Nasty Girls (12 page)

One nigga had the courage to try and dance with me. He moved a little close, swaying to the beat as he smiled at me, holding a Corona. I gave him a thin smile, but politely shook my head, denying his invitation to come closer. I wasn't feeling him like that. And I just got to the club. I wasn't trying to be all sweaty on a nigga already.

Shy, Jade, and myself took a seat at one of the nearest available tables and observed the scenery. It was a good mixture of revelers. You had the young and the old, black, white, Guyanese; even a few Asians were sprinkled around the place. And the DJ kept it diverse, from reggae, to pop, to rap, and even calypso.

I took a sip from my glass and peered at my girls as they sat close. We were catching so much attention that it felt like we were celebrities. We looked good, and our attire was on point.

“So Shy, what's up wit' Roscoe? He doin' a'ight?” I asked.

“He a'ight. I know he gonna get through this, and he's gonna be home soon. I'm visitin' him every week, makin' sure my man stay correct wit' clothing and shit.”

“I heard he might take a plea,” Jade said.

“Take a plea?” Shy quickly replied, looking at Jade with the
What the fuck you talking about?
look on her face. “My man ain't takin' no plea. He ain't guilty.”

“Damn—my bad, Shy. You ain't gotta get all defensive about it,” Jade said. “I just heard it from James. Roscoe called the house the other day, and they spoke.”

“Well, you got it backwards, and why your man ain't locked up, too, Jade? He was there, too.”

“Yo, y'all two, chill. We here to have fun, not talk about some bullshit,” I said, trying to make peace.

“Nah, it's cool. You know, shit happens, Camille. I'm just
frustrated right now. I ain't had dick in weeks, and you know my pussy is throbbin' right about now,” Shy said, looking like she was trying to make light of her situation.

Jade and I smiled.

“Well, you got plenty of men to choose from tonight,” I told her.

“That bitch ain't gonna cheat on Roscoe. Roscoe would fuck her ass up. She's in love, Camille,” Jade said.

“Who's gonna tell?” I asked.

“Oh, it's like that,” Shy replied.

“Listen, you love him. I know you do,” I said. “But y'all ain't married, that's how I see it. You can do you, and still be down for your man. He locked down right now, Shy, and I ain't tryin' to be negative about his situation, but ain't no tellin' when he's coming home. So don't keep stressin' yourself about bein' faithful, because a lot of brothas don't even know what commitment is. I mean, Roscoe a cool dude. I like him and all, and he respects you, but look, when that time comes, and you lyin' up in your crib, lonely, horny as hell, with a pillow clutched between your legs, listenin' to slow jams, and thinkin' about sex, havin' your man in prison ain't gonna help you none. And them collect calls are gonna get you even more frustrated. I've been there far too many times, Shy. Shit. So my advice is, get out there on that dance floor, and find you a quick booty call, because a bitch wit'out dick is gonna make you go crazy.”

“I hear that!” Jade hollered, slapping me a high five.

Shy smiled.

“Shit, I got mines earlier today,” I said.

“What? By who?” Jade wanted to know.

“Cream,” I said.

“You still fuckin' wit' him, Camille?” Jade asked.

“Not like that anymore. We cool, peoples. But he came on strong to me today, and it's been a minute.”

“I like him. He's mad cool,” Shy said.

“Word. Tell that nigga to keep hookin' a sista up wit' the clothing. Yo, fo' real, any nigga that can hook a sista up wit' the nicest shit he be hookin' you up wit', Camille, I would have his name tattooed around my pussy,” Jade joked.

We laughed.

“Yo, them shoes I got . . . you ain't gonna find them shits in no store like that,” Jade said.

“He got connections, that's fo' sure,” I said.

I took another sip from my drink and peered around the club with Cream on my mind.

“I say y'all should get back together, Camille,” Jade advised.

“Yeah, y'all two did make a cute couple. I know he's shorter than you, but he's cute,” Shy said.

“We're just friends,” I informed them.

Jade smiled. “Yeah, whatever. . . . Y'all weren't friends a few hours ago.”

“He's just some dick to call up when I need it, nuthin' else,” I said, trying to look serious.

“Whatever, bitch!” Jade said. “I see it in your eyes; you still got a thang for him, don't you?”

I sucked my teeth. “Jade, please.”

“Yeah . . . whatever.”

Just then, our song came into play, Destiny's Child “Lose My Breath.” Yo, I love this song. When it blared throughout the club, me and my girls went crazy, as so did every other bitch in
the club. We jumped up outta our seats like they were on fire, and started dancing to the song like it was our last.

I swear, this song is so true, Destiny's Child be singing the truth.
Can you keep up? . . . Make me lose my breath.
I couldn't even said it better myself.

The night ended so good. I danced and drank till I couldn't hold water anymore. I had a good time, and so did Shy and Jade. We all needed a night out like tonight. Shy got a number, and he was a cutie. Jade did her thing and mingled with a few cuties too.

I was tipsy as fuck, but I still had to drive because both these bitches didn't have a legit license, and I keep asking them, what are they waiting for? You can't keep depending on some nigga to pick you up and drop you off all the time. Get your own shit, and go wherever the fuck you wanna go.

By the time we finally got home, it was like four in the morning and I was tired as fuck. Soon as I stepped into the apartment, I collapsed on my bed.

But before I could close my eyes and go to sleep, the phone rang. I reluctantly picked it up. I thought it was Jade or Shy on the phone ready to tell me about some more drama before I went to bed.

“You the bitch that's fuckin' my wife!” I heard a man's voice say.

“What?”

“Bitch, you heard me. Stay the fuck away from Sierra!”

“Nigga, who the fuck is you?”

“I'm warnin' you, you dyke bitch. You come near Sierra and endanger my family's well-being again, I'll fuckin' kill you,” he threatened.

I lost it. “Nigga, who you threatenin'? Don't you ever disrespect me again!” I shouted. “Don't call here no more, you clown-ass nigga. I ain't fuckin' your wife!” I lied.

“You've been warned, bitch!” and then he hung up.

I swear that fucked up my night. I thought Sierra was careful with our relationship, but obviously I was wrong. She had her clown-ass husband calling my crib early in the morning, beefing with me, and that pissed me off. I wanted to call the nigga back and curse him the fuck out. But I put it off as nothing. He's probably just mad because I make his wife come better.

I thought about Cream before I went to sleep, and wished he was here tonight to hold me. Some nights, I do get lonely going to bed by myself, and Sierra rushing off to her husband every night after we have sex was kind of getting tiresome. But I'm a big girl. I moved my hand between my thighs, and started massaging myself gently while I thought about Cream. I end up getting one off before I fell asleep.

I
tried not to be, but I was jealous. Hearing Shy and Camille talk about they men last night—about how Roscoe loved and respected Shy, and how Cream stayed hooking Camille up with nice shit, and treating her like a woman, made me feel like shit. Both Shy and Camille had nothing good to say about James. And I thought about that, and his trifling ass. He never really did shit for me but fuck me long and hard, cause me to have a miscarriage when I was pregnant two years ago, and was probably fucking half the women in these projects. I wanted more than just a big dick and a cute face. I wanted this nigga to love me like I'm the only woman on this earth, and I wanted to be placed on a pedestal and have him worship the ground I walk on. But I guess I was asking for too much. Four years, and I started to wonder why we were still together.

I met James at Jones Beach during Greek Fest, one scorching June Saturday. I was walking in the parking lot with Camille and Shy, scantily clad in some enticing summer clothing and looking so cute. Niggas stayed trying to holla, but I flirted back and kept it moving. James shouted me out from a distance, while he was
lounging and drinking with his boys. And when I saw him, he caught my eye immediately, and definitely had my attention. His biceps and chest ripped through his clean white tank top. He had smooth brown skin, and his thick lips were outlined with the trimmed goatee. He was tall, sporting a bald head and looking like he took pride and care in his appearance.

“Ma, you look nice. I like that fo' sure,” he shouted out.

He waved me and my girls to come over, and Shy and I did. Camille stayed behind. I was young then, seventeen, and my boyfriend at the time wasn't doing for me anymore.

But James's presence was solid, and he was a thug, and I loved that. I'm so into thug niggas that that's all I know. He quickly invited me and my girls to chill with them, and later on in the evening, he wanted to take me out to a movie or something.

Well, of course we stayed around with James and his posse, and Camille did too, reluctantly. He was funny, and his demeanor let me know that he wasn't intimidated by us and our beauty.

We hooked up later that night, and sad to say, I fucked him. We got a room, and when I first saw his big dick, I was open, and when he thrust it into me, the nigga had me panting and calling his name, and a bitch was hooked. It was that easy for him. At first, it was hard to take the dick, because I never had it that big before, but with time, a bitch started to handle it like a porn star.

And like that, we started seeing each other, and in the beginning, like always, it was nice. He did little things for me, and when the nigga threw me over his shoulders and told me to touch the ceiling while he ate my pussy out, I swear, I wanted to marry this nigga.

The dick and the freaky sex kept me spending so many years with him. I never had anyone better, to be honest, and James knows it too. He's very fucking cocky.

But like I said, I met the nigga when I was seventeen, and back then, shit was different for me.

The phone rang, and I ain't rushed to answer the shit either. It was one of them days where I didn't feel like being bothered.

James was in the bedroom watching TV, smoking, and drinking. I picked up. “Hello.” No one answered. “Hello,” I repeated. But the other end was dead. I checked the caller ID, and I didn't recognize the number. And of course, whoever called immediately hung up after hearing my voice. But my instincts told me that it was another woman calling for James. I picked up the phone and dialed the number back, but blocked my number so it would come up unavailable.

Seconds later, a woman answered the phone. “Hello,” I heard. And I knew the fucking voice.

“Tasha?” I said, shocked.

“Bitch, why you callin' my crib?” she answered in her stank voice.

“Ho, I know you ain't just call here lookin' for James. How the fuck did you get this number?” I said angrily, wanting to snatch her bald-headed ass through the phone.

“How you think, bitch? James passed it to me after he done finished fuckin' me the other day.”

Mad was an understatement. But being in denial, I returned with, “Bitch, you fuckin' lyin'!”

“Keep bein' the stupid bitch, Jade. But you know what? You gonna get yours, bitch. I ain't forget about that day. Watch, ho. I'm still here, and I ain't goin' nowhere.”

“Whatever! Come see me!” I shouted, and slammed the phone back down on the cradle. I then rushed into the bedroom, where James was sprawled out on the bed watching TV, and I smacked him across his head.

He jumped up and yelled, “Bitch, what the fuck is wrong wit' you?”

“You gave that ho my number?” I yelled, ready to hit him again.

“Fuck you talkin' about?”

“Tell me how that bitch, Tasha, just called here lookin' fo' your ass.”

“Jade, you need to chill the fuck out. Word!”

“James, what the fuck is wrong wit' you?” I cried out.

“Ain't nuthin' wrong wit' me. You got the fuckin' problem, comin' up in here flippin' out. I told you about her already.”

“Fuck you!” I cursed. I went up to him and tried to slap him again, but he grabbed me by the wrist and held on tightly, glaring at me.

“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled.

“Touch me again, bitch!” he said, squeezing my wrist and twisting my arm.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted, trying to free myself from his powerful grip. He was strong and never let loose. “I hate you!”

“You over-reacting, Jade. Calm the fuck down!”

I tried to swing my body around and swing on him, but I missed, and then James shockingly gave me a hard backhand smack across my face while he still clutched my wrist. I cried out, and he twisted my arm even harder.

“James, please. Stop, it hurts!”

“You gonna calm down?”

“Get off me!”

“Fuck you, stupid bitch!” he yelled, and then struck me hard against my face with his closed fist. It hurt like hell, and I collapsed down on the floor when he freed my wrist. He stood over me, glaring down at me, watching me sob. I cried, holding my face.

“Fuck this! I'm out,” he muttered, and disappeared from my sight.

I didn't chase after him or do anything. For about an hour or so, I remained glued to the floor, in pain, and ashamed. The phone started to ring a few times, and I let the machine pick it up. Camille left a message, wanting to speak with me, and then my cousin called. I didn't want to speak to anyone. James fucked me up, and then left with no fucking remorse.