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I look out into the street, let what she’s said linger in the air, while she’s standin’ in front of me lookin’ all pathetic ’n shit. I thought you were different. I almost wanna laugh at her ass. Hell yeah, I’m muthafuckin’ different! Let’s see. I ain’t ever spit on her, smack her up, or use her face and body as an ashtray, puttin’ cigarettes ’n shit out on her. I ain’t ever fuck her sister—not that I would ’cause the bitch looks handicapped to me. I know, I know, you think a muhfucka like me will fuck anything. Well, news-flash: A nigga got standards. I might fuck a buncha hoes, but a bitch who looks like she belongs in the Special Olympics ain’t my flava, feel me?
So what if I took her whip and dipped off to get my dick piped out? The first time I did the shit and didn’t come back ’til two hours later, she shoulda made it her business to not give me her keys again. And that goes for the three other times. But she didn’t. And so what if I ran her wallet? She bought what she wanted to buy. I never pressed her for shit. She tried to buy my attention and she wanted to have this dick at whatever costs. No chick wit’ an ounce of common sense is gonna keep lettin’ a muhfucka keep takin’ from her. But she did, so it is what it is.
I text back: Give me an hour. Then bring my attention back to Sherria. I can tell she’s strugglin’ to keep herself from blowin’ her top. And, on some real shit, I’m glad as hell that I got her ass outside in broad daylight wit’ neighbors ’n shit ’round to be witness to anything she might try ’n do. Don’t get shit twisted. I’m not scared of her, but I am scared of what the fuck I’ma do if she does try to set it off.
Lahney texts: See u then. Oh, and bring da Magnums. I’m all out.
This trick-ass, I think, placin’ my phone back in my pocket. I’m not fuckin’ wit’ her today.
I look her dead in her eyes, then finally say, “Well, I’m not.”
She looks hurt, shiftin’ from one foot to the other. “I hope you know you’re real fucked up.”
I stand up. Brush the back of my sweats off. “Okay, so now that you know that, there’s no need to keep wastin’ my time or yours.” I reach into my pants pocket, pull out my keys, remove her house-key from ’round my key ring, then hand it to her. She stares at my hand before snatchin’ it from my hand. I frown. “Is there sumthin’ else?”
She glares at me. Starts breathin’ heavy, fightin’ back what looks to be tears in her eyes. Or a rageful fit. “Yeah, motherfucker,” she snarls through clenched teeth, “You ain’t shit, you arrogant bastard!”
Before I can catch myself, I snap, “Bitch, you snore, and you leave your muthafuckin’ raggedy-ass panties in the middle of the fuckin’ floor, but you tryna come at my neck. Fuck outta here.”
“Fuck you! I hate your ass!”
I shrug, walkin’ back inside the house. “You don’t hate me, baby. You hate yourself,” I say, shuttin’ the door behind me, leavin’ her standin’ there lookin’ wounded and lost.
Two hours later, I get back from smashin’ Lahney out. Yeah, I know I said I wasn’t fuckin’ wit’ her today, but a hard-ass dick will change a muhfucka’s mind in a heartbeat. So I went over and served her up some dick, then dipped. Fuck all that layin’ ’round, cuddlin’ up shit wit’ her ass. She wasn’t hittin’ a nigga wit’ no paper, so there was definitely no need for any extended stays. Feel me? But, as I was leavin’, she caught me off guard when she slid me a key to her spot.
“What’s this for?” I asked her as she handed them to me.
“It’s for here. I want you to be able to come through anytime you want.”
“Oh, word? Why?”
“Because I’m hoping one day I walk through the door and you’ll be standing here in the middle of the living room butt naked, holding your hard dick in your hand waiting for me.”
I grinned, unzippin’ my jeans and slippin’ my hand down in my underwear. “Is that so?”—I pull out my dick and stroke it—“Well, how ’bout we get started now.” Needless to say, she dropped down low and let it do what it do, milkin’ my dick wit’ her mouth, then finally gulpin’ down a rich, creamy nut.
Anyway, I’m up in my room loungin’ in a pair of black boxer briefs and a black wife beater, gettin’ ready to watch Alphabet Killer when my cell rings. I think to ignore the shit, but decide to grab it off the nightstand and check to see who’s tryna get at me.
“Oh, shit!” I snap, peepin’ the caller ID, “I ain’t heard from this cat in a minute.” It’s my boy, Red. Yo, this nigga right here’s been my muthafuckin’ dude since eighth grade, word up. Dude is one of the coolest cats I know. And the nigga bags almost as much pussy as me. That’s ’cause he’s one of them light, pretty-boy muhfuckas wit’ all that wavy hair them bitches be fallin’ over. And the nigga be pimpin’ the shit outta ’em. He got bitches takin’ numbers, and standin’ in line, to get at his dick. Well, he used to. I’m not sure how the nigga’s movin’ now that he’s all hugged up wit’ his shorty.
Growin’ up we’d blaze trees, and I’d watch him get bent offa forties ’n shit while we puffed L’s. We’d call up a few hot-in-the-ass hoes and sneak ’em down into his basement, then fuck ’em all night. He’d be diggin’ one bitch’s back out on the plaid sofa, and I’d be on the other side of the room dickin’ down the other on the twin mattress he’d pull out and put down on the floor. Then we’d switch hoes and start rockin’ ’em all over again. Or we’d bang the same bitch after she sucked both our dicks. And the wild shit is, we’d go up in them hoes straight raw. Man, listen… we was like fourteen and was some wild, reckless, horny-ass muhfuckas back then. But, after we both got burned and crabbed out by this dirty bitch, LaTonya, we started strappin’ up. And bein’ more selective. That ho had the whole block on fire. Good pussy or not, that syphilis and crab scare was all we needed to fuck more responsibly, feel me? Fuck what ya heard. A drippin’, itchy-ass dick ain’t a good look!
“Yo, what’s good wit’ ya punk ass?”
“This dick in ya mom’s throat, nigga,” he says, laughin’. “What’s poppin’ wit’ you?”
“My nut in ya aunt’s eye, muhfucka,” I joke back.
“Yo,” he says, laughin’. “You stupid-as-hell nigga, word up. So, what’s good? How you?”
“Chillin’, chillin’. You know how I do. What’s good wit’ you? You still kickin’ it wit’ that honey down in Maryland?”
“Yeah, man. We still doin’ the damn thang. Ole girl done got a nigga hangin’ up his pimp shoes ’n shit.”
“Get the fuck outta here. She got you on lock like that?”
“Word is bond. I tossed out my booty-call book and the bat phone for this one.”
I almost drop my cell. I can’t believe what the fuck I’m hearin’. Like me, this nigga has never been a one pussy-type of nigga. “Get the fuck outta here! Say word.”
