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I licked my lips, roamin’ every inch of his body before lockin’ my eyes on the bulge in his pants. Although there wasn’t much light to really see what was good, there was something ’bout the way he stood that told me he was hangin’ just right. I smiled, stickin’ the tip of my tongue outta the side of my mouth. “I bet you are,” I said, brushin’ past him, leavin’ him with his tongue waggin’ as I headed back over to Chanel. Tamia was now sittin’ at the table, sippin’ on a drink.
“Bitch, where you been all this time?” Tamia asked, smilin’.
“In that long-ass line tryna get these drinks,” I said, handin’ Chanel her order.
“Thanks,” Chanel said, takin’ the shot straight to the head.
“Then this fine-ass nigga was tryna get his rap game on, but I gave him no play.”
Tamia rolled her eyes all dramatic and whatnot. “You are so fuckin’ tired with that bullshit. You’re gonna end up an old-ass maid with a dried-up, dusty-ass pussy if you don’t stop tryna be so stuck the fuck up. How the hell you think you’re gonna get some dick, actin’ all stank anytime a nigga tries to get at you?”
I flipped her the finga. “For your information, ho, I gets dick, trust. I don’t let you vultures know ’bout it.” Well, what I said really wasn’t a lie. I mean, I was fuckin’. I was killin’ the niggas afterward. Still, I was gettin’ dick, and that’s all that mattered.
Chanel giggled. “Yeah, you fuckin’ alright. Fuckin’ the skin off them damn fingas.” Tamia fell out laughin’. Just then, the nigga from the bar was comin’ toward our table, grinnin’.
“Who the fuck is that fine-ass muhfucka right there?” Chanel questioned, tossin’ her head in his direction, then sittin’ up in her seat. “My God, that nigga looks like he’s paid out the ass. I’d fuck him on the spot.”
I smirked. “I know your nasty, trick ass would. He’s the nigga who was at the bar. And I’m—”
He stepped up in our space and locked his gaze on me. “How you ladies doin’?” he asked, lockin’ his gaze on me. Everyone said their hellos, practically ready to suck and fuck him, then zoomed in on me. All eyes on me, bitches, I thought. “So can I at least get a dance since I couldn’t buy you a drink?”
I grinned, eyein’ his ass down. “That depends.” I licked my lips.
“On?”
“Whether or not you can move.”
He rubbed his chin, flashin’ his beautiful teeth again. I was one of the few bitches who hated niggas who had their grill fronts all chromed and iced out. That shit looked so nasty and country to me. And a nigga with a mouth full of teeth that looked like piano keys, or like he’s been gnawin’ on bricks, was a no-no. “I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
“Then I guess I will,” I said, gettin’ up from my seat and followin’ him to the dance floor. I looked back at Chanel and Tamia, then stuck my tongue out. We found a spot on the floor and started doin’ the damn thing to Beyoncé’s “Get Me Bodied.” Before I knew it, I was poppin’ my hips and droppin’ down real low, lettin’ this nigga know what time it was. It had been so long since I’d been out that I almost forgot how good it felt to be out shakin’ my ass.
I worked up a nice sweat and when that sexy-ass Nas’s voice came over the speakers with “Let There Be Light,” I spun around real slow, then twirled my hips into his crotch and pressed my body up against his. He placed his hand on my hip, pulled me into him, and found a rhythm that matched mine, while slippin’ his thigh between my legs and grindin’ into me. I pressed back harder, lettin’ him know I was no slouch. I took my hand and ran it along the front of his designer slacks, felt the length of his dick and squeezed. Damn, this nigga holdin’ something right, I thought, tryna keep my pussy in check. But I already knew if he kept on, I’d be fuckin’ him.
The following day, I was loungin’ on my damask chaise with my leg tucked under me, listenin’ to 2Pac’s “Hit ’Em Up,” openin’ the manila envelope that had been sent by FedEx. I glanced over at the leather suitcase filled with my paper, smilin’. I pulled out two 8 x 10 photos of my next marks and the details of where I’d find ’em. I stared at the first photo, studied it carefully, taking in every aspect of the nigga’s features. He was a darker version of the ex-NBA player Jayson Williams with Jay-Z lips. My pussy twitched imaginin’ those big, juicy lips all over my clit and pussy. Yeah, fuckin’ him was gonna be a real treat. I hoped he had a big dick. For some reason, I always felt gypped when I ended up gettin’ a mark with a little-ass dick. That shit made me want to blow a hole in his head right on the spot for wastin’ my damn time. I read his stats, which were always found on the lower right corner of every picture: twenty-eight years old, six feet, two inches, 225lbs. This big nigga better be packin’, I thought, memorizin’ his information.
When I got to the second photo, I almost fell outta my motherfuckin’ chair. It was a white nigga. And the muhfucka wasn’t even fine. It was bad enough I didn’t do white dick; Cash knew that shit. Still, to hit me with a stringy-haired nigga with brown teeth was a bit much. This is some bullshit for real, I thought, flippin’ open my
cell.
“What’s good?”
“You givin’ me this white muhfucka who looks like he’s been eatin’ shit, that’s what’s good. You know I don’t get down with no white niggas. And definitely none who look like this cracker.” I let my words roll off my tongue before I could catch what I had said.
He started laughin’ ’n shit. “Yo, ma, you actin’ like you tryna fuck the nigga or somethin’. What’s good?”
“What you mean ‘what’s good’? Ain’t nothin’ good, nigga.”
“Yeah, aiight.” He lowered his voice. “Listen…check this out. How you slump these muhfuckas don’t matter; only that it gets done.”
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Whoa, pump ya brakes. It means just because I ain’t ever say shit don’t mean I don’t know how you doin’ yours. Don’t think I don’t know you freakin’ them niggas before you waste ’em.”
I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at it. I couldn’t believe what I heard. “Excuse me?” I said, shocked. For some reason, I really didn’t think the nigga knew. But I guess I’d been sleepin’ on his ass.
“On some real shit, it ain’t that serious, babycakes,” he said, causin’ the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. Babycakes? I decided to ignore it. “You like gettin’ ya nut off with them jokers and it’s all good. Actually, givin’ them muhfuckas some pussy before slumpin’ ’em is kinda hot. I always knew you was a real freak with yours.” Ugh, he made my stomach turn. “But I need you to do me this solid.” This time he started laughin’ again. Yeah, okay, I thought. This fat, nasty nigga did this shit on purpose, tryna be funny. “What the fuck’s so funny?” I snapped.
“You,” he said. “I wish I coulda been a fly on ya wall when you peeped his flick. I know that shit was priceless.”
