CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ain’t gonna front…bitch loves ridin’ down on da nigga’s dick…nigga wanna be my daaaaddy…wanna eat it up ’n beat it up…p-ssy like crack…one hit…got da nigga cummin’ back…got ’im wantin’ this sticky nut-nut…got ’im whisperin’ my name…fly, buttery bitch got ’em all f*cked up in da game…nigga, what?
“Aye, yo, what’s good wit’ you?” Allstar asks, soundin’ kinda tight. Truth is the muhf*cka probably is since I’ve been playin’ ’im to the left for the last two weeks. On some real shit, I just ain’t been feelin’ it. This whole baby situation gotta ho’s cage rattled. I’m startin’ to feel like I’m gettin’ into some shit way ova my head. And a bitch don’t like feelin’ like she ain’t in control of shit. Still, I don’t wanna see ’im in the system. And damn sure don’t want ’im bein’ placed wit’ Elise or Patrice. But I keep askin’ myself ova and ova, “what da f*ck am I gonna do wit’ a baby? One voice in my head says: “Love it.” The otha is tellin’ me: “F*ck up its life.”
Real shit, that’s the last thing I eva wanna do. Give ’im a f*cked up life, or mistreat ’im. Still, I don’t know if I really got it in me to love—someone else, that is. I thought I did. Howeva, now a bitch gotta wonder. Not blazin’ the last two weeks hasn’t helped shit, either. It gotta ho on edge. And it has me thinkin’ ’bout shit. Like love and life and niggas. I’ma young, fly, beautiful bitch, got paper for days, good p-ssy, a sick throat game and muhf*ckas tryna get at’a chick, hard. Muhf*ckas sweatin’ to rock a bitch on their arms, but I ain’t beat.
When I was f*ckin’ Naheem, I thought he was the muhf*cka I was in love wit’. He wasn’t. I cared for that nigga, true. But I realize it wasn’t shit more than a crush, and me lovin’ the fact that the nigga helped a bitch get outta a f*cked up situation. When the nigga got knocked, I really thought the achin’ I felt was from a broken heart. It wasn’t. All it was was a bitch stressed ’bout how she was gonna keep from endin’ up back in the projects—stuck and miserable.
But a bitch was able to snatch up the nigga B-Love and bubble-up lovely. But I know I neva gave a f*ck ’bout his ass. I only cared ’bout makin’ sure I didn’t end up eva bein’ one’a them bottom of the barrel bitches. All I cared ’bout was that nigga’s paper. And, keepin’ shit real, I know the nigga didn’t really care ’bout me, either. The only thing he cared ’bout was havin’ me as his. Catchin’ that nigga wit’ his naked dick up in Patrice’s f*ck-box, then offin’ his ass, was the best thing I coulda did. And it gave me all the fetti I needed to get on top, and stay on top.
And Grant. Well, Grant was the nigga I thought was gonna be my savin’ grace from myself. ’Cause I knew I was gettin’ too caught up and comfortable poppin’ a muhf*ckas cork. But the truth is, the only muhf*cka who could really save me, is me. Grant was only anotha escape, maybe an excuse, for me.
“Shit,” I tell ’im, walkin’ into the kitchen, openin’ up a bag of Ranch Doritos. I start crunchin’ in his ear. I know, rude; whateva.
“Oh, word? I can dig it. You home?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I see you ain’t really been feelin’ a muhf*cka. I’ve called and text you and you couldn’t even hit a muhf*cka back. That’s some p-ssy-ass bullshit, Kat. And you know it.”
“Shit happens,” I say, nonchalantly.
“So, it’s like that, right?” It sounds like this muhf*cka is strugglin’ to keep it together.
“I’ve been busy. Nuthin’ personal.” I place a handful of chips on a napkin, then fold the bag closed.
“Nuthin’ personal? Oh, aiight. So, you play a muhf*cka to da left like I’m sum kinda duck muhf*cka and I’m not ’posed to take that shit personal. On some real shit, I thought we was vibin’.”
“Nigga, we was. But, shit. I got otha pressin’ shit goin’ on. So I don’t really have no time for niggas.”
“Oh, so that’s what I am, just some nigga, yo?”
“Well…uh, yeah. You ain’t my man.”
“Yo, ain’t nobody sayin’ I am. But I’ve kept shit a hunnid wit’ you; told you what it is, and what I want.”
“And I told you what it is, too. I’m not beat.”
“So f*ck me, right?”
The doorbell rings. I ignore the shit since I don’t remember sendin’ out no invitations for guests. I sigh. “You know what I mean.”
“Nah, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me.”
I feel myself ’bout to spazz out on this muhf*cka. But it really has nuthin’ to do wit’ ’im. A bitch is aggravated that she missed hearin’ this nigga’s voice; that his smooth baritone voice is makin’ my * pulse. I need a f*ckin’ blunt! And a dose’a some dick, bitch!
“Look, nigga. Don’t try ’n make this out to be no more than what it’s been. We been f*ck buddies; that’s it. I ain’t gonna sit here ’n front like a bitch don’t dig you ’cause I do. But at da end of da day, we both know that shit ain’t gonna be no more than what it’s been—us f*ckin’. You ain’t ready for nuthin’ more. And I don’t know if I am either. So before shit gets too hectic, it’s best if we squash this.”
“Yo, it’s best for who?”
The doorbell rings again. This time whoeva’s ringin’ it, keeps pressin’ down on my shit like they f*ckin’ crazy. I glance ova at the clock on the time. 7:41 P.M. I suck my teeth, pissed. What da f*ck! Who da f*ck is comin’ here unannounced—and f*ckin’ uninvited! I think gettin’ up from the kitchen table.
“For both of us.”
“Oh, so basically you punkin’ out on me, right? You not even gonna take a chance on a muhf*cka, right?”
I roll my eyes up in my head, makin’ my way to the door. “Nigga, you ain’t ready to roll da dice wit’ a chick like me, aiight? So, let’s leave it be. Go get ya gamble on sumwhere else. I told you I ain’t beat for da bullshit.” I’m so caught up in gettin’ ready to bring it to this nigga that I swing open the door wit’out checkin’ the peephole.
This muhf*cka’s leanin’ up against my doorframe wit’ his cell pressed up to his ear. “And I told you, I ain’t tryna let you go that easy. So wrong answer.” I don’t know if I should be happy to see this nigga or heated that his ass popped up at my spot wit’out permission. He smiles at me, disconnectin’ our call. “Yo, you gonna let me in, or what?”
I stare ’im down, slowly shakin’ my head. “Nigga, you know you crazy, right?” I step back, openin’ the door so he can come inside. He brushes past me. “What are doin’ here?”
He lays his phone down on the coffee table. “Well, I figured since I can’t get you by phone, and you ain’t respondin’ to any of my text, I thought I should come by to make sure you aiight.”
“Nigga, you can’t be poppin’ up ova here like you King Ding Dong ’n shit. You real outta pocket now.”
He starts removin’ his chain and watch, then takes off his AF Ones. “Then I guess I might as well get outta these clothes, too.” He pulls off his Ed Hardy tee shirt, then his wife beater.
I stare at ’im. “What da f*ck is you doin’?”
“What it look like? You said I’m outta pocket, so now I’m ’bout to be outta my clothes. I’m strippin’ butt-ass naked and I ain’t leavin’ this muhf*cka ’til we air shit out; real talk.” He unbuckles his belt, unsnaps his jeans, then pulls ’em off.
I fold my arms, starin’ at ’im standin’ here bare-chested and in his Polo boxers. This muthaf*cka is too f*ckin’ extra. “Nigga, you need to put ya shit back on.”
He steps outta his drawers. Then has the muthf*ckin’ audacity to throw ’em at me. “Whatchu gonna do, throw a muhf*cka out?”
I try not to glance down at his shiny black dick. Try to act like a bitch ain’t tryna slurp his chocolate ass up. He licks his lips. “Muhf*cka, I ain’t playin’ wit’ you.” Bitch, but you know ya horny ass want this muhf*cka playin’ wit’ you . So shut ya ho-ass up ’n get wit’ da damn program.
He walks up on me. “Yo, some real shit. You gotta muhf*cka feelin’ ’n actin’ like a real bitch right’a ’bout now.” He pulls me into ’im, and kisses me on the forehead, then on the tip of my nose. “You wanna know the one thing that has always annoyed da shit outta me?”
This muhf*cka smells so damn good. My p-ssy lips ’n * are startin’ to swell. I look up at ’im. “What’s that?”
“A whinin’, needy-ass bitch. And here you gotta muhf*cka doin’ da same shit, yo.”
I smirk. “Is that what I’m doin’?”
He looks me in the eyes. “I don’t know what da f*ck it is ’bout you. I ain’t never been a sucka for good p-ssy. But you got a nigga’s head all f*cked up, yo; true story. I keep you on da brain, heavy.” I wanna tell ’im that the shit’s mutual, but I don’t. Pride won’t let me. He kisses me on the lips. “I dogged a lotta bitches ’cause they let me, Kat. Not ’cause I was lyin’ to ’em or misleadin’ ’em. I always kept shit a hunnid. I would tell ’em from da rip what it was. That a muhf*cka wasn’t lookin’ for love; that a muhf*cka wasn’t beat for no extras other than good p-ssy, throat ’n ass. And if they caught feelin’s then that shit was on them. Not me.” He strokes the side of my face. “And a muhf*cka knows I hurt a few—hell, a lot—of ’em real bad, but they opened da door to that shit, feel me?”
I nod my head, knowin’ly. His hands travel up and down my back. His dick is already brick and I’m tryin’ my damndest to act like I don’t peep this big-ass stick gaugin’ me. I try to step outta his embrace, but he doesn’t let me. And my achin’ p-ssy won’t, eitha.
“Nah, stand here and let a muhf*cka hold you, and finish tellin’ you this shit. “Wit’ da exception of maybe two or three, I had no respect for none’a them bitches, Kat. And that’s on e’erything. I would tell ’em all, ‘f*ck wit’ a nigga like me at ya own risk’. I’d warn ’em to not come at me lookin’ for love ’cause a muhf*cka wasn’t givin’ none of da shit out. And when they didn’t stick to da script, I’d dismiss ’em from their dick wettin’ duties. Now here I am, and you hittin’ me with da exact same shit I used to tell e’very broad who was tryna bag me.” He shakes his head, smilin’.
“What, why you grinnin’?”
“It’s funny how shit turns out, that’s all. I was really feelin’ some kinda way when you wasn’t pickin’ up my calls or respondin’ to my text, but it’s da same shit I used to do to chicks who were startin’ to get nutty on me. Then when they’d finally get at me whinin’ ’bout why I didn’t hit ’em back, I’d tell ’em if a muhf*cka doesn’t get back at ’em, then it meant a muhf*cka ain’t interested. I guess I should start listenin’ to my own shit.”
Mmmph, maybe you should. I shift my weight from one foot to the otha. “Look, muhf*cka, if you stayin’, we need to sit da f*ck down sumwhere.” He takes me by the hand, pullin’ me to the sofa. “Uhhh, nigga, I know you ain’t gonna plop ya bare ass down on my sofa.”
“Nah, yo. C’mon wit’ that. I’ma put my jeans back on.”
“Mmmph. I don’t know why you took them shits off in da first place.” I watch ’im slip back into his pants. He leaves ’em unfastened, sittin’ next to me.
He takes my hand back into his, then brings it up to his lips and kisses it. “Kat, real shit, you know more ’bout me than anyone else besides my moms. Them bitches I was out there f*ckin’ were nuthin’ more than a buncha p-ssy attached to low-self esteem, a ton of insecurities and mad loneliness. What da f*ck I want wit’ that shit?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, you tell me.”
“Like I said, I didn’t respect ’em, Kat. And da f*cked up thing is most of ’em didn’t respect themselves. A muhf*cka like me ain’t never been da type’a cat to reassure some emotionally bankrupt ho ’bout shit she should already know.” He pauses, shakin’ his head. Then starts laughin’. “Yo, my moms told me I had betta proceed wit’ caution, f*ckin’ wit’ you. She said you da kinda chick that would f*ck a nigga up for tryna play ’er. And she didn’t wanna have’ta bury my ass. Yo, I couldn’t believe she told me that shit. Then she told me to leave you alone unless I was serious.”
“Well, she’s right,” I say, raisin’ a brow. “And you might wanna take heed, nigga.”
“Yo, and that’s da shit that’s funny ’cause I know this. And a muhf*cka still wanna rock wit’ you. I know ya fine-ass is crazy. But I also know that underneath all that tough shit, is a woman wit’ a heart full of love. A woman who wants a muhf*cka she can be real wit’, who she can chill wit’ and be in love wit’. A woman who wants a muhf*cka she can count on; a muhf*cka who can hold shit down.”
I shift in my seat. Let go of his hand. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, aiight, Kat. Keep frontin’. I see it in ya eyes. You scared.”
“Nigga, I ain’t scared of shit,” I lie.
“Well, I am. Look. I’ma do shit that ain’t always gonna be right. But if you worried ’bout a muhf*cka creepin’ on you, don’t be. That’s not what I do.”
“Nigga, you ain’t neva been in a relationship, so you don’t know what you will or won’t do.”
“True. Da only thing I ever had on my mind was p-ssy and brain. ’Til now. On some real shit, this is da first time in my life where a muhf*cka is thinkin’ ’bout da future. This ain’t me, ma.”
I squint at ’im. “What ain’t you?”
He opens his arms. “This. Sittin’ here, feelin’ what I feel. I ain’t never felt ’bout no female da way I feel ’bout you, yo. And I damn sure wasn’t tryna have any of ’em meet my moms or be all up in my personal space. For me to bring you to my crib; let you know how a muhf*cka’s livin’ is major. So I know I’m not ’bout to f*ck up da chance to make this work.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah…womp, womp, womp…a bitch ain’t tryna hear all this shit. This muhf*cka has me all off my square. Gotta bitch feelin’…unsure. Then this nigga sittin’ here barefoot and bare-chested is a f*ckin’ distraction. A bitch can’t think straight. If I was still pumpin’ heat in muhf*ckas’ skulls, I wouldn’t be all twisted up. But a bitch wit’ a horny, wet p-ssy ain’t always gonna think straight, like right now. I’m ready to Amtrak this nigga and ride the tracks off’a his dick.
I stare at his chest, then lean ova and lick his nipple. He puts his head back. My mouth covers it and I lightly suck it, ’til he lets out a moan. I grab at his crotch, massage his dick ova his jeans ’til it starts to get long ’n thick.
“Right now, all I care ’bout you makin’ work is this dick.”
He opens and shuts his legs. The lump in his pants swells and stretches. “Damn, you gotta nigga’s head spinnin’, Kat.”
Don’t let me have’ta put a bullet in it.
I glance up at ’im. Look ’im in his eyes. “You want some’a this juicy p-ssy, muhf*cka?”
“Hell, yeah. But I wanna finish talkin’, first.”
“Listen, f*ck talkin’. We can finish all this chit chat. But, for right now, we need to take it to da sheets. A bitch’s p-ssy needs some tongue ’n dick action. F*ck this p-ssy, then we can get back to me dismissin’ ya ass.”
I stand up. “Yo, f*ck that. I ain’t lettin’ you dismiss shit. So we need’a finish talkin’ this shit out, first.”
I tilt my head. “Nigga, you betta get ya ass up and take care of this p-ssy. F*ck all that ’xtra shit you talkin, or get put da f*ck out.” He grins, jumpin’ up like his ass caught fire. “Yeah, I thought so.”
I turn to spin-off on ’im, but he pulls me by the arm, spinnin’ me into ’im, then scoopin’ me up in his arms. I quickly throw my arms ’round his neck, holdin’ on tight.
“Nigga, you crazy. Put me down ’fore you drop me,” I say, tryin’ not to laugh. But a bitch is lookin’ forward to bein’ dropped down on this muhf*cka’s dick.
“Yo, I got you, baby,” he says, takin’ the stairs two at a time. “I can’t wait to get lost up in them walls. Daddy wanna long stroke you to sleep, ma.”
“Yeah, right, muhf*cka. We’ll see. I bet this p-ssy’ll milk ya ass to sleep first.”
He laughs, pushin’ open the bedroom door. He lays me on the bed. “That’s all good. I gotta lotta nut, baby, so it is what it is. We can go round for round up in this muhf*cka. Yo, I don’t give a f*ck what you say. I know you diggin’ me. And I’ma keep pressin’ ya fine-ass ’til you admit it.”
I suck my teeth, untyin’ my robe, then layin’ back on the bed. I bend my legs all the way back. “Nigga, da only thing I’ma admit to is wantin’ ya tongue on my *.”
“Shiiiit, you ain’t said nuthin’ but a word, baby. A muhf*cka’s face loves bein’ pressed up in between them highs.”
“Then clock in, nigga, and get ta work.”
He kisses all ova the front of my p-ssy, then slowly licks the right side of my lips, then the left side. He flicks my * wit’ his tongue, then dips his tongue in my slit.
I arch my back. Palm both sides of his head. “Oooooh, yes… ohhhhh, yessss, muhf*cka…mmmm…eat that p-ssy, nigga…”
On some real shit a bitch can see why this muhf*cka has a buncha hoes ready to jump offa bridges ’n shit ova ’im. This nigga’s tongue work is siiiick. Yeah, muhf*cka, I think, moanin’, it ain’t no use in denyin’ it. You gotta bitch diggin’ ya no-good ass, hard!
TWO HOURS LATER, WE’RE LAYIN’ IN BED. ALEX IS ON HIS BACK, lightly snorin’. I am on my side, propped up on my forearm, gazin’ at ’im in the dark. Yeah, muhf*cka, p-ssy heat done knocked ya ass out. I lift up the sheet and stare at his nakedness. The muhf*cka has a body sculpted to perfection. Smooth chocolate wrapped ’round neva-endin’ muscles. This shit makes no damn sense, I think as I lick my lips. A muhf*cka bein’ this damn fine.
Yeah, bitch, and no damn good. Leave this nigga alone.
But he sounds like he’s really tryna make it pop with a bitch.
Ho, you know this nigga ain’t doin’ nuthin’ but spittin’ game at you.
Yeah, but muhf*ckas can change, too. The nigga done introduced me to his moms, and took me to his crib. Sumthin’ he’s neva done wit’ any otha bitch.
Ho, that shit don’t mean nuthin’.
But he seems like he’s kickin’ truths; like da nigga’s really feelin’ me.
Bitch, don’t fall for the okey-doke. Delete his ass.
He stirs in his sleep, then reaches ova and pulls me into his arms. I lay my head on his chest, close my eyes and listen to the nigga’s heartbeat ’til I drift off to sleep.