Big Booty Read online

  Yeah, and he beats your ass. And is in and outta jail. Oh, and he robs niggahs. Yup, that niggah’s real special. I yawn. “Okay, boo-boo. If you say so.”

  “Ohmygod, it feels like the truck’s spinnin’. Can you slow the hell down?”

  “Bitch, I’m at a light. That’s your head spinnin’. Your ass is fucked up, ho.”

  She hangs her head all the way out of the window and throws up. When the light changes, I pull over to the side of the road and let her get herself together. “Bitch, you better not have gotten any of that nasty shit on the side of my damn truck or I’ma bang you in your motherfuckin’ head. I told your dumb ass to not suck down all those Bloody Tampons.”

  She sucks her teeth. “Ho, shut up. I ain’t get nothin’ on your precious truck.”

  “Better not. That’s what your drunk-ass gets for being so damn hard-headed. I told your ass them things were gonna sneak up on you. That’s why I don’t drink ’em.”

  She groans. “I can’t wait to get in the house. Everything’s goin’ around and around. I feel like I’m on a merry-go-round. I need to lie down. Ohmygod . . . I’ma have’ta give Knutz some pussy; otherwise he’s gonna think I’ve been out somewhere fuckin’. I hope I don’t throw up while he’s on top of me.”

  Ain’t no one tryna hear that dumb shit. I roll my eyes up in my head, turning the music up.

  “Ohmygod, can you turn that fuckin’ music down? My head is poundin’.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s not the only thing that’s gonna be poundin’ when you walk through that door. Knutz is gonna punch your ass into a wall.”

  I glance at the digital clock up on the dashboard. 9:10 P.M. It’s still early as hell. I shoulda put this ho in a taxi and stayed down at the bar a little longer. I was startin’ to have a good damn time talkin’ shit to Buddha’s fine ass. And after I tossed back my second Blow Job I was even poppin’ shit to that niggah AJ, who I’m even more sure I’ve seen him somewhere before. It’s gonna bother the shit outta me until I figure out how and where I know him. Anyway, I’m glad I slid Buddha my number on my way out the door. I told him he needed to call me before Jah got out of the county, then whispered in his ear, “I wanna fuck you.” I stepped off with his eyes glued to my ass, and him grinnin’.

  I pull up in front of Dickalina’s buildin’. “Give me your phone so I can call one of your daughters to come down here and help you upstairs. I don’t want your ass breakin’ your neck tryna get up in the house.”

  Her phone starts ringin’. She fumbles around in her bag for it. “Hello?”

  “Yo, where da fuck you at?” It’s Knutz spazzin’ out like a damn maniac.

  “I’m downstairs, Knutz. Damn.”

  “Why da fuck you ain’t been pickin’ up your muthafuckin’ phone, huh? You was ’posed to have ya sneaky ass home two hours ago. You stay on that dumb shit, Lina. Then you wonder why I be wildin’ ’n shit. You gonna fuck around and lose a good man behind ya dumb shit.”

  I shake my head. “Ho, you need to stop lettin’ that niggah talk to you any ole kinda way.”

  She covers the mouthpiece, the shoots me a look. “Bitch, mind your business. And stay up outta mine.”

  “Well, you can get the fuck up out my car with all that dumb shit y’all talkin’.”

  “Yo, who da fuck is that in the background?” I can hear him ask. “How da fuck you gonna be talkin’ to someone else when I’m tryna have a civilized conversation with you, Lina?”

  Civilized? Mmmph. Ain’t nothin’ civilized ’bout that coon.

  “I know, baby,” she says, lowerin’ her voice. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk about this when I get upstairs. Can you come down and get me? I’m tore up, Knutz, baby. I need you to help me walk into the buildin’.”

  The next thing I hear before the line goes silent is, “Hell no! You must be outta ya rabbit-ass head. I told you to bring ya black ass home two hours ago, and you said fuck me. So, fuck you and ya drunk ass. Crawl ya dumb-ass up to da muthafuckin’ buildin’.”

  She stares at the phone. “Hello? Hello?” She grunts. “I’m so fuckin’ sick of his black ass. I’m good to that niggah, you know what I’m sayin’?

  “No, bitch, I don’t.”

  “Every time his ass gets locked up, I’m the one runnin up and down on gawtdamn stinkin’-ass buses and trains ’n shit to see his ass. And I ask him to do me one gawtdamn thing and he can’t even do that. I’m done with his ass. I’m putting him out.”

  Okay, I’ve heard this before. “Uh-huh,” I say, diggin’ in my handbag for a stick of gum. “Keep playin’ the violin. I’ve heard this tune before.”

  “I’m serious, Cassie. I’ma put his sorry, black ass out tonight.”

  “Mmmhmm. Let me know how you make out with that.”

  She sucks her teeth. “I know you don’t believe me, girl. But watch.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Do you.”

  “Don’t judge me. I—”

  I cut her ass off before she starts tryna explain her craziness. “Look, I would love to sit out here and play Love Doctor, boo. But I need to get my ass home. Call one of your daughters and get one of their lazy asses to come down here and help you up.”

  “They’re not home. They’re at the movies.”

  “On a school night?” I ask, looking at her like she’s half-crazy. Then again, she is. Any ho who’d name her daughters Candylicious and Clitina is a fuckin’ nut. Candylicious is eighteen, still in the tenth grade. And Clitina is fifteen, still in the eighth grade and fuckin’ everything that’s not nailed down. Them hoes ain’t have half a chance from the start with a mother named Dickalina.

  Shit, you can say what you want about me. I might drink and smoke with my two oldest sons. And, yes, I’ve even tossed a bar up alongside ’em and gotten locked up with ’em. Hell, I’ve even fucked a few of their friends. And, yeah, I have a buncha damn kids and baby daddies, and?

  Every last one of my kids is taken care of. I’m not sittin’ on my ass collecting a welfare check, so there you have it. But I do get my food stamps every month. Shit, that EBT card comes in handy. Ain’t no shame in my game; these kids gotta eat. And, yeah, I’ve had to do some extra things in the past to make sure my kids were provided for, like fuckin’ and suckin ’niggahs for money when I wasn’t beat to fuck with ’em; like carryin’ drugs for a niggah, or two, across state lines, and into prisons. Like boostin’ shit—although, I only did that shit for three years. And I had my reasons for doin’ them. I needed to survive; period, point blank.

  Beulah, with her ol’ crusty old ass, had thrown me out on the streets at fifteen because she said she was tired of lookin’ at me and my two babies. She didn’t give a fuck where I went. Said she couldn’t keep takin’ care of some hot-in-the-ass little girl who used her pussy more than she used her own. So what the hell was I supposed to do? My babies needed milk and Pampers. And we needed a roof over our heads. I had to do what I had to do to survive. So boosting shit is how I did it. And, yeah, okay, fuckin’ older niggahs—not too old, though, because I was scared into believin’ old men gave you worms. So, I never fucked anyone over forty. Well, one time . . . okay, okay, like six times, I sucked a fifty-seven-year-old man’s dick for a hundred dollars while he fingered my pussy. That lasted for four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. It was always the fastest hundred I’d ever made in my life.

  Then I started fuckin’ with them stolen credit cards for about four years until about two years ago. Shit started gettin’ too hot. And after my connect got his dumb ass popped and sentenced to fifteen years for identity-theft, fraud, and a buncha other crazy shit, I had to drop that scheme real quick. I don’t mind doing a little county time when I have to, but a bitch with a state number ain’t it. Them horny bitches in there would be tryna ride my ass with a broomstick. Oh, no thank you! That’s not how I do mine. Shit, I still have seven more kids to raise. So, I knew when to pull out. Still, that niggah had some good dick, too! Dumb fuck!

  And yeah, growin’ up, I mighta spent more t
ime on my back, or in the backseat of some horny niggah’s car, then I did in school, but the one thing a bitch can’t ever say about me is that my kids are ever dirty, raggedy, disrespectful, or dumb as fuck. I mighta dropped out of school when I was fifteen. But my three oldest boys graduated. And because of them, I took my ass back and got my GED two years ago.

  So, yeah, I’ma hot mess. But, guess what? I don’t give a fuck. I’m real with mine. But this drunk-ass bitch right here—love her dearly—is all over the damn place and lets her kids do whatever the hell they want. I wish the hell Day’Asia would; I’d beat the snot outta her ass.

  Dickalina presses her cell up to her ear. “I’m callin’ that niggah back and tellin him to stop dickin’ around and get his ass down here now.”

  “Yeah, you do that and hurry up about it. I wanna get home.”

  “I’ma tell him to get his ass down here now, or he can pack his shit and bounce.”

  I roll my eyes up in my head. Yeah, picture that. “Way to go, girl.”

  “Knutz, are you comin’ down here or what? . . . I’m not fuckin’ crawlin’ nowhere, niggah. Stop playin’, niggah . . . ” She must have lowered the volume this time. I can’t hear what he’s sayin’. “ . . . was not . . . I was out with Cassie . . . I know I was ’posed to braid your hair and trim your cock hairs and the crack of your ass . . . ”

  I frown. Oh, this bitch has gone too far. Now she’s shavin’ the niggah’s asshole. What’s next, her fuckin’ him in it?

  “ . . . but you weren’t home,” she continues, “ . . . was not out braidin’ no other niggah’s head. And I wasn’t out fuckin’ . . . ” She huffs, openin’ the truck door. “ . . . Are you comin’ down here or not? . . . Knutz, stop, damn . . . I told you. We were down at The Crack House . . . no, there wasn’t. I—”

  I count to ten, then snatch the phone from her. “Knutz, stop the shit, niggah. Get ya retarded ass down here and get this drunk bitch outta my fuckin’ car so I can get home to my damn kids. Shit, you can argue with her ass upstairs.”

  “Ohmygod, Cassie, don’t do that shit.” She tries to reach for her phone. I slap her hands away. “Give me my phone.”

  “Nah, fuck that,” he says. “She was ’posed to been had her ass home to braid my hair and handle some other thangs. And she out trickin’.”

  I blink. “Oh, you got the wrong party favors on the table, niggah. She was out having a few drinks, period. And so what if she was out tricking? Good for her. As much dirt as your grimy-ass does, you have no room to be talkin’.”

  “Yo, c’mon, Booty. Chill wit’ all that shit you talkin’.”

  “Niggah, you don’t know me like that. Have we fucked? It’s Big Booty. Somethin’ your woman wishes she had. Not no motherfuckin’ Booty. Don’t get it twisted . . . ”

  “Wait a minute, bitch,” Dickalina snaps. “What you tryna say? That my ass is flat? Well, my man loves my ass just the way it is. Thank you very much.”

  I ignore her. “Let me tell you somethin’, Knutz—you ain’t shit, niggah, okay. Lina is the only ho dumb enough to put up with your triflin’ ass and you walk around here givin’ her your shitty drawz to eat . . . ”

  “I ain’t dumb,” she says, suckin’ her teeth. “Stop callin’ me that.”

  “You are too dumb, ho, for lettin’ this motherfucka keep shittin’ on you. He can’t even bring his sorry ass down here to help your drunk ass up in the motherfuckin’ buildin’. Fuck this niggah. He done pissed me off now.”

  “Damn, Cassie,” he says, soundin’ offended. “You don’t have’ta go in on me like that. I don’t want no problems wit’ you.”

  “I know you don’t, niggah. So get your black ass down here and come get your woman before I run up on you with a hammer and knock them big-ass fronts out your raggedy-ass mouth.”

  He laughs it off. But I’m fuckin’ serious. And he knows it. I can’t stand him. And I’ve been lookin’ for a reason to set it off on his ass. He might beat up on Dicklina’s dizzy ass, but I’m not the one. “Aiight-aiight. I got you. Give me a sec to put some drawers on. I’ll be right down.”

  Ugh! I disconnect, handin’ back her phone. “He’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Ohmygod, girl, why’d you do that? You’re always startin’ shit. Now I’ma have’ta hear his mouth all fuckin’ night.”

  I glance at the time. I can’t believe I’ve been out here with this ho for almost fifteen damn minutes. “Bitch, I got his ass to come down to get your drunk ass. So don’t pop shit to me. Next time handle your damn liquor and we won’t have to go through all this dumb shit.”

  My cell vibrates.

  “Here comes Knutz’s dumb ass now,” she says, stumblin’ out of my truck. I watch as her ass hits the ground, pullin’ out my phone.

  “Damn, girl, you fucked up,” he says, helping her up off the ground.

  “I told you to come help me, Knutz. You want me to suck your dick and nuts real good, baby, huh?”

  I let out a disgusted sigh. I glance at my screen. It’s a text from my twins’ fahver, Vernon. Baby Daddy Number Eight.

  I WANNA C U

  “Nah, you good,” Knutz says to Dickalina. “Maybe in the mornin’, baby. I’ma eat that drunk pussy though, aiight? You can swallow these nuts later.”

  I roll my eyes, textin’ back. NIGGAH WHERE’S MY CHILD SUPPORT CK?

  “Listen, motherfucka,” I snap at Knutz. “Shut my motherfuckin’ door!”

  He lifts Dickalina up over his shoulder, shuttin’ the door. “Cass—”

  “Niggah, don’t say shit to me,” I snap, rollin’ the window up in his face. Busted-ass motherfucka!

  I GOT IT W/ME ALONG W/THIS BIG AZZ DICK

  I suck my teeth, textin’ back. FUCK ALL THAT SMILEY FACE SHIT. BRING MY $!!!!!

  Ten

  “Damn, Cass,” he says the minute I step out of my truck and walk toward him. He’s leanin’ up against the side of his Lexus. Tall, jet-black skin with thick waves and a nice juicy, black dick, he’s looking real fuckable in his True Religion jeans, pullover and Timbs. He has a dark-colored fitted pulled down over his eyes. I swear if the niggah wasn’t so fucked up in the head, he’d be a good catch. But there are three things wrong with his ass. Okay, four. One, he’s a chronic liar. Two, he’s a chronic manipulator. And, three, he’s chronically full of shit. And four, the niggah’s credit is all fucked up. I must have been trippin’ off of some serious wet to have ever gotten caught up with his ass. And had his triflin’ ass not been pokin’ holes in the condoms I wouldn’t be standin’ here looking at his dumb ass now.

  He licks his lips. “Took you long enough.”

  I roll my eyes, holdin’ out my hand. “Whatever, Vernon. Give me my money.” He grabs my hand instead and pulls me into him, reekin’ of weed and alcohol.

  “Fuck outta here. Let me get some tongue. I’ve missed you, girl.”

  He tries to kiss me. I frown, pushin’ him back. “Wrong answer. I want my money.”

  He eyes me. “Damn, Cass. Why shit always gotta be about money with you? I’m tryna get some pussy.”

  I laugh in his face. “Niggah, it’s always gonna be about money with me. And your deadbeat ass is already two months behind in your payments, so you might wanna make good on what you owe me tonight, or I’ma have you fucked up.”

  “See. Here you go threatenin’ me with that shit again. And didn’t you have to do anger management twice already?”

  “Threat? Boo-boo, you know I don’t make idle threats. I make promises. And I keep every one of ’em. And no, I ain’t do no goddamn anger management, niggah. I know how to manage my anger just fine. Now where’s my motherfuckin’ money?”

  “Damn, cut a niggah some slack. Shit’s hard right now,” he says, reachin’ for me again. This time I let him pull me into him. Hell, the niggah has a nice hard body. “And so is this big-ass dick.” He presses it into me, grabbin’ my ass.

  I slap his hands down, narrowin’ my eyes. “Stop with the lies. I know your ass is workin’. D
on’t have me drag you into court for child support.”

  He eyes me, raisin’ a brow. “Damn, you’d do me like that when you know I’m already on that shit with my other baby mothers?”

  “Your other baby muhvers and your five other chil’ren ain’t no concern of mine. My sons are.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “No, you’re fucked up.”

  “Yeah, aiight. Whatever. I wanna see my sons.”

  “Oh, now all of a sudden you wanna see your sons. Just a few minutes ago all you cared about was gettin’ that dick handled.”

  “Yeah,” he huffs, “until you fucked up the mood with ya bullshit. Now, fuck it. Let me see my sons. And I’m out.”

  “Niggah, stand in line. You ain’t seein’ them tonight. Not unless you peelin’ off my money. I shouldn’t have to keep goin’ through this shit with you, Vernon. Your sons don’t live off of air. It takes money to feed and clothe them and to keep a roof over their heads. I shouldn’t have to use my other kid’s child support checks to feed your sons, niggah.”

  He sucks his teeth. “Well, no one told ya ass to have a buncha babies.”

  I blink. “And no one told you to poke holes in the goddamn condoms, either. But that didn’t stop you, now did it, motherfucka?”

  “See. Here you go with the okey doke. If you didn’t wanna be pregnant, then you shoulda had an abortion. But you didn’t. So stop talkin’ all that dumb shit. I ain’t tryna hear all that, Cass. You know like I do you wanted to be knocked up.”

  This niggah’s crazy!

  “Niggah, get a grip. You punched holes in the goddamn condom, tryna trap a bitch.”

  “Yeah, whatever. You still coulda got ya guts scraped out if you didn’t want any more kids. So save that shit. Let me see my sons, Cass.”

  I decide to let him think what he wants. I am not in the mood to argue with his nutty ass about this shit again. Not tonight. I glance down at my watch. It’s a little after ten. “Uh, I don’t think so. It’s a school night. And you don’t have my money. So if you wanna see your sons . . . you know, the ones you think I shoulda aborted, then you need to bring your ass around here at a decent hour and come with my goddamn money. Now either hand over my shit so I can ride down on your face real quick. Or get the fuck on and stop wastin’ my time.”