Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (7 page)

“Hmmph,” I grunt, blowin’ out smoke.

“Yo, you blazin’?”

“Yeah, muhfucka, why?”

He laughs. “Daaaaaamn, I’m in love. You mad sexy, mean as fuck, and you burn. And you get my dick hard e’erytime you call me
muhfucka
. 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 muhfucka 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 muhfucka 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 muthafucka!
I pull at my nipples. A bitch is mad horny. This nigga gotta sexy ass voice. And he’s nasty as fuck, but I gotta keep remindin’ myself that the muhfucka’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 pussy, and a bitch who can suck down ya dick and lap at ya balls, too…well, guess what, muhfucka? I’m that bitch, be clear. Fine, fly, fabulous and freaky wit’ a pussy ’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 pussy.
’Cause ya sexy, bow-legged ass is thuggish and fine as hell and I might wanna fuck 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 muhfucka 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 pussy 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 fuck anything movin’.”

He laughs. “Not wit’ the lights on.”

“Just what I thought. You fuck 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 fuck wit’ a nigga who’s guttin’ up a buncha hood crittas.”

“Nah, ma, you got me all fucked up,” he says, tryna sound serious.
“I’ma keep shit a hunnid, though. Yeah, I’ve fucked a few gorilla-faced bitches in my day. And most of ’em had some good-ass pussy. They were the type to let a muhfucka 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 pussy or not, I fucked ’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 fuck 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 fuck wit’ ’im. “You eat pussy?”

“Hell yeah, I eat pussy. Eat ass, too. I like it all. Besides beatin’ up the guts, pussy 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 fuckin’ no! I ain’t that kinda muhfucka. I’m a pussy-lovin’ nigga. I like it
all
attached to a
real
woman, wit’ titties, ass ’n good, wet pussy. A muhfucka 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 muhfuckas,” 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 fuckin’ wit’ you.”

“It’s all good.”

“So, what’s that tongue game like?”

He laughs. “Oh, so now you wanna know how a muhfucka wets the pussy.”

“Yup. Tell me how you get down on the pussy to make it pop. Entice me, muhfucka.” 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 pussy. 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 pussy and clit, circlin’ my tongue all over and ’round it. Suckin’ on the sweet pussy 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 pussy, 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 pussy 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 muhfucka 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-fuck 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, muhfucka.”

He chuckles. “Nah, I wanna know where you at.”

“Why?”

“Maybe a muhfucka’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 fuckin’ 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 muhfucka 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 fuck you keep callin’ me for?”

CHAPTER SIX

Lonely bitch…dick stuntin’…sac garglin’…lettin’ no-good nigga’s run all up in ’er back…gotta bitch wildin’ out like she’s stuck on crack…got ’er chasin’ fake muhfuckas who ain’t tryna get caught…got da dumb trick countin’ all da bitches she fought…forgettin’ da tears she done shed…too scared to open ’er eyes…’til one day da bitch ends up stretched out dead…

“Kat, girl, I just got off the phone wit’ Tamia—”

I frown. Now she knows damn well I don’t get down wit’ that bitch anymore. Once I peeped how triflin’ her dirty-ass was, it was a wrap. I don’t wanna be associated wit’a bitch like her. Especially one who was stuntin’ like she was a top-of-the-line bitch, then come to find out that fake-ass trick was rentin’ all her handbags and shoppin’ in consignment shops. Bitch, please! I don’t rock wit’ fraudulent bitches, and I damn sure ain’t gonna get it in wit’ no ho poppin’ Valtrex, okay? That bitch is toxic waste! “Umm, sweetie,” I snap, cuttin’ her off, “why the fuck you callin’ me ’bout her ass? You know I don’t wanna hear shit ’bout ya convo wit’ her.”

“Kat, this is serious. You need to come home,
now
.”

“Come home for what?”

“Ya moms in the hospital. Patrice tracked down Tamia tryna get ya numbers to call you.”

“And?”

“She gave me Patrice’s number to give to you.”

“Burn it. I’m not callin’ ’er.”

“Kat, Tamia said ya moms’s in I-C-U. It’s not lookin’ good.”

I blink. Does this ho really think I give a fuck ’bout Juanita bein’ up in somebody’s damn I-C-U ? Nope, I sure don’t. And I’m damn sure not about to let myself get dragged into any of that woman’s fuckin’ man drama. I already know what it is. If her ass is in the hospital, then it’s behind a nigga and his dick. When she doesn’t have her legs tossed up over a sorry-ass muhfucka’s shoulders, bein’ pressed down on a hospital mattress is the only other time her ass is layin’ flat on her back. So what else is new?

“That’s nice,” I say.

“Kat,” she says, sighin’, “all jokes aside. They don’t think she’s gonna make it.”

“Well, then, I guess she’ll finally make it to hell.”

She gasps. “Ohmiiiiigod, Kat. Now you bein’ real messy. Don’t you even care ’bout what happened to her?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you? No matter what, she’s still ya moms.”

“By whose standards, Sweetie? Definitely not by mine. You put a nigga before ya own child, you pull a knife out on me and get all slick ’n greasy at the mouth in front of a muhfucka, then you ain’t shit to me. So please. Don’t go there wit’ me. Not today.”

“Kat, that’s fucked up.”

“Yep, and so is her life. So what I care? It is what it is. You make ya bed, you lie in it. Bitches need to stop stayin’ stuck on stupid, playin’ helpless-ass victims all da damn time. There comes a time when a bitch gotta say enough is enough, and pick her dumb ass up, dust shit off and do sumthin’ other than what da fuck she’s doin’.”

“Kat, it ain’t always that easy,” she says defensively.

“Mmmph. And I ain’t sayin’ it is. But what I am sayin’ is a sick bitch needs to get herself some help and stop havin’ muthafuckin’ pity parties. You keep doin’ stupid shit, fuckin’ wit’ sorry-ass niggas, then what da fuck you expect you gonna get? A buncha shit, period! At some point these dizzy-ass chicks gotta stop blamin’ a muhfucka for her demise ’n misery, and start takin’ a look at herself. I’m done. So, movin’ on.”

“Well, alrighty then. I guess, wit’ that said, you don’t wanna hear nuthin’ else ’bout what’s goin’ on wit’ her, or what hospital she’s in?”

“I sure don’t. And I’d ’preciate it if you don’t waste my time tryna tell me.”

“OhmyGod, what a hot mess!”

I feel myself ’bout to snap on her ass. “Well, bitch…whaddaya want me to do? Break down and start yellin’ ’n screamin’? You want me to act’a fool over some woman who never gave a fuck ’bout me? Baby, puhleeze. Not gonna happen. I ain’t servin’ up no sympathy, no tears, and no muthafuckin’ love for a ho who has done nuthin’ but be da stupid, neglectful bitch she’s always been. So, do me a favor. If you really wanna make my day, call me when the bitch is dead.” I give her ass the dial tone, then toss the phone over onto the bed.