Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (12 page)

“Okay, so how many?”

Not countin’ the young nigga who I let pop this pussy when I needed a burner, I think, count, in my head.
Naheem…B-Love… Grant…Tone.
“Four.”

“Daaaaamn, that’s wassup. That pussy must be mad tight.”

I smirk. “Yup, it’ll suck da skin off a dick.”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiight. Question is can you handle a dick?”

I stare at ’im for a few seconds. “Who says I’m tryna handle one?”

He keeps laughin’. “It’s all in ya eyes, ma.”

I roll the window down, take two more pulls off’a what’s left of the blunt, then toss the shit out. He frowns. “Yo, ma, why you throw that shit out?”

“Nigga, this shit we smokin’ must be laced ’cause yo’ ass is seein’ shit.”

He cracks the fuck up. “Yo, ma, you funny bad. Front if you want.”

“And ya narcissistic ass is delusional.”

“Yeah, that’s what ya mouth says.”

“Nigga, that’s what I know.”

He shakes his head, smilin’. For the rest of the ride up the Turnpike headin’ north, we keep it light, smokin’, laughin’ ’n listenin’ to music ’n shit. I stare outta the window, takin’ the ride in. It’s not ’til after he takes the lower level of the George Washington Bridge, takes the exit for Leonia/Teaneck, then takes the ramp for Route 4 West that I know ’xactly where he’s takin’ me—Morton’s Steakhouse in Hackensack, a high-end, over-priced
steak spot. The minute we turn onto Riverside Square, my mouth waters. And it has nuthin’ to do wit’ the restaurant, and e’erythin’ to do wit’ The Shops at Riverside Mall. One’a my hot spot fashion stops!

I turn my attention to ’im. “Umm, sweetie,” I say, shakin’ my head, “You takin’ me to Morton’s?”

“Yeah, you aiight wit’ that?”

I nod. “It’s cool. But you really shoulda did ya homework before bringin’ me way up here.”

“Why?”

I smirk. “’Cause the last nigga who brought me here ended up diggin’ in his pockets forty-two hunnid deep.”

He laughs. “Yo, if the cat let you do his pockets, then good for you. But, know this, I ain’t that nigga.”

Nigga, not yet you ain’t.
“Oh, please be clear. I don’t need you to be. I have my own paper.”

He smiles. “That’s nice to know.”

“Yup, it suuuuure is. Now pass da blunt.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There’s sumthin’ ’bout da nigga that got’a bitch intrigued… maybe it’s da way he licks them lips…maybe da way da nigga undresses me wit’ his eyes…gotta bitch wantin’ to know what makes ’im tick…pusssy achin’ for a quick ride on da dick…still a bitch gotta keep it on da low…take it slow…not get played like some dizzy-ass chick…

O
nce we’re inside the restaurant and seated, we place our orders. For appetizers, we share an order of Jumbo Lump Crab Cake and Colossal Shrimp; for dinner, I order the beefsteak tomato salad wit’ fresh bleu cheese and red onions. He gets the Chilean sea bass.

Although I ain’t wit’ all this winery bullshit, I order a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon; sum shit I ain’t eva heard of. And shit a bitch ain’t feelin’. I wait for the waiter to walk away, then ask, “So, tell me. Is this ’posed to be a date?”

“Nah,” he says, smirkin’, “it’s a cool-ass nigga chillin’ wit’ a sexy-ass dime-piece, havin’ dinner. Why, you want it to be?”

I smirk back, slowly shakin’ my head. “Nope, not at all.”

“Cool then.” The waiter returns to the table wit’ my drink, and the appetizers. He waits for ’im to bounce, then says, “So how long you plan on stayin’ in Jersey?”

“For as long as I want,” I tell ’im, placin’ a crab cake on my plate. I shrug, cuttin’ into it wit’ my knife. “I don’t answer to anyone.”

“Oh, you don’t?”

I tilt my head, raisin’ my brow. “No…I don’t.”

“Good, neither do I; so we straight.”

I roll my eyes, twistin’ my lips up. “Yeah, right; tell me anything.”

“What, you don’t believe? A muhfucka ain’t latched down to nuthin’ or no one.”

“It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not,” I say, placin’ a forkful of crab cake into my mouth. “I’m not tryna have you.”

“Oh, word. You not?” I tell ’im hell no. “Yeah, aiight; that’s what ya mouth says.” I roll my eyes. Tell the nigga to kiss my ass. He laughs, then stares at me, shakin’ his head. His foot brushes mine. “Well, maybe I’m tryna have you,” he says, poppin’ a shrimp in his mouth. He licks his thick, titty ’n clit suckas. I shift in my seat, crossin’ my legs, then squeezin’ my thighs. I feel the pressure buildin’ up in my clit. The weed we smoked gotta bitch mad horny.
I wanna feel this nigga’s dick in me.
My pussy pulses. I shift in my seat again. “Well, you can’t have me,” I tell ’im.

He laughs. “Yeah, aiight; we’ll see.”

“Nigga, are you always so cocky?”

He grins. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. I gotta lotta cock, what can I say?”

I suck my teeth. “Oh, so you one’a them niggas whose in love wit’ his dick, I see.”

“Nah, it’s the bitches who are in love wit’ this dick. I’m the muhfucka who’s in love wit’ gettin’ it wet.” I decide to ig his ass, relieved the waiter comes back to the table wit’ our meal. By the time we’re halfway finished eatin’, I learn he’s an only child, like me. That he’s close to both his parents, particularly his moms.
That he spent almost two years in college, but dropped out to do nuthin’ but hustle bitches off’a they paper. Well, he didn’t say it like that, but he might as well had. That he has no children. Burns mad trees. And fucks a string of horny bitches.

“And no baby mommas?” I ask again, half-believin’ ’im.

“Nope.”

“Okay, so none that you claimin’.”

“Nah, none period. I told you, ma, I wrap my shit—all the time. Well, ’cept when I’m gettin’ throated.” I raise my brow. He laughs. “Word up, I’m dead ass. Unless a broad can get pregnant swallowin’ my dick batter it ain’t happenin’.”

“Alriiiiiighty then. Next.”

“What ’bout you; how many baby daddies you got?”

“None. And I ain’t tryna have one.” I’m kinda shocked when he asks if I’ve eva been pregnant. Although I coulda told the nigga no, I decide to keep shit real. “Yeah, when I was young and dumb. But I handled that situation real quick, trust.”

“I feel you.” I’m surprised when he tells me ’bout some nuttyass bitch who kept claimin’ he knocked her up. How she tried’a drag ’im into court for child support; how she kept showin’ up at his family’s spot wit’ a baby that looked nuthin’ like ’im.

“Damn. So what you’d do?”

“I got a blood test.”

“Okay, and?”

“And it wasn’t mine; just like I told the ho from the door. Fuck outta here.”

“Mmmph, that triflin’ bitch was dead wrong for that,” I say, shakin’ my head. “Tryna pin a baby on a muhfucka. There’s a buncha scandalous bitches doin’ grimy shit like that; lettin’a buncha muhfuckas pop off in ’em, then they gotta pull baby daddy names outta hats ’n shit.”

“Yeah, that shit was real crazy. She even had my fam comin’ at me sideways; ’specially my moms’ ’n shit. And I wasn’t feelin’ that shit at all. I kept tellin’ ’em the shit wasn’t mine. If it was, I’da manned up and handled my responsiblities.”

“Well ’least it worked out for you.”

“Oh, no doubt.” I decide to ask if he’s ever been in a relationship. He shakes his head. “Nah.”

“Are you serious?
Neva?
”

“True story.”

I twist my lips. “Mmmm, so I guess you one’a them niggas whose gonna spend his whole life runnin’ through a buncha bitches, hunh?”

The waiter returns to the table to see if we want dessert, or sumthin’ else. We tell ’im no, and send ’im on his way. He waits for dude to walk off, then shifts his attention back to me. He leans up in his seat, rests his forearms on the table. “Yo, check this out. I’ve smashed a buncha pussy, tore the frame outta a ton of ass, and coated a buncha throats and I have no regrets. So up ’til now I’ve been cool.”

“Okay, so basically you ain’t beat for a relationship?”

“Nah, I haven’t been. On some real shit, I’ve always thought relationships were whack, feel me.”

Wow, this nigga’s head is all fucked up.
“Okay and now?”

He shrugs. “The verdict is still out.” He winks at me, grinnin’. “But who knows. That might change.”

I laugh. “Oh, puhleeze don’t let it be on my account ’cause I ain’t lookin’ for a relationship. And if I were it wouldn’t be wit’ you.”

“Ouch,” he says, clutchin’ his chest. “You sure know how’ta stab a nigga in the heart.”

I laugh. “Oh, you’re a big boy. I’m sure you’ll get over it. Fact
is you ain’t built to be wit’ one chick. And a bitch like me ain’t willin’ly sharin’ a nigga wit’ another bitch.”

“Yeah, you right. At least that’s how it’s been. But maybe a muhfucka’s ready to try sumthin’ different.”

“Yeah, like some new pussy.”

He laughs. “Nah…like tryin’ out the whole monogamy thing; you know…see if it works.”

“Trust, it works only when two muhfuckas want it to,” I tell ’im. “Personally, I rather a muhfucka tell me he wants to fuck other bitches than goin’ out there gettin’ his creep on tryna play me sideways.”

“I feel you.” He takes a sip of his water, then studies me. “Do you think muhfuckas can really change, or they just stop doin’ shit for the moment?”

I purse my lips, think ’bout my own life. Think ’bout how I stepped outta the killin’ game; how I miss it. Still ache ’n crave for it. I slowly nod. “Yeah, I guess they can. It may not be easy. But, if they really wanna, then yeah.”

“On some real shit, all my life I’ve been ’round muhfuckas who didn’t give a damn ’bout a relationship. My pops married my moms but kept a string of jumpoffs. He even took me wit’ ’im while he went to one’a his hoes’ spots to fuck ’em. Then he’d buy me shit to keep quiet. I never told anyone this, but a few of ’em he let top me off when I was mad young.” He chuckles. “Damn, a muhfucka must really dig you ’cause I can’t believe I’m sittin’ here tellin’ you all this.” He pauses, shakin’ his head. “On some real shit, I see a buncha miserable muhfuckas caught up in what they call a relationship and they still out doin’ them; lyin’ and fuckin’ ’round on each other. I ain’t beat for that shit.”

“I feel you on that. Niggas ain’t shit.”

“Bitches, either,” he adds.

“Mmmph,” I grunt, glancin’ down at my wrist to peep the time. I can’t believe it’s almost nine o’clock. The waiter returns wit’ the check. Alex looks at the bill, then pulls out his wallet. I pull out mine as well, and toss a hunnid on the table.

“Yo, ma, put that back. I got this.”

I smirk. “I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”

“It’s not,” he says, handin’ me my money back. “But tomorrow night will be.”

“Nigga, puhleeeze, who said I wanted to see you again?”

He grins, shakin’ his head as he slides two crisp Ben Frankies in wit’ the check. “Yeah aiight. Whatever, yo. I ain’t tryna hear that shit.”

I laugh, followin’ behind ’im out the door to his whip.
My Gawd
, I think, peepin’ his walk,
this bowlegged muhfucka walks like he got some big-ass cow balls
.

“Y
O
, I
HAD’A REAL NICE TIME WIT’ YOU TONIGHT,” HE TELLS ME
as he’s pullin’ up in my driveway.

“Yeah, it was kinda aiight,” I say jokin’ly. “You ain’t a half bad muhfucka.”

He laughs. “Yo, one some real shit, I’ma good dude. I’m glad you came to ya senses and stopped all that frontin’ like you wasn’t beat for the kid.”

“Aiight, muhfucka, you got that. I ain’t gonna front, ya conceited ass is fine and all, but you too over ya’self. And I still think ya ass is mad trouble.”

“Baby, I’m good trouble. Good dick, good tongue, good fuckin’, good nuttin’…I’m all ’round good, ma; true story.”

“OhhhhmiiiiiGod, you are so full of ya’self,” I say, openin’ the car door. “I’m out. Thanks for the meal.” He jumps outta his whip
comin’ ova to me. “Nigga, what you doin’?” I ask, steppin’ back, placin’ a hand on my hip.

He grins. “Damn, ma. Put the claws in. I’m only walkin’ you to the door.”

I laugh, reachin’ inside my bag to get my keys. “Muhfucka, my door’s right here in front of us,” I say, pointin’ in its direction. “You coulda sat in the car and watched me go in.”

He grins, placin’ his hand on the small of my back as we walk. “Maybe a muhfucka’s really feelin’ you and ain’t tryna see the night end.”

“Well,
maybe
, all good things gotta come to an end.”

“Not
all
good things,” he says, steppin’ into my space. I step back, backin’ into my door. He looks down at me, slowly pullin’ in his bottom lip. “You sexy as fuck, ma. I don’t know what it is ’bout you, but I ain’t gonna rest ’til I figure it out.” He leans in to kiss me, but a bitch shuts that shit down.
Bitch, keep it cute. You know this muhfucka ain’t shit.

Yeah, but a bitch want some dick.

Then fuck ’im ’n keep it movin’.

No, not tonight!

“Oh, really?” I ask, stoppin’ him wit’ the palm of my hand up on his chest to hold his ass back from pressin’ all up on me. “Well, the only thing you should be tryna figure out is ya way back home; so good night.”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiiight. I’ma be findin’ my way back to you tomorrow night at six so make sure you’re ready.”

“I got plans,” I tell ’im, openin’ my door tryna hide my grin. Truth is I don’t have shit planned, but I’m not ’bout to make it easy for this muhfucka to get at me. Bein’ at a nigga’s beck ’n call ain’t what a fly bitch like me does. And, trust. A butter bitch like me
won’t
be home.

“Cancel ’em.”

“I don’t think so; wrong answer.”

“Then I’ma be sittin’ out this muhfucka waitin’ for you to come home.”

I shake my head. “And ya ass’s gonna be out here lookin’ like a damn fool,” I tell ’im.

“Yo, you heard what I said. I’ma be here at six.”

“Muhfucka, and you heard what I said. Now good night.” I shut the door in his face, makin’ my way upstairs to get outta these clothes, pull up
Spartacus
on On Demand, and ride the shit outta a dildo ’cause that black muhfucka got’a bitch’s pussy boilin’.

S
EVEN A.M. MY CELL STARTS GOIN’ OFF NONSTOP, AND A BITCH’S
pissed she didn’t mute the shit. I reach for it off the nightstand, glancin’ at the screen. It’s a 347 area code number that I don’t recognize. I press
IGNORE
. Three seconds later, the same number calls back. “Yeah?”