Booty Call *69 (3 page)

My mother sees right through me most times. She knows that I’m still in love with Jakim, and she knows how stubborn I can be. But he fucked up and needs to be taught a lesson.

Just as I’m about to give up on that bitch, Sasha, showing up, the doorbell rings again. I go open the door, and there’s Sasha standing in the doorway smiling.

“Bitch, you know what time it is?!” I shout.

“Yeah, and your day ain’t wasted,” she quickly responds.

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah, I love you, too. C’mon, let’s go.” She grabs me by my shirt and pulls me out the door.

As we’re driving, listening to music and staring at cuties, Sasha says, “I saw Jakim turn off your block. What’s the deal wit dat shit? I thought y’all broke up.”

“Yeah, we did. But you know, he’s still sweatin’ a sista.”

“Word? I saw him with that bitch, Theresa, the other day,” she says, sharing unimportant news with me. “He was all hugged up with her in the park and shit.”

“Well, thank you for that useful bit of information,” I unpleasantly say to her. She could have kept that kind of news to herself.

We pull up to Mickey D’s, because I haven’t had anything to eat since those two sausages I had for breakfast. Sasha wants to pull through the drive-thru, but I prefer to go inside; the drive-thru always fucks up my order. I persuade her to park and eat inside; we’re in no rush to go anywhere. As soon as we enter the restaurant, three niggahs start clocking me. I just turn my head and ignore ‘em. Only one of ‘em is cute, but his shoes are jacked up. Sasha pays them no attention either. She just stands on line with me and looks up at the menu. I turn around to see if they’re still gawking, and yes, all three of them still are. I just sigh and continue to stand on line. As we approach the counter, I can feel the bitches who work here hating
already, some of them staring and screwing up their faces at us. I place my order with the cashier, who has a bit of an acne problem on her face.

“Yo, do they still got that game where you connect the dots?” Sasha says loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“You’re wrong, bitch,” I say laughing. The cashier looks up at us in disgust and continues to take our orders. She looks like she doesn’t want to be here. Me, personally, I could never take a job at McDonald’s and get paid minimum wage.

“I don’t wanna see any foreign skin floating in my Pepsi,” Sasha goes on, causing me to laugh again. We’re so wrong, not much caring that we’re probably hurting her feelings. But she never says anything back to us; she just keeps on being polite and filling our orders. A few people on line with us think we’re funny, while others look on with disapproval and shame.

We receive our food and go and look for a table. “Yo, shorty, let me holla,” I hear someone whisper. I know which one of the three guys is trying to call me out, but I don’t answer. I just sit down at a table and look the other way.

“Yo, Shana, look at them three sorry bums over there clocking us.”

“Yeah, I already saw ‘em.” We continue to eat, laugh and make fun of the three guys who’ve finished their meals a while ago but remain at their table, probably trying to cough up enough courage to approach us.

“It’s a damn shame how some men can be so soft when they see pussy. A scared man can never get none,” I say.

Sasha is dying laughing, almost choking on her drink. She gobbles down her last bit of fries and we’re ready to leave. We get up and head out the door, still ignoring the three guys. They follow us out into the parking lot, and one of them finally gets the courage to shout out, “Yo, shorty, come
here. Can I chat with you for a minute?” And it’s not the cute one. It’s the black, monkey-lookin’ muthafucka!

I just keep walking to the car. He should’ve been figured it out, but he keeps coming toward us, thinking he’s going to get some play. As I’m about to get in the car, he grabs a hold of the passenger door, preventing me from closing it.

“Excuse me!” I yell.

“I’m sayin, though, a brotha can’t get no love from y’all?” he asks.

Seeing him up close is even worse. His lips are dry and cracked. His skin is so black it looks purple. His clothes are wack and dirty, and his hair is nappy. Shit, I could go on with so many things that are wrong with him. “
Ee-ill
, niggah,” I say looking up at him in disgust. “Did I look like I was interested?”

“Blackie, please don’t touch my car,” Sasha adds. He looks over at her for a second and then focuses his attention back on me. I don’t even want him near me, and he has the nerve to be trying to talk to me as his two friends stand by and watch.

“I’m sayin’ though, you look too good, boo. I can’t get your number and call you sometime?”

“Hell, no, muthafucka. Please get away from me,” I say.

“Oh, it’s like that, boo?”

“Yeah, it’s like that, ugly—leave,” Sasha chimes in.

His two boys laugh, seeing him get dissed. I guess he was trying to impress them or something. He tries to play it off. “Fuck y’all bitches!” he says.

“You wish you could!” I reply.

I know he feels stupid. We drive off laughing.
Ee-ill
… me and him—
never in this fuckin’ lifetime. “Next time, we’re going though the drive-thru,” Sasha says glancing over at me. I can’t argue.

We shop for the rest of the day on Jamaica Avenue. I buy a few outfits, including something to wear for tonight. Sasha buys a pair of fly, three-hundred-dollar, Donna Karan shoes, and they break her pockets. It’s going on seven, and it’s time to leave and get ready for the party Sasha was talking about. The only reason I’m really going is to get my mind off of Jakim. I’m not stressing him like that, but I still have feelings for the man. Sasha drops me off at my front door and promises to pick me up around nine, nine-thirty.

I don’t rush to get dressed. I talk to a few people on the phone, take a shower and do my nails. I’m home alone, so I walk around the house butt naked. It feels good to just let my body breathe every once in a while. I stop and look at myself in the hallway mirror. “Damn, bitch, you got the perfect body,” I say, posing and admiring every aspect of my figure. Noticing the time, I run to my room to get dressed. I already know what outfit to sport tonight—my black leather mini skirt, my slate blue, stretch silk shirt and my open toe heels. I let my hair fall down past my shoulders and comb it out briskly. I put on just the right make-up and spray on some Michael Kors fragrance.

It’s twenty past nine when Sasha comes to pick me up. Latish and Naja are in the car with her. Naja’s already riding shotgun, so I climb into the backseat and greet everybody. I’ve only known Latish for two years, but Naja and I go back to the sixth grade. She’s one of my closest friends. Latish and I had our little feuds back in the day, because she always tried to talk to Jakim when the bitch knew he was my man. She said they just talked, and that it wasn’t intimate. But deep down I know she fucked him; they just
aren’t telling. I’ve kept it cool with her so far, and I try not to have any beef wit’ her.

We arrive to the club at a little past ten. There’s already thirty to forty people lined up outside. Sasha parks the car two blocks down, around the corner from the club. We all step out of the car and straighten out our clothes, make-up and hair. I know I’m looking good, so I don’t stress too much.

“Fuck this!” Sasha blurts out.

“What’s wrong, girl?” I ask.

“This fucking line, that what’s wrong.” She steps out of her place in line and heads for the front entrance. “I’ll be right back.”

About ten minutes later, Sasha makes her way back to us. “C’mon, y’all, we’re getting in,” she says.

We all look at each other, thinking,
what is this bitch talking about?
But we follow her to the front of the club anyway, causing many who are still standing in line to hate and begin to bitch and moan.
I hope this bitch don’t embarrass us—we get to the entrance and get sent back to the end of the line—not tonight in front of all of these people
. We get to the entrance and to my surprise, we’re easily escorted in by a 6’2”, dark and muscular man. We pay the ten-dollar admission and strut our way into the party. I look at Sasha in amazement. “What did you do? Who hooked you up?” I ask.

“I gave the main bouncer my phone number and promised to suck his dick before I leave tonight,” she says smiling at me.

“You serious?”

“Hells yeah. We got in, didn’t we?” I have no other words for her. She’s definitely bugging the fuck out. I’d rather have waited on line for two
hours. But it’s all good. We step into the dimly lit club. The music, the crowd and the scenery is bumping. The deejay has everybody hyped. He plays that new jam by Ja Rule and Ashanti. I glance around the place, checking out the cuties. And I look around for a familiar face, but I don’t see one.

“I’ll be back,” Latish says. She goes straight to the bar. It figures. She always has to get her drink on before she can get her party on.

I’m standing alone, and this chubby niggah walks by and stares me down from head to toe.
I hope he doesn’t come my way
. The only thing he has going for him is the piece around his neck. It’s kind of fly, and I know it’s real—Cuban links with the phat diamond cross. His stomach sticks out too much, though. But he only checks me for a moment from the corner of his eye and walks away. Thank God.

After about an hour, the place is packed tight like sardines. Drinks are being spilled on people bumping into one another, and a fight breaks out between two guys on account of this. A few punches are thrown and they’re both put out of the club.

I’ve been dancing with this cutie for the past half hour. He gets love, with his hazel eyes and fade. He smells good, too. Too bad I can’t say the same thing for the majority of the niggahs up in here; muthafuckas don’t believe in cologne. But my newfound cutie is cool. He buys me two drinks at the bar and asks for my number afterward, but I don’t give it to him. I tell him I already have a man. He doesn’t take it to heart. He still chills with me for a while.

Latish is now a little tipsy. She’s on her sixth drink, and she’s with some chocolate, fine-looking brotha by the bar. Sasha’s doing it up on the dance floor, grinding and hugging up on a few men. Naja chills with me at the bar.

I need a little break; with each passing minute that goes by, a different guy grabs me, touches me or wants to dance or talk. I tell Naja that I’m going to the bathroom, and she comes along with me. I barely make it there when I feel someone grab at my arm. Now totally fed up, I angrily turn around, only to see Tyrone, Jakim’s best friend. He is a cutie.

“What up, baby girl?” he says smiling and gently takes my hand.

“Oh, what’s up, Tyrone? I ain’t know you was up in here,” I say to him. I can’t help but show my excitement. It’s all over my face.

He’s chilling with three of his friends, all of ‘em looking thugged out, wearing hoodies, jewelry, Timberlands and attitudes. He continues smiling and gives me a hug. “Damn, you look good, Shana,” he says gazing at my outfit.

“You’re not looking bad yourself,” I reply. He’s wearing a blue and gray Sean John sweatshirt, blue denim Rocawear jeans and black Timbs. His braids are freshly done and his diamond earring sparkles brightly.
Damn, he is too fine!

“Can I get this dance with you?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, forgetting about the bathroom and forgetting about my girl, Naja.

We stroll over to the dance floor. It seems as though room is being made especially for us as we pass through the tight crowd. He grabs me and grinds his pelvis against mine. His moves on the dance floor are so smooth and coordinated, like he practices them every day. He knows how to move his feet, hips and shoulders. He has so much rhythm and energy that it’s hard for me to keep up with him. I notice the other ladies on the floor checking him out, too. They’re looking mighty interested as he grinds up on me. I’m getting wet and aroused and I’m starting to feel guilty.

We eventually stop dancing, and he asks me if I want a drink. I say yes, and he escorts me over to the bar. We talk and laugh until Sasha interrupts us. She says hi to Tyrone and gives me this weird look.

She then pulls me a few feet away. “You know you wrong; that’s your ex’s best friend,” she says.

“So!” I reply.

“What do you mean
so
? Jakim will kill you if he finds out you’re flirting and playing touchy-feely with his boy.”

“Did you forget that we’re no longer together, that I can do whatever the fuck I want?! Besides, I’m just trying to get my itch scratched tonight, and he seems like the right one to do the scratchin’.”

“You are so wrong, Shana,” Sasha says, finally leaving me to my business. She doesn’t understand. Shit, the last time I had sex was two weeks before Jakim and I broke up. That was a while ago. Tyrone will understand; it’ll be just sex. He’ll get what he wants, and I’ll get what I want. I know he’ll do me right tonight; I’ve heard stories about him from my girls.

I go back to the bar and tell Tyrone that I want to leave with him tonight. He doesn’t even ask why. He gives his boys dap and leaves with me under his arm. Sasha glares at me as we walk past her, but I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. That bitch is no angel; she does her dirt, too.

A slow jam mix CD plays in Tyrone’s BMW, and his hand is deep between my thighs. He’s fingering my pussy, and it feels so good. I spread my legs apart even more so he can get a better feel. “You’re bugging, but I’m feeling you, boo,” he says smiling.

We’re heading to his crib for the night—not his mama’s, but
his
shit, which he shares with his roommate in Rochdale Village. I’ve been there once with Jakim. It’s real cool. It’s a two-bedroom, with the phat entertainment
center. We stop at a red light and begin to kiss, tonguing each other down passionately. The light turns green and we pull off. I’m so horny, and my panties are so wet that I end up pulling them off and throwing them in the back seat. I think I’ll leave them there.