Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang Read online

  “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.

  What the fuck?! I fire up a blunt, then go out onto the balcon
y to puff ’n chill. Why da fuck can’t these muhfuckas leave me da fuck alone. I’m here doin’ me and mindin’ mine. And these bitches just feel it necessary to get at me tryna disrupt my flow. Two years ago, it was the same shit wit’ Rosa callin’ me ’bout Juanita bein’ in the hospital all beat up ’n shit. Now she’s there again. Women like her never learn until a muthafucka stomps their lights out. A bitch like that, weak…needy, is better off dead, if you ask me. I take two deep pulls, hold the shit in my lungs ’til it burns, then slowly blow it out. I sit, starin’ out into the view.

  For some reason, I find myself thinkin’ back to when I was ten. It was late at night and I couldn’t sleep. Again, Juanita was at it wit’ her headboard bangin’ up against my wall, and her nasty-ass holed up in her room, moanin’ ’n screamin’ out all kinda filthy shit. Words a bitch couldn’t wrap her mind ’round back then. But I understood enough. “Fuck me…Big dick…Good pussy…Don’t stop fuckin’ me…” Those were the things that stuck out. I knew enough to know she was in there gettin’ gutted, once again.

  This one particular night, I remember gettin’ outta bed and goin’ into the livin’ room to watch TV ’cause I didn’t have one in my room, and I was fuckin’ tired of hearin’ her and her fuck of the moment goin’ at it. I turned on the Cartoon Network and had the volume down real low. I can’t fuckin’ remember what the hell was on, but I remember startin’ at the screen daydreamin’ ’bout someone rescuin’ me and gettin’ me the fuck outta there, away from her, away from that nasty-ass kitchen, those roaches and all of them on-again-off-again muhfuckas who she kept lettin’ come in and outta her bed—and life.

  I don’t know how long I had been sittin’ there starin’ at the screen, dazin’. But when I finally took my eyes off’a it and turned my head, Juanita’s nigga was standin’ in the livin’room butt-ass naked, playin’ wit’ his sticky-ass dick, grinnin’ at me. The only light in the room was comin’ from the television, but it was like a spotlight was shinin’ on that nasty muhfucka.

  I felt like I was ’bout to throw up all over myself. I made a face, twistin’ my nose up. “Ewww, that’s nasty,” I said, shiftin’ in my seat and foldin’ my arms ’cross my chest. That nigga kept standin’ there, peekin’ back at Juanita’s room door e’ery so often, strokin’ his dick.

  “You want sum’a this?” I rapidly shook my head. “Yeah, you do. And I’ma give you sum real soon. I’ma tear that lil’ tight ass up.”

  “I’ma tell my mommy,” I said, feelin’ tears well up in my eyes.

  “And if you do,” he hushed through clenched teeth, “I’ma kill her and you. You hear me?”

  What was I ’posed to think? There was this tall, blue-black, burly muhfucka, mean-muggin’ and hoverin’ over me. A bitch was only ten, and scared. I already saw him yoke her up, once, so if the nigga said he was gonna kill us, then that’s the fuck what he was gonna do. So I believed him.

  I got up to run into my room, but while I was goin’ past him, he yanked me by the arm and covered my mouth with his big hand to keep me from screamin’. I could smell Juanita’s pussy on his fingas. The tears I tried holdin’ back started pourin’ outta my eyes as the nigga threatened, and warned, me to not make a sound.

  He put his hot, stank breath up against my ear and reminded me in a whisper, “If you tell, I’m gonna kill you. You understand me?” I quickly nodded. “Besides, who you think she’s gonna believe, anyway—me or you?”

  He must’a heard sumthin’ ’cause he let me go. I raced in my room and shut my door. I buried my face into my pillow, cryin’. A few minutes later, my door swung open, the light switch was flipped up and Juanita was in my room, foamin’ at the mouth.

  “Bitch, what da fuck you doin’ up this time’a night, hunh?”

  “I-I-I,” I stuttered, wipin’ my eyes, “…was watch—”

  She cut me off, screamin’. “When it’s time for ya ass to be in bed, that’s the fuck where I ’pect ya ass to stay ’til it’s time for ya ass to wake the fuck up for school! Not sneakin’ ’round this muthafuckin’ house listenin’ to what the fuck I’m doin!”

  My eyes widened as I looked up at her. I was shocked at how crazy she looked. Do you think that bitch asked why my eyes were red and swollen, or why the fuck I was cryin’? No! The only thing that cum-hungry ho was worried ’bout was why I was standin’ in the bathroom doorway lookin’ at her man takin’ a piss. Can you believe that shit? That’s what that snake-ass nigga told her when he went back into the bedroom, wakin’ her up. And the dizzy bitch believed ’im.

  “What da fuck you doin’ lookin’ at my man’s dick, hunh?”

  “I wasn’t, Mommy,” I said. “He-he tried…”

  “Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me! I should knock the shit outta ya sneaky, lyin’ ass. If you ever do some muthafuckin’ shit like that again I’m a beat ya fresh ass ’til it bleeds.”

  Then that dirty muthafucka had the audacity to walk in my room, smirkin’. “C’mon, baby,” he said to her, eyein’ me all sly ’n shit, “I think she gets the point.”

  “Well, she fuckin’ better,” she snapped, cuttin’ her eyes at me. “’Cause the next time it won’t be no muthafuckin’ talkin’. It’s gonna be my fist in her ass.” She rolled her eyes at me as he slowly tugged her by the arm, pullin’ her outta the room. Then he fuckin’ glanced over his shoulder at me and winked, closin’ the door behind him.

  That stinkin’ bitch walked ’round the house for almost three weeks servin’ a bitch ’tude like I was tryna steal her muthafuckin’ bum-ass nigga. Fuckin’ pathetic! So do you really think I’ma break my neck and give a fuck ’bout sum bitch who turned her muthafuckin’ back on me, not once…not twice, but all’a my muthafuckin’ life?

  I ain’t ’bout to be stressed over sum shit I can’t change. Not today! I take one last, deep toke, then put out the tip, tossin’ it over the railin’. I spark up another round, sit for a hot minute wit’ my eyes closed, puffin’. I’m so over that hatin’-ass bitch, I think, gettin’ up and goin’ back into the bedroom. I leave the balcony doors open, allow the breeze to sweep through the room as I make plans to get showered and go out and do what I do best. Shop!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thick nose…thick lips…cocky muhfucka…got dat swagga… make’a bitch wanna open up da thighs…let ’im push in da tip…stretch out da hips…nut on da nigga’s dick…but’a slick bitch ain’t tryna get played…gotta keep it on da low…move in slow…give da nigga just enough…’fore he ends up slayed…

  “Nigga, you wanna get my pussy’s attention, then you gonna need to come a lil’ harder than that,” I snap at this arrogant fuck talkin’ ’bout how he wanna bang my guts up. I swear, this nigga be comin’ at me all kinda ways. Mmmph. Fucked up thing, a bitch can’t even front like I ain’t diggin’ the shit ’cause I am. Still, he’s the type’a muhfucka a bitch gotta keep on a real short leash. Otherwise his ass’ll be shittin’ ’n pissin’ on me e’ery chance he gets. And I ain’t havin’ it. “I don’t know what kinda bitches you be dickin’ wit’, but I ain’t one of ’em. So come correct when you addressin’ me, muhfucka.”

  He laughs. “Yo, beautiful, I’m only fuckin’ wit’ you.”

  “Nigga, I ain’t laughin’. And I damn sure ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you. I’m dead-ass.”

  “Yo, ma, my bad.”

  “My bad, hell. You real extra wit’ it, nigga.”

  “Yo, for real, ma, you need to chill. It ain’t that serious. On some real shit, I mean no harm. But, I ain’t gonna front. You snappin’ makes a muhfucka horny. You got my shit bricked.”

  I suck my teeth. “What eva, muhfucka. Glad I can amuse ya nasty ass.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah; yo, keep it funky wit’ a nigga. You diggin’ me; just say it.”

  This time I laugh. “Nigga, puhleeeze. Save that shit for them dumb-ass bitches you got wettin’ ya cock. I’m not checkin’ for ya conceited ass.”

  “Yeah, aiight, that’s what ya mouth says. But I know better. I’ma have you cal
lin’ me Daddy…Daddy Long Stroke, to be exact, in a minute.”

  I laugh harder. “Muhfucka, understand this: you’ll be eatin’ ya nut outta my pussy ’n ass ’n beggin’ me to finga fuck you in that tight, muscular ass of yours before I eva part these dick suckas to call you some shit like that.”

  He joins in my laughter. “Yo, Kat…word up, you funny as hell, ma. You know I’m only fuckin’ wit’ you, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…whaaaat eva.”

  “But I’m sayin’, yo…when we gonna chill? This phone shit is gettin’ played. A muhfuckas tryna see you in the flesh. I was hopin’ we could meet up for a bite to eat, then maybe kick back ’n blaze a bit.”

  I grin at the idea of burnin’. It dawns on me I haven’t smoked since early last night. I glance at the time. Its 11:46 a.m. “Nigga, you ain’t ready for a chick like me,” I tease.

  “Yeah, okay, ma. Think that shit if you want. A nigga like me was born ready.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” I say, headin’ downstairs to the kitchen. I decide to fix myself some sautéed spinach wit’ sundried tomatoes ’n garlic.

  “And it is what it is. All you gotta do is say the word and it’s on.”

  “Hmmmmm, that’s what ya mouth says. If you was really tryna get at me you woulda made it pop by now.”

  “Shiiiiit, how can I when you keep shuttin’ a muhfucka down at e’ery turn? A muhfucka comes at you right, you go left. I come at you from the left, you snap to the right. It’s like you want me to say ‘fuck it’ or sumthin’. Yo, is that what you want? I mean, on some real shit, if you want me to stop fuckn’ wit’ you I will.”

  The phone goes silent.

  I know this muhfucka didn’t just hang up on me. “Hello?”

  “I’m still here, yo. I’m waitin’ on an answer. You keep tryna play a muhfucka like I’m some duck-ass nigga. All bullshit aside, what’s good wit’ you?”