned in closer. "That might be you pretty soon."
An hour later, I was back in the guest room. Wearing my oversized glasses and one of the green bathrobes Nicki had given me, I talked on the phone with Ash.
"How is it?" Ashley asked, her voice full of fangirl excitement. "Does she really have a pink garden?"
"Yeah," I replied. "I just miss you."
"Aww," Ashley said.
"I'm serious, babe," I said. "One fucking night and I already feel lost without you..." Melancholy creeping in, I stole a glance toward the windows. Out toward the harsh security gate. "I need you out here, I know you'll love it."
"I know!" Ashley replied. "Like holy shit, I can't wait to hang out with Nicki!"
Later on, I worked on a new story. My nocturnal session took me to around two in the morning.
Music erupted through the quiet night. Nicki's verse on "Rake It Up" ambushed me.
"What the fuck..." I muttered. Annoyed, I crawled out of bed. The peaceful solitude had turned into an obnoxious nightclub.
I stepped out into the hallway. Squinting behind my glasses, I could tell the music was coming from the room down the hall. The staff spot.
Annoyed, I just went back to bed. Around 9:30, I awoke to find a note resting on the nightstand. Nicki's pretty handwriting had already laid out a schedule for me before the next interview.
I went ahead and did all the chores she asked. I wore the tight-fitting workout clothes she'd laid out for me. I did my exercises. Showered. And then wore the exact outfit she wrote down.
I stepped out into the hallway when a sudden slam echoed toward me. Alert, I looked over and saw the closed staff room door. At least, no music was playing this early...
Lunch was already laid out in the kitchen. A real home-cooked platter of steaks and steamed vegetables. I guess Cookie could cook after all.
"You like it?" a beaming voice asked.
Grinning, I turned to see Nicki standing in the kitchen doorway. She wore an obnoxious purple gown. A golden headdress adorned her wavy hair. What she had on was a glowing example of VMA weirdness. You know, the kind of shit only Nicki could pull off. "Yeah, it's amazing."
Nicki walked up to me. "Well, I know you worked out pretty hard." She squeezed my arm. "I know how y'all writers are." Her enamored eyes looked me up and down. "But you can still stay in shape and look so... nice."
After a few drinks with Kellan, Nicki and I retreated to the studio. And there we talked. My tape recorder and notepad in my hands, my focus solely on the Queen.
Together, we delved further into Nicki's past. Or at least what parts of it she wanted to share. To my surprise, she hated the stage name...
"It just had to be interpreted sexually," she ranted in that raspy accent. "I mean yeah, I don't mind it now, but why couldn't Nicki Maraj or Nicki The Ninja or something just suffice? I have to compromise with this shit just to get my music out there! And that's how it's always been, Rhonnie. The male gaze, we all gotta appease it!"
I nodded. "Naw, I see your point."
"Maybe I'd like to sexualize men more. I don't know rap about a fine boy and his fine ass, but people get all uptight about that shit." Nicki was in jaded overdrive. Her angry mannerisms veered out-of-control. "It's gotta be black girl big titties this, shaking this fat ass that!"
This was the side of Nicki I hadn't seen in person yet: her inner angry rapper. "Well, tell me more about your parents," I said.
Nicki gave me an uneasy look. "What do you mean?"
"I mean like y'all's relationship. I know who they are-"
"What's there to say," Nicki interrupted. The purple dress couldn't disguise her discomfort. "I still love them."
"I know that." Struggling to strike the balance between supportive friend and brave biographer, I leaned in closer. "But your mom and dad had a pretty rough relationship, right?"
"Look, dad was always shot out, alright." Her deep accent began crumbling... "He was always getting mad, yelling at her. Yelling at us..."
Keeping my distance, I stayed silent and respectful.
"He tried to kill her one time," Nicki said. Her trembling hand brushed her hair to the side. "The son-of-a-bitch tried setting her on fire."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"No. Don't be. You didn't do anything." Nicki leaned back in her seat. No smile or playfulness, just a forced cool demeanor. "But they're both better now." Reflective, she gazed over at the desk. At her archive of lyrics. "I just try to come in here every day, you know. Just escape into the music."
From there, we made our way to Nicki's nicer memories. Nicki was quite the reader growing up. She described stories and books as an escape from the loneliness. How she would even pretend all these fictional characters were a part of her family.
But Nicki's true love was obvious: acting. Just the way she reminisced about wanting to be a movie star radiated off her with child-like wonder. Of course, Nicki had the theater training. The looks, the personality, the drive... the affinity for costume shops.
"Be the next Pam Grier," I encouraged her. "You've got that fire to you."
After the interview, I wrote a little before calling Ash at midnight. She was encouraging as always. The motivational speaker to my dark mind.
"I can't wait to see you there," she said.
"Yeah, whenever we finish the interviews," I replied. "Might be another month..."
"Naw, it'll be quicker than that!" Ash said with what I knew was an excited smile.
Over the phone, I kissed her good night. Then I was back at it on the laptop. One sentence into my Nicki notes before a catchy beat stopped me.
Club Staff was back. The cool chorus of "Bed" drifted into my room like mist. And Nicki's frenetic verse hit me like a hurricane.
Cracking a smile, I stumbled toward the hallway. And sure enough there were the moving lights glowing under the club's door.
Fuck it. I was too tired to care. I wrote what I could then went to bed.
When I awoke and put on my glasses, my vision was crystal clear. Too clear. Stunned, I snatched my glasses off. Yeah, they were large Buddy Holly glasses... but not the cheap Dahmer ones I had. Instead, what I had was style. Purple frames. Clean, slick lenses. In other words, expensiveass glasses. I looked all around me but didn't see my contacts case anywhere. Nor my Dahmers.
"You like the upgrade?" I heard Nicki tease.
I saw her enter the room. She wore glasses even bigger than mine. Her hair fixed up in a messy bun. Dressed in sloppy nerd attire, Nicki still managed to pull off the baggy jeans and bland red blouse. Somehow, her goofy charisma made the outfit look natural rather than tacky.
"I'm gone be like Ashley and keep improving you," she said.
Later, my morning ritual commenced. The light workout in those form-fitting clothes. The long shower. Then I threw on Nicki's assigned outfit.
Nicki and I made our way into the studio for the next interview. I kept going back to her geeky childhood. There were the many phases and personalities Nicki's creativity conjured up to deal with the isolation.
"That was all I had," Nicki said. "The writing kept me going through everything. It kept me strong."
"I understand," I said.
"Oh, I know you do." Contemplative, Nicki hesitated. "When I was a kid, I used to pretend all the books I read were real. Like all the characters."
"Chun-Li" interrupted the interview. Not even the studio was safe from Club Cookie...
Nicki's snorting cackle erupted over the music. A nerdy laugh to match the ridiculous gear.
I couldn't help but smile. "So all they play is your songs?"
With the laid-back coolness of a defiant rock star, Nicki shrugged her shoulders. "Can you blame them?"
The music only helped propel our interview. The mood got light and carefree. A few drinks and guest appearances from Kellan didn't hurt the laid-back atmosphere either.
Nicki's quirkiness was the side people never saw. Or the side they chose to ignore. Besides the crazed Roman and this nerdy Nicki performance, there was also charitable Nicki. The Nicki Minaj who helped in raising $250 million for MAC AIDS Funds.
After the interview, we did more of the same: drinking and debauchery in the Queen's palace. Club Staff's playlist accelerated along with our alcohol intake. Together, me, Nicki, and Kellan jammed out like college roommates.
My buzz spiraled into a swirling haze. I collapsed on a living room couch. Nicki sat right beside me while a laughing Kellan stumbled in a recliner. The last thing I remembered was Nicki's playful smile. Her light touch on my shoulder. And then my eyes closed.
Sunlight splashed across me like a bucket of water. Groggy, I awoke in the guest room. I still don't know how I ever got there. Nor do I know how my clothes changed into a tank top and a new pair of boxers overnight... I heard more Nicki tunes drifting in from Club Staff.
The Queen's ferocious flow on "Feeling Myself" enrapturing my ears, I reached over and grabbed the purple glasses. I snatched my cell phone. 10 A.M. And seven missed calls from Ashley.
"Fuck!" I yelled. Frantic, I got ready to call her back.
A harsh grip ensnared my wrist.
"Rhonnie!" Nicki's ferocious voice screamed. "We've got work to do!"
I faced her focused stare. Now Nicki was in tomboy mode. Pure defiance. She wore an oversized black Ramones tee shirt and loose, holey dark jeans. Her hair was straightened and stringy. Less stylish than usual... but still oh so attractive.
"That means no calling your girl!" she continued.
With blazing speed, Nicki snatched my phone. Her clenched hand a bear trap. "We've got an interview, remember. Now go change and get your workout on! You know the damn drill!"
Indeed, I did. I changed quick into those tight shorts. Then I hit the gym hard. The entire Queen album played from the staff room.
The treadmill and crunches left me sweaty. Almost delirious, I staggered around the room. Surrounded by nothing but my exhausted reflection. And Nicki's music. Tired, I approached the flatscreen. My finger stumbled through the buttons.
The screen shifted from MLB Network to a different feed. I'd hit the input button on accident... and what I saw now was live footage from Nicki's palace. From my gym.
The video was clear as day. A home movie in high definition. And there I was on screen: walking the treadmill, doing my sit-ups and stretches. All in those flattering pants. I was the oblivious star of Nicki's private movie. And who the Hell knows what she was using it for... or just how many videos she had.
I was too scared to explore this feed any further. Nervous, I turned off the T.V. And with restless eyes, I scanned the workout room. But I saw no cameras. No glowing red lights. I was alone.
I decided to play it cool. Not that I had much choice with no cell phone or weapon. And this far away from home.
In the guest room, my clothes were already prepared for me. Today's wardrobe: tight jeans and a colorful red tee.
Then we had our latest session in the studio. Nicki's persona now shifted from playful artist to combative genius.
That morning took us on a variety of much darker topics. We discussed Nicki's messy break-ups. The abortion she had at fifteen. Her mood grew more anguished. There were less smiles and more frustration. Regardless of the never-ending Nicki playlist from Club Cookie or even the constant booze each of us indulged in, a vulnerable sadness punctured through Onika Maraj's confidence.
"Is this how you felt when you were younger?" I asked.
"Honestly, Rhonnie," Nicki struggled to say. Her shaky hand pushed her hair to the side. "That's how I've always felt. Disrespected, alienated. All that shit."
"What about your critics?"
"My critics?" Nicki said, her voice devoid of all charm and warmth.
"Yeah," I said. "The people who criticize your music. That all you do is sexualize yourself, you have no depth-"
Like a defensive animal, Nicki leaned in real quick. A fiery glare conquered her face. "But I do care!" her deep, guttural voice yelled. "I do have depth! I talk about more than just how beautiful I am! Maybe if people listened to the rest of my Goddamn songs, they'd see that!"
"And I agree. But there's always other factors at play here. Racism, sexism."
More sadness weighing her down, an emotional Nicki motioned toward me. "But it's not just that! I expect that bullshit!"
"What do you mean?"
Nicki's gaze drifted toward her many notebooks. "I mean most people don't know how much I care about equal rights. For blacks, the LGBT community."
"The people who know you know that, Nicki," I replied. "They know you for more than just sexy lyrics."
With the reflexes of a cautious cat, Nicki confronted me. "But they should all know, Rhonnie! Especially before they start criticizing me and my fucking fans." She ran trembling hands through her hair. Faint sweat oozed through her fingers. No costume could conceal this sadness. "But no one wants to see that," Nicki went on.
An unsettling silence ensued. But I pressed on. I had to. For the book, for me. For Ash. And even for Nicki's own damn sake. "But I don't know, Nicki," I said. "I think there's more to it than just the critics."
Nicki's eyes pierced into my soul. "What do you mean..."
"What you had to go through with your parents, all that loneliness," my voice said with equal parts sympathy and strength. "And then you had the abortion. I mean shit, the bad break-ups. This isn't just critics and trolls, Nicki."
Nicki pulled her glasses off. Her poise vanishing right before my eyes.
"And you didn't even talk about your cousin," I said.
Tears fell down Nicki's eyes. Gone was Nicki Minaj. Here was lonely young Onika.
"Nicholas Telemaque," I said. "His death affected you too. All these tragedies did. They built up inside you, Nicki. They still hurt you."
Defiant, Nicki wiped away her tears. "What do you think you are, Rhonnie? Some kind of fucking doctor!"
The bitter response caught me off-guard. "No..."
Her roller coaster of emotions veering off the rails, Nicki opened a desk drawer.
I leaned in toward her. "Look, Nicki-"
"No, stay your ass right there!" she shouted. The drawer's loud slam overshadowed the never-ending Nicki Minaj soundtrack.
Nicki faced me. A yellow wig covered her straight hair. Her tears replaced by wild eyes. "Hello there," she responded in a British accent.
I forced a chuckle. "What the fuck. You keep spare wigs in there?"
"Always, baby," she replied, her accent even crazier. The full Roman Zolanski effect. And Nicki's eyes looked... hungrier.
Uncomfortable, I sifted in my seat. "Well, look, we can just take a break-"
Like a monster on the prowl, Nicki leaned in close. Real close. "We do need a break..." A madcap smile crossed her face. "For something else." She grabbed my leg in a confident grip.
"Uh, what are you doing..." I said, uneasy.
She went in closer, inches away from my face. "Don't you know I wanted you here for more than just a biography, Rhonnie."
Struggling against her powerful strength, I tried to hold Nicki back. "No, look. I can't."
I stumbled out of the seat.
Leaning up against my chair, Nicki let out a wicked laugh. "Come on, Rhonnie!"
Nervous, I now noticed all the empty wine bottles and longnecks on the desk. "Naw, this ain't cool man." I faced Nicki. The drunken starlet was still hot even looking this crazy in a haphazard wig and runny eyeliner. Just scarier than usual. "We can't do this."
"I know all about you, Rhonnie," Nicki continued in that quirky British accent. That Roman tone. "There's more to you than just the writing." Standing, she rose to the beat of "Roman's Revenge." The hypnotic track dominated the scene. As did the Queen's deranged presence.
"Nicki, chill," I said. "I've got Ashley, you've got your man."
Nicki glided toward me in quick steps. "I knew all about you before I brought you here, Rhonnie." Playful, she leaned in with that manic smile. "I've seen those porn accounts."
In a tenacious tease, she traced her long fingernail down my face. "On Reddit." Her hand grabbed my crotch. My ever-growing crotch. I couldn't help it. The sensation was too much. "I know you've got that big dick." Nicki stole a glance behind me. "That ass too. I've seen all of you, Rhonnie, and I like what I see." Seductive, she stuck out her tongue.
I held her back. My awkward weakness no match for Mrs. Majesty. "I can't. Not to Ash."
"Why not?" Nicki challenged. She got in my face. "She's a fan, remember?" Her confident cackle seamlessly blended into "Roman's Revenge."
"Naw, it's not fucking right!" I said. The booze now hitting me hard, I turned toward the door.
Nicki's hands snatched my ass. "Bring that ass!" I heard her cry.
Helpless, I confronted the pretty face. The crazy, pretty face. Nicki's hands squeezed harder, literally holding me in place. I had no chance at escape in these tight jeans...
"I ain't letting you out, babe," Nicki told me. She leaned in closer, seductive yet strong. "Never."
The first kiss was quick. The next one a bit slower. Her hands clamored all over my body. The sensations and suffocating loop of "Roman's Revenge" overwhelmed me. Here I was with my celebrity crush, two thousand miles from the love of my life. The alcohol left me enraptured. My large erection stayed firm. Nicki smacked my ass for erotic emphasis. Her purring ever constant. If Ash was ever in a similar spot with Ryan Reynolds or Michael B. Jordan, I'd understand. I'd forgive her for giving in to the smorgasbord of sin. Just like I hoped she'd forgive me.
I held Nicki in my arms and pressed against her. Our kisses erupted with unbridled passion.
Tilting her head back, Nicki cackled like a wolf howling at the moon. Carnal hunger conquered her.
"Barbie Dreams" began on Nicki Radio. A seductive rhythm for our intimate encounter.
"You're beautiful," I told Nicki.
Nicki threw down my pants. "Likewise," she remarked. She tore off my shirt and held my face in her hands. "Welcome home, Rhonnie."
The door swung open behind us.
Startled, I turned to see Kellan step in. A completely nude Kellan. His body was chiseled under Nicki's guidance. His big dick flopped out. A beer still held in his hand. His beaming smile locked in on me. "Hey, you ready to join, Rhonnie?" he said.
I stared at him, confused. Even as excitement still coursed through my veins. "What do you mean?" I asked. I felt Nicki step away from me.
Chuckling, Kellan swung his dick around. "Oh, you'll see!" He pointed at my own penis. "You should be doing the same with that big thing, man!"
The sound of a drawer being ripped open made me whirl around. "Nicki."
Nicki stood a few feet away. All ready for "the show." Her new outfit featured a Braves baseball cap, a loose tank top over her large breasts, and a lowered pair of checkered boxer shorts. How she changed in a matter of seconds I'll never know. Nor how fast she got the strap-on attached to her crotch. Sure, I was a well-hung guy. But even I was humbled by this big pink dildo Nicki wore. A dick bigger than the tower...
Considering how thicc Nicki was, those thrusts were gonna be fucking hard. And judging by her excited Roman face, Nicki looked to know how to use this beast. I now felt horror once I remembered she loved to peg...
I stood naked and still. Too stunned to move. Both from fear and sexual exhilaration.
Nicki cackled. "I told you I wanted that ass," she said in a deep voice. Her hands cradled around the protruding prosthetic. "I want all of you, Rhonnie."
Footsteps echoed right behind me. "We both do," I heard Kellan say.
Both of them descended upon me. The curtain now set to rise for this forthcoming threesome. Drunk, I stumbled up against the desk. My eyes strayed back-and-forth between the two pretty people. "Barbie Dreams" a sensual backbeat. This setting far crazier than any Nicki Minaj music video I'd ever seen...
"I be like fuck 'em, fuck 'em, bring the lube in," a playful Nicki sang along. She swung the dildo around. A gigantic pendulum all for me...
Terrified, I woke with a start. Sweat drenched my skin and bed sheets. My heart pounded like an incessant scare chord. And yet somehow, my ass wasn't pounding with pain...
I grabbed my purple glasses off the nightstand. Feelings of relief hit me once I realized I was back in the guest room. Everything was quiet. A beautiful morning with nothing but serene silence surrounded me.
And there was my phone lying right by the pillow. Complete with the seven missed calls from Ashley. It was 10 A.M. and I'd just survived a fucking crazy dream.
Excited, I called Ash back, but I just got her voicemail. I knew she was okay. But still. I missed hearing her voice...
I figured I'd call her back after the workout. Knowing the mysterious camera feed was from the dream, I didn't worry about being filmed now. Once I got back to the guest room, I put on Nicki's select outfit for the day.
The hallway was so quiet I could hear my own footsteps. Hear my own thoughts. I saw no sign of life from the staff room. The smell of breakfast pulled me into the kitchen.
Wearing a flowing pink dress, Nicki stood at the oven. Her hair was done up in an elaborate bun. In the tall high heels, she looked fucking spectacular... even if the outfit was more appropriate for a nineteenth-century ball rather than cooking.
Stirring a pot, she grinned at me. "You ready to eat?" she teased in that Roman Zolanski accent.
I walked up to her, impressed. "Damn, you cooked that?"
Like a confident prom queen, she strutted up to me. "Of course," she said in her natural tough accent. "I've been cooking for us all along, Rhonnie." Her grin ever so wicked, she laid a hand on my shoulder.
"Starships" roared back to life. The bombastic beat and Nicki's blazing lyrics squashed the silence like a nuclear bomb of pop music.
"What the fuck!" I yelled. Panicking, I looked back toward the hallway. Right from where the Nicki playlist had been resurrected...
I felt Nicki pull me closer to her lips. "Just let them play, darling," her British accent teased. "Let them have their fun!"
Right as the chorus hit its peak, I pulled away from the Queen. I rushed off toward the hallway.
Like a stage actress, Nicki held her hand out toward me. Devilish anger fueled her glower. "But darling, don't go!" her Roman voice yelled.
I did my best to ignore her. But I couldn't ignore "Starships"... the frenetic beat.
The staff room's door was open just a crack. Just enough to allow its bombastic music to escape.
Curiosity and anger motivated me. I shoved the door open and ran inside. "Hey!" I yelled.
Vivid, bright lighting illuminated the spacious area. The room way too big to be a bedroom or study. This was an arena.
Amidst the pink walls was an arsenal of antique furniture. A jukebox continued playing her jams. In the corner, an old-fashioned bar stood complete with every alcoholic beverage imaginable. I saw a closed door in the very back of this personal auditorium.
But the horror really set in once I saw Nicki's "staff." The dozens of wax figurines populating the room. All of them were positioned like pieces in an elaborate museum. And all of them were Nicki Minaj. Nicki's many "characters." There was Barbie, Roman, Nerdy Nicki. And they were all dressed in exquisite, elaborate clothing. The collection snapshots of Nicki's many moods. Each and every one of their fake eyes were focused on me.
Scared, I felt like I was drowning in this pink sea. Isolated amongst the Pepto-Bismol walls. "Starships" became etched deep in my mind. I broke down into a terrified mess.
"Rhonnie!" an enthusiastic voice shouted.
I saw Kellan step out from behind the bar. Shirtless and clad in only boxers, Kellan's muscles were exposed for all the world to see. And of course, he carried two beers. Like a sinister toast, he held one out toward me. "You want some more, man?"
Nervous, I rushed up to him. "Kellan, we need to get the fuck outta here!"
Kellan's amused smile never vanished. "Why?"
I motioned toward all the wax figurines. "Look at this shit!" I yelled. "She's crazy! We can't stay here. She's-"
With a dramatic flourish, Kellan leaned in and gave me a kiss. A smooth and effortless smooch. I couldn't help but feel erotic excitement. Kellan's hand caressed my face.
I stared at him, shocked. "Starships" now sounded so much slower and hypnotic in the aftermath of the startling kiss.
"Now why would you wanna leave?" Kellan said to me in charismatic Caribbean accent. He ran his hands along my arms. Such soothing strokes. "We have everything we want right here, Rhonnie."
I stumbled back.
"You can live here like me," Kellan said. Triumphant, he held up his arms. "Forever!"
"No," I said. "I can't..."
"Oh yes, you can!" Nicki's theatrical British accent cried.
In this pink funhouse, I whirled around.
Cackling like a witch, Nicki stepped into the room. She was back in her Roman attire: the blonde wig, the smeared make-up, a regal black dress embellished with glitter. And an evil face. "Everyone stays with me!" she shouted.
Full of carnal satisfaction, Nicki lifted up the dress. There was the large dildo from my dream. Or what I thought was a dream...
"Aw, fuck..." I said through the unease. Trembling, I staggered toward the back of the room.
Nicki's crazed eyes pierced into me. "Now it's time for fun." She snarled like a dungeon dragon. And in this brutal instant, her performance veered from hammy camp to fucking terrifying...
Scared, I took off for the door in the back.
Kellan grabbed my arm. His grip tight and clamoring for more.
"Stay!" he pleaded. With seductive slowness, he leaned in closer. "We've got it made, brother."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nicki get closer and closer. Her playful hands twirled the dildo. Her lustful gaze never strayed from me. "Come here, lover!" she cried. Nicki pointed the dildo at me like a loaded gun. "Bring that ass now!"
"Stay with us!" Kellan begged me. He lunged in toward my face.
I pushed him away. "No!"
Channeling her inner vampire, Nicki held her hands out toward me. Crazed malevolence compelled her. "Stay with us forever, Rhonnie!"
I watched the two of them get closer. Both their smiles so big and bright. Megawatt smiles for this sinister stage.
"I can't!" I yelled.
"Yes, you can!" Nicki cried. Using on all her aggressive strength, she came charging toward me. Her speed faster her flow.
Scared shitless, I bolted for the door.
Nicki's deranged cackles erupted all around me. As did her deranged verse from "Monster."
I tore open the door and jumped inside. In one quick slam, I locked it behind me. Then I heard the long fingernails clawing at the door. Not to mention a long dildo flopping against it...
"Rhonnie!" Nicki's British accent cooed. "Come back, lover! Come back!"
Breathing heavy, I checked my surroundings. The dark, small bedroom awaited me. A hidden bedroom. I saw no windows. Only dim lamps for lighting. A vinyl record player and overfilled bookcase were here for decoration. Long pink blankets covered the queen-size bed.
Once I no longer heard Nicki's desperate attempts to get in, I relaxed. Up until I heard her British accent rapping along to the iconic track..
Shivering, I retrieved my cell phone. I knew I still had Ash. My one hope for getting the fuck out of here. My thumb hovered over her number.
A bedside lamp cut on, blinding me.
"Shit!" I cried. Shielding my eyes, I looked toward the bed. Speechless shock swept over me. I didn't even feel the phone slip from my grasp.
"Rhonnie!" Ashley's beaming voice yelled. Dressed in a pink bathrobe, she rushed up to me. "You made it!"
"Ashley," I said, still confused and scared. "What the Hell's going on?"
Full of Nicki's madcap glee, Ash snagged a hold of my hands. "Nothing," she said. "I'm just glad to see you."
"Look, we gotta go, babe!" I said. Outside, Nicki's howl-along to "Monster" sent shivers down my spine. The cry of a werewolf pop star.
"What do you mean?" Ash asked with a smile.
I looked into Ash's eyes. Her lustful, hungry eyes. There was no panic in her. Only a comfortable contentment. The same chill spirit Kellan exhibited during the entire trip.
"Babe," I said. Uneasy, I squeezed her hands. "How'd you get here? What the fuck's going on?"
Like the devoted fangirl she always was, Ash kept displaying her grin. Her unwavering excitement. "Nicki brought me here yesterday!" she said with reverence. "We've been waiting to surprise you!"
All I could do was stare at my girlfriend's pretty face. Her conversion from fangirl to psychofan now all the more obvious.
"Nicki loved your stories, she even told me!" Ashley said. "I just knew you and her would work well together. Then we could all come out here!" Ash pulled me in close, her ferocious fingernails digging in deep through my defeated flesh. "Ooh, I'm so excited, Rhonnie! Nicki said we never have to leave!"
I heard the door creak open behind me. The jukebox now played "Barbie Tingz." An anthem for this most twisted "love." A theme for Nicki and Kellan as they made their way toward us... toward the queen-size bed.
Reaching both a sexual and passionate hysteria, Ashley jumped in place. Her hands ran wild over my body. Her series of kisses a demonstration of mad love. "I don't ever wanna leave, babe! Not ever!"
submitted by rhonnie14 to DarkTales

Carti in the studio after hearing nicki’s verse

Carti in the studio after hearing nicki’s verse submitted by SSJeffo to playboicarti

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