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He laughs. “Yeah, well, it beats letting another muhfucka do it.”
Suddenly the room fills with an awkward silence. Then Carlos gives me this strange look, as if there’s something else on his mind.
I shift in my seat. “What, what’s good, yo? Why you giving me that look?”
“Nah, man. It ain’t nothing. Just some bullshit; that’s all.”
I frown. “Aiight, then holla at me with it. If there’s something on your mind, speak your piece, bruh.”
He leans up in his seat. “We’re boys, right?”
My brows bunch. “Yo, what the fuck you mean, ‘we boys, right?’ You know we fuckin’ boys, niggah. For life. Where’s this coming from, man?”
“I need to know.”
I eye him suspiciously. “Man, fuck outta here with that. I can’t believe you’d ask me some shit like that. You already know what it is.”
“True, true. I just need to know I can trust you to always keep it straight with me no matter what.”
“Man, fuck. Say what you gotta say.”
“Well, you’ll probably feel some kinda way for me even coming at you with this, but you know how punk-ass muhfuckas in the industry like to gossip…”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, and?”
“Well, there’s this bullshit-ass rumor going around that you’re on the DL.”
I shoot him an incredulous look.
He repeats himself. Tells me some muhfucka said some shit about me being on the down low and that Marika and I have some kind of open understanding.
I frown. Although I was aware that there’d been talk over the years of muhfuckas speculating behind my back how I get down behind closed doors, no one has ever been bold enough to step to me with the shit.
And the one time the shit popped up on some blogger’s website and in some blind item celebrity gossip, instead of going on the defense, Marika and I agreed to ignore the shit. Muhfuckas can think what they want.
“Man fuck outta here.”
Carlos leans forward in his seat. Looks me dead in the eye, and says, “You know I don’t get caught up in bullshit like that, but this is like the third time I’ve heard this over the last several years, and I always igged that ignorant shit. But last night, man…” He shakes his head. “I had to check this muhfucka for coming out of pocket. The muhfucka was talking real slick, and I wasn’t digging it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who was it?”
“Man, it doesn’t matter.” He opens and closes his fist. “Hatin’-ass muhfucka, that’s all. Niggah mad ’cause his shit got dropped. I handled it.” I peep his swollen knuckles, and it’s clear: He took it to the muhfucka’s head. He eyes me. “So is it true?”
I swallow. Now it’s my turn to look him dead in the eye, and say, “Hell naw, muhfucka. I ain’t on no down low shit. That DL shit is for pussy-ass niggahs. I’ve never crept on Marika to rock with some muhfucka in the sheets.”
Well, it’s not a lie. I’m not DL. And I’ve never slid off to chill with a muhfucka behind Marika’s back. And I never will. Don’t get it twisted. Being DL and bisexual are two separate things. I’m not with that DL shit; period, point blank.
“Oh, aiight. I didn’t think so. I’ve known you for years and have never seen you look at another muhfucka, licking your lips or winking at his ass.”
That’s because I know how to move, muhfucka.
“Nah, that’s not me, playboy. I love pussy. And lots of it.”
No lie there.
And having a muhfucka suck on this big, thick-ass dick…
“But I’ma say this, man. Real shit, I wouldn’t give a fuck if you got down like that or not. We boys. Always have been; always will be. But I’d be kinda hurt that you couldn’t trust me enough to share something like that with me.”
