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I look up at ’im, squint my eyes. “I’m not on da menu.”
He leans in, kisses me on the lips. “Maybe not tonight you’re not. But, you will be.”
“Wrong answer, muhfucka.”
He laughs. “Yeah, aiiight; that’s what’s ya mouth says. But I’ma wait on you. And when you ready to serve it up to me, I’m scoopin’ ya ass up. And that’s on e’erything.”
He wets his fingas wit’ spit, then slides his hand between my thighs and starts playin’ wit’ my clit. I spread my legs wide, bendin’ at the knees. Give ’im full access to my wet pussy. The muhfucka slips two fingas in ’n slow strokes my hole ’n clit. I reach ova and start strokin’ his dick. Then lean ova into his lap and kiss the head of his rock-hard cock. I take ’im into my warm mouth, then suck the skin off the muhfucka ’til we both are moanin’.
When I’ve givin’ ’im all the throat work he’s gonna get, I pull up off’a his dick, and lay all the way back. Let the muhfucka finish stirrin’ my pussy. Let ’im strum along my clit ’til I buck my hips and cream all ova the nigga’s fingas.
THE FOLLOWIN’ MORNIN’ I WAKE UP WONDERIN’ WHY I’M NOT stickin’ to the script and feedin’ this nigga wit’ a long-handled spoon. I know his ass had no muthafuckin’ business stayin’ the night, but a bitch can’t front. It felt good havin’ a muhfucka in my bed, and it felt even betta bein’ wrapped up in a muhfucka’s arms.
“Yo, check it. I’ma be hangin’ wit’ my mans ’n ’em tomorrow night, but I wanna get at you on Sunday. Maybe we can go into da city ’n chill ’n shit.”
“I’ll let you know,” I tell ’em, eyein’ ’im as he goes in ’n outta the bathroom. “I have plans wit’ my girl, so it all depends.”
“Oh, word? What ya’ll gettin’ into?”
“Nigga, I gave you some pussy; that’s it. Not permission to be all up in mine.”
He laughs, comin’ outta the bathroom brushin’ his teeth. “Yeah, aiight. You talkin’ that shit now, but you already know.”
The nigga drops his towel. I ain’t gonna front. He’s lookin’ real comfy standin’ here butt-ass naked. And I’m not sure how I should feel ’bout it.
Keep shit real. You dig da nigga.
Yeah, I do. Still—
Bitch, take da shit for what it is. Da nigga got good dick ’n good tongue. Let ’im keep eatin’ ya ass ’n lickin’ ya pussy, then dismiss da muhfucka when you’ve had’a ’nough.
I’m sittin’ at the foot of my bed, watchin’ the nigga lotion his naked body, then step into his boxers. Droplets of water are still on his back. I wanna get up ’n lick the shit off’a the muhfucka. But I don’t. I glance at the clock. 8:47 a.m.
“All I know is it’s time for you to hurry up ’n bounce. I’ve had’a ’nough of ya cocky ass.”
He laughs, slippin’ his wife beater ova his head, then puttin’ on his jeans. He pulls out his cell. It dawns on me that I don’t eva hear it ring when I’m wit’ ’im. I contemplate askin’ the muhfucka why, but decide I don’t really give’a fuck. He walks up on me and pulls me up off’a the bed.
“Listen, I wasn’t poppin’ a buncha BS last night. I meant e’erything I said to you. On e’erything, yo, I’m feelin’ you.”
I keep my eyes locked on his. “Enough to give up all ya bitches?” I ask, raisin’ a brow.
“Yo, I don’t have’a buncha bitches. I gave ’em all up a minute ago. The only one I’m still fuckin’ wit’ is my peeps in LA.”
“Ohhhhkay. Isn’t that da chick who wanted you to give ’er a baby?”
He nods. “Yeah, but I deaded that. Ain’t nuthin’ happenin’ wit’ that. I’m still wrappin’ it up.”
“Let me tell you this. And be clear. If I was eva to decide to fuck wit’ you on some solo type shit, that lil’ situation wit’ chickie would need to be shut down wit’ e’erything else. I don’t cheat. And I don’t share. So, understand this. If you know you ain’t ready to stop slingin’ da dick, then you need’a let shit play out da way it is.”
I step outta his embrace. “Yo, you think I ever wanted to be on some settle down type shit? I didn’t think I had it in me. Shit, maybe I still don’t. But I wanna try, if you let me. Look, this is comin’ from a cat who always thought relationships were overrated and monogamy was extinct. So for me to be comin’ at you thinkin’ differently is some major shit for me. That’s on some real shit.”
“Nigga, I ain’t tryna be ya experiment. Go get some practice playin’ boyfriend somewhere else before comin’ at me.”
“Yo, go ’head wit’ that silly shit. I don’t need to practice shit. I already know what it is.”
“Muhfucka, when you come to me, you betta come correct. And be ready to man up. Don’t come pushin’ up on me tryna bag a bitch, knowin’ you still stuntin’.” I walk ova to my nightstand. Open up the bottom drawer, pullin’ out two guns, my Colt Python and a Beretta Storm 9mm. “’Cause trust ’n believe”—I turn, aimin’ ’em at ’im—“I will take ya face off.”
He jumps back. “Oh, shit. You wildin’; for real, yo. Put that shit up.” I keep ’em aimed at ’im. I don’t blink. And neither does he. “Yo, Kat for real, yo. Put that shit up.”
