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“Just to see what you were gonna say. And I heard ya father finally put your ass out, too.”
And leave ya fucking key on the table when you leave ’cause you are no longer welcomed to come in and outta here. I couldn’t be mad at ’im, though. Bottom line, it’s his crib. And I disrespected his space.
She shakes her head. “I told him it was only a matter of time before you brought that mess up in there, but he didn’t wanna listen to me. The best thing he coulda did was take his house keys from you. He shoulda did it a long time ago. Instead of complaining to me about all that fucking you had going on up in there, he shoulda been talking to you about it. I told him ya ass was too damn old to be still laying up over there, and not paying bills. Mmmph. I love you dearly, but ya ass is a magnet for drama. And this is only the beginning. I’ve tried to warn you to stop fucking over all those women. But ya ass is hard-headed. Lord only knows what else is about to go down. But whatever it is, I know it ain’t gonna be pretty ’cause you done fucked over too many women. I hate to say it, but you are worse than your father ever was.”
The center of my head starts poundin’. And hearin’ her tryna compare me to Pops and ramblin’ on and on is only makin’ it worse. “Ma, I’m a grown-ass man. I didn’t come here to be lectured, aiight? Damn. I don’t need this shit right now.”
She slams her hand on her hip, stares me down. “’Scuse me? What did you just say?”
Not thinkin’, I repeat myself.
“Oh really? Well, I tell you what. You can take ya black ass on up outta here. I don’t know who the fuck you think you talking to, but I am still your goddamn mother!”
Fuck! She’s the last person I need to be beefin’ wit’, for real. “You right, Ma, my bad. I apologize.”
She clucks her tongue. “Mmmph. You just oughta be. ’Cause I’m not the one. I will smack your damn face up.”
“I was outta pocket, Ma,” I say, walkin’ up on her and givin’ her a hug. “You know I’d never disrespect you.” I try to kiss her on the cheek.
“Hmmph,” she grunts, sidesteppin’ me. “Try it and get fucked up, okay? Now, are you hungry? I made some smothered chicken and brown rice.”
I smile. “You already know.”
“Hmmph, I shouldn’t give your black ass nothing,” she says, switchin’ off toward the kitchen. I follow behind, apologizin’ again. I pull a chair out and sit at the table. She brings me an empty plate, then tosses it down in front of me.
“I don’t know why the hell you sittin’ there like I’m about to serve you. Get your spoiled ass on over there”—she points toward the stove—“and fix your own damn plate. Hazel the Maid is done servin’ your fresh ass, Mister Grown-Ass Man.” I get up, shakin’ my head. “And when you’re done, wash your motherfucking dishes. You done lost what’s left of your goddamn mind talking shit to me.”
I’m not sure what’s set her off, but whatever it is, I’m convinced it has nuthin’ to do wit’ me. I keep my mouth shut, though. Let her rant ’n rave as I scoop out a big spoon of rice, cover it wit’ three pieces of chicken and a buncha gravy, then stick my plate in the microwave.
Fuck!
While I’m standin’ there waitin’ for my food to heat up, when I sit down to eat, up until the time I finally finish my food, the only thing she does is stare at me. Lips twisted, eyes squinted, starin’ through me—in disgust. Yeah, I’m kinda pissed that she’s actin’ all funny-style ’n shit. But I ain’t gonna sweat it. I get up from the table, wash my dishes, take out the trash, then walk over to her and kiss her on the cheek, then dip. I get into my car, spark the rest of my blunt and head the fuck back to my crib down at the shore. I glance at my watch: 8:15 P.M. I feel like gettin’ this dick sucked tonight. Maybe I’ll hit up Crystal’s fat ass and see if she feels like wettin’ it. “She just needs to keep her muthafuckin’ socks on,” I say aloud.
I dial her number. “Hey, baby,” she says, “I was thinking about calling you.”
“Oh, word? Wassup?”
“You left your boxer briefs here.”
I frown, shakin’ my head. What the fuck?! I rocked her box three weeks ago and she’s tellin’ me this dumb shit, now. Why didn’t this bitch hit me up before? I knew I left ’em there, but I wasn’t pressed. “Yo, you can toss them shits,” I tell her, takin’ another pull off my blunt.
“Oh, no, I’ma hold onto ’em.”
Why the fuck you wanna hold onto a muhfucka’s worn drawers? I think. Whatever! I let it go. “Did you wash ’em?”
“No,” she says.
I frown. “Why?”
“Because I love to sniff ’em,” she whispers, “while I’m playing in my pussy. I can still smell you in ’em.” What a nasty bitch, I think, shakin’ my head. Sniffin’ a nigga’s crotch like a dog in heat. When you got a bitch sniffin’ yo’ dirty drawers, beatin’ her pussy, you already know you gotta nut on ya hands. But, I knew why she kept her nose pressed up in ’em. Sometimes, when I know I’m ’bout to lay this pipe, I mix a little Egyptian Musk with some baby oil, then rub it into my pubic hairs, underneath my balls, and the crack of my ass. Other times, I just dab coconut oil on. The way I like to fuck and get sucked, a nigga gots to keep his dick ’n balls fresh at all times. Well, that is, unless I’m leavin’ a ho’s cum juice dried up ’round my balls for someone else to clean off, feel me? Then it’s straight musk and pussy funk.
“Listen, baby, you feel like suckin’ on this dick tonight?”
“I feel like doing a whole lot more than just sucking. I wanna fuck, too.”
Damn, why the fuck can’t I just get a fuckin’ dick suck wit’out the extras? I sigh. Decide to go the fuck home. “You know what, forget I called.”
“Why?”
