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“No,” I tell ’im, pickin’ at my cuticles. “I do my dirt solo.”
“On some real shit, them broads will put that work in on you if they catch up to you.”
“You mean they’ll try. My name ain’t pussy. Ain’t no bitch gonna just do me and think shit’s gonna be all sweet. So let ’em bring it if they want; I got sumthin’ for that ass, trust.”
“I hear you. I know you can handle ya own, ma. I want you to be safe out there, that’s all.”
“Well I ’preciate the concern.”
“Don’t sweat it, though. I got you, ma.”
Please, I think, gettin’ up from the table, if them bitches wanna get at me, they betta bring it soon ’cause in two weeks I’ma be back on the east coast. So fuck ’em! “Awww, how sweet. But, trust, I ain’t sweatin’ that shit.”
“I feel you.” He pauses, then busts out laughin’. “Yo, I’m only fuckin’ wit’ you, ma. Since you whooped that ass, shit’s been real quiet. I thought she’d be blowin’ up my shit tryna get at me, but nah…nothin’. Obviously it’s what she needed ’cause she’s always somewhere poppin’ shit.”
“And that’s exactly what she got. But, you was ’bout to get that bitch bodied, for real, callin’ here wit’ that shit.”
He tries to get serious. “My bad, ma. I couldn’t resist. But, on some real shit, I meant what I said, I got you if sumthin’ pops off. You real cool peoples, Kat.”
I smile. “Thanks. You ain’t so bad ya’self. But, nigga, you still ain’t gettin’ no more of this pussy heat.”
He laughs. “Nah, I ain’t on it like that. But, if you offerin’, I’m damn sure takin’.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I bet you are. But, not happenin’. And as far as them booga bears go, they pump no fear in me. So it is what it is.”
“Ouch, that hurt. You sure know how to shoot a cat in the heart.”
I laugh. “Yup, I suuure do; and in his head, too.” I dry my hands, then walk into the living room, ploppin’ down on the sofa. “So what you gettin’ into today?” I ask, changin’ the subject.
“Not much; probably study for the exam we got comin’ up this week. I need to pass this shit this time. You ready for it?”
Hell no, I think, proppin’ my feet up on the table. Shit, I’m tryna keep myself from thinkin’ ’bout it ’cause I don’t wanna start stressin’. The property management course was some extra shit I took ’til it was time to take the exam. I’ve already passed the state and federal background checks. Mmmph, as if I didn’t think I would. And, as far as they know, a bitch is of good moral character. Now, that shit kinda cracks me up; if they only knew. Annnyway, the only thing standin’ between me and gettin’ that paper is takin’ the exam ’n passin’ it. I swear I don’t wanna be like this nigga, takin’ it over. He mentions how he failed it the first time by four points, then the second time by one. I shake my head. Although the fee is light to take the actual exam, who has another five hours to be sittin’ on they ass tryna retake a two hundred multiple question test—twice, no less? Not a bitch like me, that’s for sure. All I need is a score of 75 percent, and it’s a wrap. I already know what I’ma do the day of. I’ma spark me a blunt to relax my mind, then go in and slay that shit.
“Not really, but I will be.” He asks if I wanna meet up to study together. “As long as you plan on not wearin’ any of that Bora, Bora and you keep ya hands to ya’self, we good,” I say, laughin’.
He joins in my laughter. “Nah, I got you, ma. I’ma be on my best behavior. The only thing on my mind right now is acin’ that exam on Wednesday. Now, afterward, I might be sayin’ some-thin’ different.” I glance at the clock. 2:35 p.m.
“Nigga, the only thing you gonna be sayin’ afterward is congrats.”
“Yeah, that, too.” I tell ’im to hit me up ’round six; that I’d let ’im know then if I’m feelin’ it. Shit, I don’t know if I want the nigga up in my spot. The last thing I’m beat for is a muhfucka bein’ followed, then havin’ a buncha bitches kickin’ in my doors tryna bring it. We talk a few minutes more, then hang up.
I grab the remotes to both my Sony flat-screen and DVD player, turnin’ them on. I press PLAY, then wait for Dexter, season three, episode five to come on. However, I change my mind. I mean. As much as Dexter’s pyschopathic antics make my pussy moist, right now I need sumthin’ a lil more gritty. I scroll through my On Demand, then select what I’m lookin’ for.
Spartacus: Blood & Sand comes to life on the screen. I live for the wickedly deliciousness of each episode. Whew, the house of Batiatus…mmmph, a mess! A bitch can’t wait ’til September when the series comes out on DVD. Keepin’ shit real, I would love to say it’s all those sweaty gladiators that make a bitch’s pussy hot, but it’s not. It’s the blood; the splittin’ of skulls, decapitatin’ of heads that makes my steamy hole sizzle.
I replay episode nine, “Whore,” where Ilithyia is fuckin’ sexy-ass Spartacus, not knowin’ it’s him ’cause their faces are hidden behind masks. I lie back on my bed, reach for my clit stroker and spread open my thighs. I smack my pussy, then dip a finga in, stirrin’ my slit before layin’ the barrel of my gun along the center of my snatch. I stick the tip of it in me, coat it wit’ my juice, then suck it clean.
This sex scene is fiiiiyah, but its flame isn’t hot enough to make my cunt juices boil. It isn’t ’til Ilithyia grabs that other bitch by the head and smashes her skull that my pussy skeets. I slide my hand into my lace panties, press on my clit while usin’ my other hand to keep rewindin’ back to the part where Ilithyia is on her knees gettin’ slayed from da back when Lucretia’s messy ass walks in to announce she’s fuckin’ Spartacus. Ooooh, I love it, love it, love it!
In a matter of minutes, I am moanin’ and creamin’ all over my fingas. I continue stirrin’ my hole while jackin’ my clit. Another nut is makin’ its way outta me. “Yeah, Ilithyia, you nutty ho, smash that bitch’s skull in,” I continue moanin’, buckin’ my hips and grindin’ on my fingas and hand. I smack my clit, then explode. “Aaaaah, shiiiit…” I want sum dick! My pussy needs to be fucked deep, I think, lickin’ ’n suckin’ my sticky fingas. I lay my head back on the sofa. And, before I know it, a bitch’s knocked out the fuck out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Stilettos clickin’…timepiece tickin’…clockin’ da niggas all ’bout trickin’…swingin’ da hips…lickin’ da lips…muhfuckas ain’t ready for a bitch like this…got ’em chasin’ a dream…got ’em fucked up in da game…head spinnin’…feelin’ all strange…ain’t nuthin’ what it seems…wantin’ to know who I am…it’s Kat, muhfuckas…repeat my name…ain’t shit change…
“Attention, passengers. At this time, please turn off all electronic devices. And place trays and seats in the upright position as we prepare for our final descent into Newark-Liberty International Airport. We will be landing momentarily.”
I sigh, starin’ outta the window, takin’ in the view. A part of me is mad hyped ’bout bein’ back on the east coast, chillin’ wit’ my girl and poppin’ these hips a bit. Then there’s this other part of me that ain’t beat for it. I’m not gonna think ’bout it, though. I lean my head back. Close my eyes. And for some fucked up reason, Juanita’s voice finds me. “Kat, what did I ever do to you for you to be so fucking hateful?…I am still your mother…I promise you, ya ass is gonna see what it’s like to really get it in with a Brooklyn bitch…”
