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I can’t believe I’m standin’ here watchin’ this shit.
“I better be, Knutz.”
“You are, boo.” He kisses her on the lips. I watch her nip ’em.
“See,” he says, grabbin’ and squeezin’ her ass. “You tryna get shit started.”
“Uh-huh. And you bet’ not be lookin’ at Candy or Tina, either.”
“They like daughters to me.” He slaps her on the ass. “Yo, let’s go home and handle thangs.”
“Oooh okay.” She turns to me. “Girl, me and my man ’bout to be out.” I watch her slip her helmet on over her head, then fasten it. She picks up the bags and hands them to Knutz, then hoists herself up in the basket. As soon as she’s all situated, she tells him to give her the bags. “Cass, you need to get ya mind right and let Asia come home. I’ma let her stay wit’ me for a week or two, but then you gonna need to let her come back home.”
I roll my eyes. I already told her what it is. So ain’t no need in sayin’ shit else about it. So I let her keep babblin’ on. “Oh, baby I almost forgot to remind you. Tell Cass about ya friend you wanna introduce her to.”
I frown.
“Oh right, right. Damn, baby. You good. Daddy almost forgot. Yo, Cass, one of my mans just gotta outta da joint a few days ago, and he’s tryna get into sumthin’. I told him about you. And he wanna holla at you.”
“Uh-huh,” Lina cosigns. “Fresh outta da hoosegow, girl. And he’s fine, too. Baby, what’s L’s real name?”
“See there you go askin’ about shit that ain’t got nuthin’ to do wit’ you,” Knutz snaps. “And what da fuck you mean ‘he’s fine?’ Yo, I’m tellin’ you Lina, let me find out you tryna be on some snake shit and wanna fuck my mans. I’ma bust yo’ ass.”
“Knutz, stop. You know I told you he was fine. Not for me, for Cass. You know she like ’em all rough and tatted up. So quit.”
“Listen, y’all niggahs need to take all this arguin’ back on over to the projects. I’m not with this ghetto shit over here. And I ain’t with tryna meet some niggah Knutz knows, so no thank you.”
Lina rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth. “Well, fuck you then. I’m tryna help ya miserable ass out. But whatever. Let’s go Knutz. This ungrateful bitch ain’t ready for no niggah like L.”
“Yeah, we out,” Knutz says.
“Well, get the fuck on,” I snap as he backs up his bike, then turns around and pedals outta the driveway.
Lina yells out, “We still goin’ out tomorrow night?”
I ignore her ass, walkin’ back into my house and slammin’ the damn door.
Thirty-Five
“Yeah, a bitch like me wanna suck a dick,” I ad-lib, makin’ up words as I sing along to LoveRance’s “Beat the Pussy Up.” I’m down at The Crack House with Dickalina and I’m feelin’ right, goddammit! “Yesssss, do me right, damn it!” I bounce up ’n down. The three Cum Stains I’ve tossed back have kicked in, and I’m feelin’ frisky ’n ready to fuck. Whew, yes! I drop down low, then pop it back up, tossin’ a hand up in the air. “Wanna take it in the ass . . . make a niggah nut . . . aaaah, yessss . . . ”
“Cass, girl,” Dickalina says, poppin’ it up next to me. “You cray-cray for real . . . Oooh, yes . . . I love this beat . . . I can’t wait to get home and let Knutz beat it up . . . Owww . . . ”
I roll my eyes as she’s tootsie-rollin’ it, then goin’ into the butterfly. She has her ass tooted up and her tongue hangin’ outta her mouth, like she’s bringin’ it. Bless sugah-boo’s lil’ gutter rat heart. I swear Dickalina’s my girl and all, but . . . whatever. I’m not even goin’ there. I came to get my party on. Not analyze her dumb ass.
I start poppin’ my hips and bouncin’ my ass real freaky-like, then spin around toward the door just as a posse of eight strappin’ niggahs walks in. Raw hood niggahs dipped in bling. They reek of trouble and good times. My cunt flutters. My asshole puckers.
“Come beat this hole up, motherfuckas . . . aaah, shit, yeah . . . ” I sing, lookin’ over in their direction. I sweep the floor with it as LoveRance lets the bitches know how he beats the pussy up. I jump up and down, then do a little two-step and spin.
“Ahhhh, shit, now . . . Oooh, yes . . . this is my shit . . . aaah . . . ” I throw a hand up in the air and sway my hips. “Bitch like me . . . knows how to fuck a dick . . . know how to suck a dick . . . Big Booty y’all . . . make a niggah nut . . . nut . . . nut . . . while you beat it up, up, up . . . make it wet, make it wet . . . then make it skeet, skeet, skeet . . . !”
I keep my eyes on ’em as they make their way around the bar over to the VIP section, which really ain’t no VIP if you ask me since all it is is five round tables and four booths that are blocked off with red velvet rope. They could at least put some drapes up to block nosey-ass niggahs from bein’ all up in the mix. Mmmph. And you gotta buy two bottles minimum to be seated there.
Oooh, yes! I’d fuck every last one of ’em—even the big, black grizzly-lookin’ niggah walkin’ ahead of ’em like he’s king of the streets—if I were a greedy ho. But there are two that really stand out and make my pussy purr. One is tall and chiseled with beautiful tar-dark skin. He looks like he should be on the cover of XXL or some other shit. The other is a lil’ shorter than him. And he’s an extra-crispy niggah with shoulder-length dreds. He’s so black he almost looks purple. But it’s sexy ’cause he ain’t all ashy-lookin’ with it. There’s nothin’ worse than a dark niggah who looks like he’s been rolled in powder.
When the DJ starts playin’ Plies’ “Fuckin’ You” I really turn it up. This niggah’s music makes my pussy soooo wet. Oooh, yes . . . mmph! I wonder if he really
got that good dick or if the niggah talkin’ mad shit like so many other niggahs. I hike up my skirt, then bend over and pull out my thick four-inch butt plug, then I start poppin’ my asscheeks and dippin’ at the knees. Niggahs start goin’ wild. I toss a hand up in the air, wavin’ my butt plug like I just don’t care. And I don’t. I’m here to have a good goddamn time.
