CHAPTER FIVE
Gotta nigga wantin’ to stroke me wit’ his dick…wantin’ to feel this p-ssy heat on his face…beggin’ me to drop down on them lips…roll my hips…squeeze his head wit’ my thighs… nigga wantin’ me to nut in his mouth…yeah, muhf*cka… let’a bitch coat ya tongue wit’ dis waterfall…open wide, muhf*cka…close ya eyes…here comes ya surprise…
My ringin’ cell wakes a bitch up outta a deep-ass sleep. I peep the screen, shakin’ my head. The word Nut lights up on the screen. It’s my nickname for this nigga Alley Cat I met a while back. “Yeah, whaaaat?” I answer wit’ ’tude, glancin’ at the clock over on the nightstand. It’s eleven o’clock in the mornin’ I stretch. Can’t believe I’ve slept most of the day away.
“Yo, wassup, ma? How you?”
“Aggravated that you still callin’ me. How can I help you?”
He laughs. “Yeah, aiiight. Front if you want, but check this out, beautiful. I’ma keep callin’ ya sexy ass ’til you stop playin’ games wit’ a muhf*cka.”
“Who said I’m playin’ wit’ you?”
“Nah, ma, I ain’t say nuthin’ ’bout you playin’ wit’ me. I said you playin’ games, big difference. If you were playin’ wit’ me ya hands ’n mouth would be full wit’ a buncha dick, feel me?”
“No, I ain’t feelin’ you,” I state, sittin’ up.
“Not yet, you ain’t. But you will be; real talk.”
This cocky muhf*cka makes me sick. I hold back a grin, though. No matter how much ’tude I serve this nigga, he stay tryna f*ck me. That’s the problem. This muhf*cka ain’t used to a bitch turnin’ his ass down. He’s the kinda nigga used to bitches droppin’ they drawers whenever he wants. Well, he might be lookin’ for a fast piece’a ass, but the nigga ain’t gonna get it here unless it’s on my terms. Hmmph. If you ask me, I think the nigga’s borderline crazy. ’Cause if a bitch was always comin’ at me sideways ’n all reckless and whatnot I’d be tellin’ that ho to eat shit, then be out.
But this nigga right here won’t let up. Even when the nigga stood in front of me and blocked my way in the mall down in Phoenix, I thought he was a damn nut. Fine, yes. But, a damn problem, for sure! On some real shit, I wasn’t gonna give the nigga the time’a day if Chanel’s dumb ass wasn’t all up in the mix eggin’ me to give the nigga sum air play.
Earlier that day, he was tryna holla as me and Chanel were walkin’ outta the hotel we were stayin’ in. But we paid the nigga dust. Most niggas just leave it alone, but this muhf*cka got up and came up on us like he was really pressed tryna push the issue. Chanel’s simple-ass entertained ’im, but I kept it movin’. See, I had already peeped the nigga the day before at the All-Star Jam Session chillin’ wit’ a buncha niggas.
Then I saw ’im later on that night down in the lobby. And, yes, the nigga was f*ckable. And, yes, the nigga was dipped ’n blingin’. But he was sooooo f*ckin’ arrogant, too! I knew the minute he opened his mouth that he was used to bitches sweatin’ his ass and droppin’ down ’n wettin’ his dick up at his beck ’n call. And I know it f*cks wit’ ’im that I ain’t that kinda chick.
I ain’t gonna front. When the nigga walked up on me and Chanel at the mall, I tried to act like I wasn’t beat, but the muhf*cka had this kinda confidence that was mad sexy; still, a bitch knows when a muhf*cka ain’t up to no good. And my gut told me that this nigga right here, mmmph…is a walkin’ magnet for drama. But when he stepped up in my space, I kept it cute and gave ’im some rhythm—just a taste, for a hot minute. I had’a laugh when he said I was actin’ like he was the muhf*cka who had broke my heart. But I quickly checked his ass and let ’im know I ain’t the one to let a nigga break shit on me. Little did he know, a bitch was still mournin’ the loss of good dick. Shit, I went from gettin’ this p-ssy beat up on’a regular to not gettin’ it at all. It had been a minute since I was gettin’ served by some dick that wasn’t attached to a bullet. Then just like that, it was over. So, my ’tude had nuthin’ to do wit’ bein’ evil. It was ’bout a bitch grievin’ ’n needin’ a good dickin’.
Annnywaaaayz, for the last year or so, the nigga’s been hittin’ me up on some let’s chill-type shit, and I still ain’t rocked wit’ ’em. And he still ain’t lettin’ it go. The shit cracks me up.
“Whaaa teva,” I tell ’im, gettin’ outta bed. My stomach starts growlin’, remindin’ me that the only thing I had today was that damn blunt. Ohmigod, a bitch could eat three dicks and still have room for a nut or two. That’s how hungry I am.
I go downstairs to fix sumthin’ to eat. “What, you bored? None’a ya lil’ hoes ’round for you to play wit’?” I ask, openin’ up the ’fridge. I pull out the carton of eggs, some cheddar cheese, and a green pepper. I decide to fix an omelet.
“Nah, beautiful, never that. I can always find me a broad to get at. But, that’s not what I want.”
I pull out a skillet. “Oh, really? So, what you want?”
“Yo, I’ma keep it gee wit’ you, aiight?”
“Oh, please do.”
“I want some p-ssy, straight up. And I wanna f*ck.”
I laugh, choppin’ the green pepper, then peelin’ an onion. “Nigga you talkin’ like ya nasty ass ain’t already gettin’ it in. I know betta.”
He laughs. “Yeah, my dick stays wet. But I’m tryna get up in some new p-ssy.”
“Nigga you ain’t even smooth wit’ ya shit. You straight raw wit’ it. No kinda finesse. Ain’t no classy bitch feelin’ that. Save that shit for them boogas.”
He laughs. “Check this shit out, ma. I’ma grown-ass man. I ain’t got time to be bullshittin’ on da p-ssy.”
“Well, that shit might work wit’ them bottom of the barrel bitches, but it ain’t workin’ for me.”
He keeps laughin’. “Bottom of da barrel, top of da barrel, it don’t matter. As long as da p-ssy’s bangin’ ’n I can f*ck ’em over da barrel, it’s all gravy.”
I shred my cheese. “Well, I ain’t lookin’ to f*ck.” I crack two eggs. Then beat all the ingredients while the pan heats up. Then I pour e’erything in.
“You ain’t sayin’ nuthin’ but a word, ma. I got you. I know how’ta make love when it calls for it.”
“Oh, really? And when does it call for it?”
“When a chick is worthy of bein’ treated respectfully. When she ain’t beat to know how much dick a nigga’s got hangin’ between his legs. Or bein’ preoccupied wit’ the size of a muhf*cka’s feet, or what kinda whip he’s pushin’.”
Now I ain’t gonna front, a bitch was wonderin’ how many inches this black muhf*cka was holdin’. Shit, I already done seen da nigga’ dick print, so I already know what it is. But I’m damn sure not preoccupied ova it. And a bitch definitely ain’t gonna ask ’bout it. I’ll leave that shit for them thirsty-ass cluckers he got on his team. Bird-ass hoes. I’ll find out what’s really good wit’ da nigga’s dick if and when I decide to rock his top. In da mean time, a bitch’s gonna keep it cute, and stay on mute.
I take the spatula and fold my omelet. My stomach growls louder. When my food is finally done, I slide it onto my plate, then sit down at the table.
“Yo what you eatin’?”
“An omelet.”
“Oh, you cook? That’s wassup.”
“Yeah, I can do a lil’ sumthin’. But that’s not a bitch’s purpose in life.”
“So you sayin’ I can’t get my grub on?”
“Not if you lookn’ for me to cook. My name ain’t Aunt Jemima. And I ain’t ya mama. So, hell no, muhf*cka.”
He laughs. “Yeah, aiight. I see you like talkin’ real reckless.”
“And I can back it up, muhf*cka, trust.”
“We’ll see. Like I said, you talk a lotta shit.”
“Whaaaat eva. Take it, or leave it.”
“Yeah, aiight, yo. I hear you. Right now, I’m tryna take it.”
“So you be f*ckin’ a buncha birds?” I decide to ask, nixin’ his last comment. Not that I really care ’cause I already know what it is. Still the nigga has piqued my curiosity.
“On occasion,” he says. “And them the ones I f*ck. And use this big-ass dick as a weapon of destruction to slaughter the hell outta the p-ssy.”
I roll my eyes up in my head. “Whateva nigga. Ya dick game probably whack as hell.” I tease, gettin’ up to put my plate in the sink. He laughs. I open the ’fridge and grab a bottle of Dasani water, then open it and start guzzlin’ it down. “You probably one’a them quick nut type muhf*ckas.”
It’s time for another blunt, I think as I go back upstairs. This time I grab the haze and roll two fatties.
“Yeah, you think that shit if ya want,” he says, laughin’. “But I can show ya better than I can tell ya, ma. I ain’t that dude who be runnin’ his mouth ’bout what he can do to da p-ssy, then don’t deliver. They don’t call me Daddy Long Stroke for nuthin’. Believe that, ma.”
I suck my teeth, walkin over and sittin’ on the bed. I spark the blunt, crossin’ my legs. “Whaaat eva. You too damn stuck on ya’self.” I take a deep pull.
“Nah, baby…I’m tryna be stuck on you.”
“Muhf*cka, what I tell you ’bout callin’ me ya damn baby. Ya ass is f*ckin’ hardheaded. I bet you used to get ya ass beat a lot growin’ up.”
“Nah, never that,” he says, laughin’. “I got my ass beat once. That’s it. Other than that, the only thing that was gettin’ beat was this dick.”
“Hmmph,” I grunt, blowin’ out smoke.
“Yo, you blazin’?”
“Yeah, muhf*cka, why?”
He laughs. “Daaaaaamn, I’m in love. You mad sexy, mean as f*ck, and you burn. And you get my dick hard e’erytime you call me muhf*cka. Where you been hidin’ all my life?”
I suck my teeth. “Annnnywayz, why you keep callin’ me?”
“’Cause I dig you.”
“Nigga, you don’t even know me.”
“Yeah ’cause you won’t let a muhf*cka in. You keep frontin’ ’n shit. I been tryna holla at you for over a year now—”
“Try almost two,” I correct, cuttin’ him off.
“Well, shit, that makes it even worse. And you still ain’t tryna give a muhf*cka no play. Wassup wit’ that?”
I take another pull. “’Cause I’m chillin’. Doin’ me. And I ain’t beat for no drama, or no extra shit from a nigga. And you look like you that nigga wit’ a side dish of both. No, thank you. Been there, done that. And I ain’t tryna catch’a case.”
“Oh, word? Well, I don’t know what kinda case you might catch. But if you’d stop frontin’ I’ll give ya fine ass a case of some good dick.”
This muthaf*cka! I pull at my nipples. A bitch is mad horny. This nigga gotta sexy ass voice. And he’s nasty as f*ck, but I gotta keep remindin’ myself that the muhf*cka’s trouble. I know this nigga’s kind. I get up. Stare at my body in the mirror, turnin’ from one side to the other, admirin’ my bangin’ shape. I tighten and un-tighten my ass muscles and watch my ass cheeks pop.
“Nigga, what makes you think you can come at me all sideways ’n shit?”
“Yo, don’t think I forgot that shit you told me in the mall that day. I kept that shit tucked. Now I wanna see you deliver.”
“Well, don’t hold ya breath,” I say, shakin’ my head, rememberin’ exactly what I said to him when I stepped up in his space and whispered in his ear. “…I bet you a sucka for good p-ssy, and a bitch who can suck down ya dick and lap at ya balls, too…well, guess what, muhf*cka? I’m that bitch, be clear. Fine, fly, fabulous and freaky wit’ a p-ssy ’n throat game so ill it’ll make a nigga sick…” And, the minute I stepped back from him, I peeped the nigga’s dick stretchin’ down his leg. And his nasty ass didn’t even try ’n play it off.
“So why you keep answerin’ when I call?”
I smile, sittin’ at the foot of my bed. I spread open my legs. Lean back on my forearm, then use my free hand to lightly pat my p-ssy. ’Cause ya sexy, bow-legged ass is thuggish and fine as hell and I might wanna f*ck you, I think. Of course I ain’t gonna gas this nigga up. “’Cause you amuse me,” I say, laughin’.
“Yeah, aiight. Go ’head wit’ that dumb shit. I know better. Keep shit real, you wanna taste this chocolate, don’t you? It’s all good. Just say the word, and I’ma serve ya sexy ass all the chocolate you desire. Daddy got enough to satisfy all of ya cravin’s.”
I suck my teeth. “Next. Nigga, puhleeze. Save that daddy shit for them birds you got cluckin’ behind you.”
“Yeah, aiight. I’ma have you cluckin’ in a minute.”
I bust out laughin’. “Oh, neeeeegro, you gotta bitch confused; never that. I’d put a bullet in ya skull, first, before you ever pluck a feather outta me. Trust.”
He starts crackin’ up. “Yo, ma, you funny as hell, word up. You must gotta thing for guns.”
I walk over to my nightstand and open the bottom drawer. I pull out my nickel-plated Colt Python. It’s a .357 Magnum wit’ the six-inch barrel and nickel finish. It’s known for its smooth trigger pull and tight cylinder lock-up. The shit is mad sexy. They stopped makin’ ’em in ’96, but I was able to cop mine from this white muhf*cka who had a ’05 special order edition. I slip the barrel between my legs, then slide it over my tight slit. There’s sumthin’ ’bout holdin’ a gun that makes a bitch’s p-ssy come alive.
“Yeah, sumthin’ like that,” I tell ’im, layin’ back on my bed. I lay the gun on my chest. “How many bitches you guttin’?”
“A few.”
“I bet you’ll f*ck anything movin’.”
He laughs. “Not wit’ the lights on.”
“Just what I thought. You f*ck them crusty-feet, booga-bear hoes wit’ the ashy ankles and chipped toenails, don’t you?”
He laughs harder. “Yo, you funny as hell.”
“Funny hell. I’m straight-lacin’. You real nasty wit’ yours, nigga, ain’t you? A bitch like me can’t f*ck wit’ a nigga who’s guttin’ up a buncha hood crittas.”
“Nah, ma, you got me all f*cked up,” he says, tryna sound serious. “I’ma keep shit a hunnid, though. Yeah, I’ve f*cked a few gorilla-faced bitches in my day. And most of ’em had some good-ass p-ssy. They were the type to let a muhf*cka get it in almost anyway he wanted. From garglin’ my balls to lickin’ the shit outta my ass, most of them hoes aim to please. But good p-ssy or not, I f*cked ’em from the back and wit’ the room pitch black.”
I start laughin’. “Ohmigod, nigga, you comical as hell. So what makes you think a bitch like me would wanna f*ck wit’ a nigga like you?”
“’Cause I’m e’erything ya body needs. And e’erything you crave.”
“Oh, yeah, and what’s that?”
“A nigga wit’ a strong back, strong hands, long dick and a long, wet tongue.”
I pinch my left nipple. I decide to f*ck wit’ ’im. “You eat p-ssy?”
“Hell yeah, I eat p-ssy. Eat ass, too. I like it all. Besides beatin’ up the guts, p-ssy eatin’ is my thing.”
“You suckin’ dick, too?”
“Say what?”
“You heard me, nigga. I asked if you takin’ dick? You said you liked it all.”
“Hell f*ckin’ no! I ain’t that kinda muhf*cka. I’m a p-ssy-lovin’ nigga. I like it all attached to a real woman, wit’ titties, ass ’n good, wet p-ssy. A muhf*cka come at me on some sideways shit, and that’s grounds to get ya neck snapped, for real for real.”
“Yeah, right. You probably one’a them DL, homo-thug muhf*ckas,” I say, laughin’. “If you take it in the ass ’n throat, it’s all gravy, Miss Hunnneeeee. We can swap stories.”
He laughs. “Yo, word up, ma. You funny bad. I’m all man, baby.”
I grin. “Ohhhhkaaaay, if you say so.”
“Nah, I know so. Don’t get shit twisted. But you can think what you want, feel me?”
“Let me stop f*ckin’ wit’ you.”
“It’s all good.”
“So, what’s that tongue game like?”
He laughs. “Oh, so now you wanna know how a muhf*cka wets the p-ssy.”
“Yup. Tell me how you get down on the p-ssy to make it pop. Entice me, muhf*cka.” I pinch both my nipples, then slide my left hand between my legs, while slippin’ the tip of my Colt in my mouth wit’ my other hand. I slowly suck on the barrel as he speaks.
“First, I’d kiss on the p-ssy. From soft, gentle kisses to deep, tongue-probin’ French-kissin’, I love havin’ my tongue and lips all up on it, and in it. Next, I’ll lay my tongue flat up against it, then flap it up and down, draggin’ it along the front and back of ya slit. I’ll use my mouth and tongue to stimulate all the sensitive areas of ya p-ssy and *, circlin’ my tongue all over and ’round it. Suckin’ on the sweet p-ssy lips. See. I listen to what makes a broad moan, and know when to change it up to give her that ultimate tongue experience. Now ya turn.”
“My turn? My turn for what? I don’t eat p-ssy, nigga.”
He laughs. “Damn, that’s too bad. But I wasn’t talkin’ bout that. You throatin’?”
“Nope,” I lie, then bust out laughin’. “Yeah, nigga, I suck dick. Who ain’t wettin’ dick in two-thousand-and-ten? And I’ll eat the nut outta it, too, if it’s a nigga I’m dealin’ wit’. Any bitch who ain’t suckin’ dick ain’t keepin’ no man. Not for long, anyway. A bitch can definitely bubble up if her throat game is right, believe that. Have a nigga sellin’ his moms ’n shit for another round of that bobble action.”
“Oh, shit,” he says, laughin’. “I like how you kickin’ that shit. That’s what it is. So, when we gonna get each other off?”
“Sorry to pop ya bubble,” I say, flippin’ the script on his ass. “But this p-ssy ain’t on the market. And trust me, nigga, you ain’t even gonna sniff my shit ’til you take a bitch out and start spendin’ sum’a that paper ya slick-ass collectin’.”
He cracks up. “Yo, ma. You think you got’a muhf*cka all pegged, don’t you?”
“I told you, I know ya kind. And you the type to have a buncha dizzy bitches lacin’ ya ass. Now tell me I’m dead-ass and I’ll let you skull-f*ck me right now. And don’t try ’n clown. Keep that shit live.”
“You know what,” he says, chucklin’. “You gotta lotta shit wit’ you, real talk. But I dig it.”
“And you still ain’t answer the question,” I say, laughin’.
“Where you at right now?”
“Yeah, that’s right change the subject, muhf*cka.”
He chuckles. “Nah, I wanna know where you at.”
“Why?”
“Maybe a muhf*cka’s tryna see you,” he says, dippin’ his voice real low ’n sexy.
“Nigga, puhleeze. You tryna stalk a bitch. That’s all that is.”
He laughs. “Negative. Never that, baby.”
“See, there you go wit’ that baby shit again.
“My bad, ma. I can’t help myself. I wanna make you my baby.”
I grunt. Ugh, gag me.”
“I wanna do that, too,” he says, laughin’.
I suck my teeth. “Nigga, puhleeze.”
“So, you gonna tell me where you at, or what?” Why I tell ’em is beyond me. But I do. “Oh, word? That’s wassup. So am I. What part?”
“Sausalito,” I tell ’im, then ask ’im where in Cali he’s at. He says LA. Then I ask ’im what he’s doin’ there and he tells me he’s chillin’ wit’ his peeps. I laugh. “Unh-huh. I bet. Ya’ll f*ckin’ and she’s lacin’ you, right?” He laughs. “Just what I thought.”
“So where’s Salsa-lito at?”
“It’s Sau-sa-lee-toe. And it’s in the San Francisco area, right on the other side’a the bridge, why? You tryna take a road trip?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Impress me, punk,” I tease.
“Yeah, I got ya punk aiight. Yo, you need to stop frontin’ and let a muhf*cka really get to know you.”
Another call beeps through. It’s Chanel’s ass again. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. But for now, ya times up. My girl’s on the other line, so I’m out.”
“Damn, ma. It’s like that?”
“Yup, bitches before niggas.”
He laughs. “Sounds like we got sumthin’ else in common.”
“Nigga, peace out.” I say as he continues laughin’. I click over, then snap, “Bitch, what the f*ck you keep callin’ me for?”