The Kat Trap

by Cairo

  A bitch’s pussy got real moist when I peeped Nas’s sexy ass, standin’ on the sidelines. Fat Joe—well, he ain’t so fat anymore—was out on the scene as well. And I spotted a few other hip-hop shakers ’n movers mixin’ and minglin’. Hunc Records was givin’ away prizes for makin’ free throws and different jump shots around the court. Of course, Sean Bell’s name was announced over the loudspeaker several times and folks cheered as his team slayed muhfuckas on the court. There was so much goin’ on ’round the court that a bitch had a hard time stayin’ focused. There was dick and body out for days! And there was also a slew of vultures waitin’ to swoop down on some hard cock. I had to pull out my binoculars so I could scan the sights without missin’ a damn thing.

  Ugh! I let out a disgusted grunt when I spotted Cash’s ugly ass standin’ over by the fence talkin’ to a group of flossed-out niggas. I can’t even front, ugly or not, the nigga was dipped in a bunch of ice and had a bangin’-ass pair of black shades on his busted face. Crazy thing, I kept my eye on him longer than I shoulda, watchin’ him grab at his dick while he talked. I swear I thought I seen a big-ass lump danglin’ up in them designer sweats. For a split second, I wondered what the nigga’s dick game was really like since I had heard the muhfucka could fuck like a stallion. Oh, my God, the heat and the blunt I had smoked on the way up had a bitch buggin’ for real. I shook away the thought.

  “What’s wrong?” Chanel asked, lookin’ ’round to see what I was lookin’ at.

  “Nothin’,” I said, glancin’ at my watch. “What time is this shit over?”

  “Why?” she asked, rollin’ her eyes. “You got a date with some dick or somethin’?”

  I sucked my teeth. “No,” I shot back, “you my date, you sexy-ass ho.”

  She chuckled. “So, then answer me this, smart-ass: why is two fly bitches sittin’ down instead of tryna see what’s good?”

  “Because we ain’t thirsty like the rest of these hoes out here.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me, bitch.”

  “Humph,” she grunted, standin’ up. “Speak for ya’self. A bitch lookin’ for some new dick for the summer.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well, go on and get ya ho-stroll on, then. I’m keepin’ my ass right here. I ain’t beat.”

  “Then I’ll get at ya in a few. I wanna see what’s really poppin’ out here.”

  “Whateva,” I said, tryna keep my eye on the niggas runnin’ up and down the court. On some real shit, I couldn’t tell you shit ’bout who was doin’ what ’cause a bitch was really only cock watchin’, tryna see whose dick was doin’ the most bouncin’ ’round in they shorts.

  A nigga tryna get at Chanel disrupted my peep show. “Yo, ma,” he yelled from a few seats away, “what’s good wit’ ya fine self? Let me holla at ya.”

  I looked over my shades to see what his grill looked like. He was a light-skinned cutie—a bit too bright for me, though—with short, wavy light-brown hair. His wears were aiight, but nothin’ to get a bitch’s pussy moist over.

  “Ugh, not,” Chanel said, puttin’ the palm of her hand out to stop him. “I’m checkin’ for heavyweights, so go run along, little one.”

  A few peeps laughed, but that didn’t stop the nigga from tryna come back at her. “Yeah, okay. This little boy got ya heavyweight, aiight. I’ll split that ass right down the middle.”

  “Nigga, puhleeze. I wouldn’t even let ya busted, crab ass lick the shit outta my ass.” She flicked her fingas at him. “So, poof…be gone!”

  Before dude could open his mouth to say somethin’ else, she turned to me and said, “See ya. I’m out. Hit me on the cell when you ready to meet up.”

  “Whateva, bitch,” I said. “But when ya ass ends up with nothin’, fuckin’ with these niggas, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” She threw her hand up, wavin’ me off, switchin’ and bouncin’ her way off into the crowd. I looked around and peeped a few niggas with they eyes locked on her big ass.

  My cell phone rang. I glanced at the number, then flipped it open. I stuck my finga in my right ear, tryna block out some of the noise. “Hello?”

  “I got my eye on you, baby.”

  “Say, what?” I asked, lookin’ around. “Where are you?”

  “What you lookin’ around for?”

  “Oh, what, you spyin’ on me, now?” I said, laughin’.

  “Yeah, I got eyes everywhere; thought you knew.”

  “Nah, I didn’t. So, did these little eyes of yours see me suckin’ ya dick and ridin’ ya ass down into the mattress last week?”

  He laughed. “Nah, but right now they see a bunch of niggas sittin’ around a real dime-piece tryna get what’s mine.”

  I rolled my eyes, suckin’ my teeth. “Oh, please. I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout these niggas.”

  “Yeah, aiight. What you thinkin’ ’bout then?”

  “How ’bout I’ll tell ya when I see ya?”

  “Yeah, you can do that,” he said. Some nigga sittin’ next to me tapped me on the shoulder to ask me somethin’. I looked at his ass, then igged him, rollin’ my eyes.

  “Aye, yo, don’t have me hurt nobody out here.”

  “Grant,” I said, laughin’, “where the hell you at, nigga?”

  “Look in back of you.” I craned my neck all the way around, and there his fine ass was, sittin’ five rows in back of me with a bunch of niggas dipped in jewels. I didn’t remember seein’ his ass sittin’ there. Then again, I wasn’t lookin’ for him. He smiled at me, gettin’ up from his seat and makin’ his way down to me. I was glad I had my shit in the space where Chanel had been sittin’. He sat down beside me. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, kissin’ me on the neck.

  I smiled. “Oh, you tryna mark your territory, huh?”

  “And you know it,” he stated, wrappin’ his arm ’round me. He kissed me again. “You look good as hell. I peeped your sexy ass when you first came in. Niggas was breakin’ they muhfuckin’ necks tryna see who you and ya peeps were. They were like, ‘Oh, shit, check out shortie in them jean shorts. That sexy bitch is bangin’, word is bond, son…’”

  I laughed. “You so damn silly.”

  “Real talk, baby. I had to check a few of them cats. But I was diggin’ it on the low, though. I was like, ‘Damn, my baby is fiiiyah.’”

  I laughed. “Oh, so I’m ya baby now?”

  “Don’t play. You know what it is.”

  “Humph,” I stated, twistin’ my lips. “As long as you know I ain’t playin’ the second or third spot to no other bitch, then it’s all good.”

  “No doubt,” he said, leanin’ in and tryna kiss me on the lips.

  I turned my head, playfully mushin’ him.

  “Oh no, nigga, I don’t think so. Until ya ass is my man, I’m still on the market.”

  He laughed. “Baby, I’m shuttin’ shit down. So, fuck all that shit you talkin’ ’cause your fine ass is with me.”

  Needless to say, we half-watched the game, and talked. This nigga kept his hands on me the whole time, lettin’ the rest of them muhfuckas know who had the real door prize. I really didn’t mind, though. It was nice to have a strong arm wrapped ’round me. He wasn’t my man, and he may never be, but in the meantime he definitely was gonna be some steady dick.

  “So, you ready for me to tell you what I was thinkin’ ’bout?” I asked, grinnin’.

  “No doubt, baby, no doubt.”

  I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I was thinkin’ ’bout how good that big, juicy dick of yours felt in this tight pussy”—I slipped my hand on the inside of his thigh and lightly rubbed it—“and I’m thinkin’ ’bout how I wanna nut on ya tongue tonight.”

  He smiled, fannin’ his legs. The nigga’s dick was brick. I squeezed it on the low, and smiled back at him. “See what you do to me?” he said.

  “And I’m gonna do even more when I get up on this long dick,” I whispered, flickin’ my tongue in his ear.

  “That’s wassup, baby…no doubt.” And for rest of the game,
I kept my hand on his dick and watched the Sean Bell team house muhfuckas on the court.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Aiight, baby, I’ma hit you up later tonight,” Grant said, givin’ me a big bear hug and kissin’ me on the cheek. I had to laugh to myself at the nigga tryna shine in front of his niggas like he had already bagged a bitch. But I let ’im live ’cause it was kinda, hmm…cute. And the nigga was too fuckin’ fine to let any of the thirsty bitches who stood around droolin’ think anything different. He looked over at Chanel, who had returned after she finished collectin’ her numbers for the night. Some hoes gotta be greedy. I rolled my eyes, shakin’ my head. “It was nice meeting you,” Grant said to Chanel.

  “You too,” she said, smilin’ at him, then glancin’ over and raisin’ her eyebrow at me. Like, you betta fuck him or I will, bitch! “I hope I’m gonna see more of you. Kat needs a real nigga to keep her ass in line.”

  “Oh, word? Then I guess it’s her lucky night.”

  She smiled. “Alright now…let’s get it poppin’.”

  I laughed. “Don’t listen to her crazy ass. She’s delusional. And, you”—I turned to Chanel—“stop puttin’ ideas in his head. Makin’ it sound like I’m pressed for a nigga and some dick.”

  “Oh, you not?” they both asked, bustin’ out laughin’.

  I gave ’em both the middle finga. “Fuck ya’ll hatin’ asses.”

  He grabbed me again and whispered in my ear. “I’ma come through and beat that pussy up tonight, baby. So make sure you answer ya phone.”

  I smiled. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

  “Yeah, aiight, don’t play.” He looked over at Chanel. “Yo, ma, make sure ya girl don’t have a bunch of niggas all up in her grill when I bounce.”

  “I got you,” she said, grinnin’. “Trust me. Kat needs a nigga like you.”

  Grant winked at me. “I’m out.”

  He walked over to his boys. They were like ten deep and posted up in the cut, waitin’ for him and watchin’ Chanel and me at the same time while tryna holla at some of the chicks that were flouncin’ and bouncin’ all ’round the niggas, lookin’ and actin’ real thirsty. As Grant made his way over to his niggas, I spotted Patrice with two of the several gold-diggin’ bitches she rolled with. I ain’t gonna front, the bitch kept it cute in a pair of blue Baby Phat pencil jeans that were cuffed up to her ankles, and a white wife beater with the word “bitch” stretched across her titties in gold and crystals. She had a gold coin belt draped around her waist and a bangin’-ass pair of stilettos on her feet.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “This bitch,” I said to Chanel, gesturin’ my head over in her direction. Chanel peeped her. “All these heads out here and I gotta see her fuckin’ face. Let’s bounce.”

  Chanel shook her head, lookin’ over my shoulder. But since she didn’t say nothin’, I didn’t bother to turn around. I just figured she saw someone she knew. She twisted her face up.

  “Who the fuck is this ugly nigga tryna creep up behind you, puttin’ his finga up to his big-ass lips tellin’ me to ‘ssh’?” I turned around, suckin’ my teeth. It was Cash.

  “What’s good?” he asked, walkin’ up on me, grinnin’. The jewels around his neck and in his lobes lit up like mini lamps, all bright and whatnot. I can’t front, the nigga’s swagger was serious—ugly or not. But on some real shit, I was surprised he was even comin’ over to me. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually acknowledged me when we were out in public. And if he did, he’d either do it with a nod or a wink of the eye. Other than that, he usually kept his interaction strictly over the phone, with the exception of those rare times when he called a “family meetin’”—as he called ’em—to discuss “business.” And even then, the family meetin’ would only be him, me and one of his henchmen. The nigga typically met with his hit team on some one-on-one type shit. He never met with all of us together. He liked keepin’ who he had on his squad on the low, which was fine by me.

  “I see you got these niggas out here buzzin’ all around ya sweet ass,” he said, leanin’ into my ear.

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” He stepped back and eyed me up and down, then looked over at Chanel, who turned her back on him. I bet if her ass knew how deep the nigga’s pockets were she woulda been all up on his dick tryna suck the skin off it. He licked his lips. “What’s good with ya peoples?”

  “She’s off limits and she ain’t beat,” I stated, twistin’ my lips up.

  “I can dig it. What about you, what’s good with you?”

  I wasn’t sure if his question was on some gettin’-his-dick-wet type-shit or not, but I decided to check his ass just in case. “Nigga, I know you not tryna come at me on some extra shit. Don’t have me curse ya ass out in this bitch.”

  “Yo, ma, chill with that shit. I ain’t on it like that. I’m talkin’ ’bout what the fuck you tryna get into tonight, that’s it. You always thinkin’ somebody tryna get in ya damn drawers or some shit. Geesh.”

  “Yeah, whateva, nigga,” I said, smirkin’. “I know how you do.”

  “Yeah, well, not tonight. I got my sights on somethin’ else.” I peeped him starin’ at Chanel’s big, juicy ass.

  I rolled my eyes, suckin’ my teeth. “Anyway,” I continued, “I’m not sure what’ I’m doin’ tonight. Why?”

  “Come through the Forty-Forty. Me and a few cats got somethin’ poppin’ off tonight.” He had one of those Forty-Forty purple memberships so he was always throwin’ parties ’n shit, but I had never officially been invited to any until tonight. Hmm…it made a bitch wonder why now all of a sudden. I’m sure it had somethin’ to do with his nasty ass tryna get up on Chanel’s clit. I can’t front, the bitch was flawless and her body was bangin’ in her wears. The nigga peeped her style, so he knew what time it was.

  Of course Chanel’s ears perked up the minute she heard Forty-Forty club. The bitch loved to party. Anywhere there was gonna be drinks, dicks, and dollars her ass was gonna be ’bout it. She turned around, droolin’. I grinned at her. “You down to go to the Forty-Forty tonight?” I asked her.

  She glanced over at Cash, then me. “What time?”

  “Oh, you couldn’t speak to a nigga, but now you wanna know what time you can come shake ya pretty ass.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  He eyed her. “Does ‘whatever’ got a name?”

  “Cash,” I said, pointin’ to her, “this is my girl Chanel. Chanel, Cash.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “That’s better,” he said, grinnin’. Then the nigga started lookin’ at her like he was ready to fuck her on the spot. “Have the cats at the door come get me.” He looked at me, then winked at Chanel. “And you, beautiful, I’ma get at you later.”

  “Don’t hold ya breath,” she replied. “You can’t afford me.” Cash just laughed at her dumb ass, walkin’ off.

  “What the fuck so funny?” she asked, vexed.

  This ho is so busy chasin’ ballers ’n shit, but had no fuckin’ clue. Hell, I was glad she wasn’t feelin’ him. I didn’t want her tryna get at the nigga any damn way. That’s the last thing I needed.

  I sucked my teeth. “Bitch, let’s go,” I snapped, brushin’ past her. “Fuckin’ with you, I need a damn blunt.”

  By the time we finally got to the club it was a little after midnight and hot ’n poppin’. Dripped heavy in ice, with niggas clockin’ us in our wears, me and Chanel made our way up to the Rémy Lounge. I had on a canary-yellow chiffon Chanel pullover blouse that hung real low ’n sexy in the front and back, showin’ off my perky tits and smooth back, with a pair of white Gucci pencil jeans—and, yes, with no panties—that melted over e’ery delicious curve of my body, and a bangin’ pair of six-inch Balenciaga slingbacks. Chanel kept it cute in a sexy white Christian Louboutin wrap dress with a pair of white Christian Louboutin crystal “Vamp” stilettos.

  There was a group of thug niggas dipped in jewels playin’ PlayStation 2, and I peeped
’bout seven or eight model-type chicks among a group of pigeons sittin’ on the oversized leather bed, cacklin’ and cawin’ like real birds. A few of ’em got up and started finger-poppin’ and shakin’ they hips—clearly for attention—when Rihanna’s “Umbrella” came through the speakers.

  I spotted Cash at the pool table with a bunch of his niggas; they were talkin’ shit back ’n forth. I could tell they had a team game goin’ on. I glanced at Chanel and smiled.

  “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” I asked her outta the side of my mouth.

  “And you know it,” she said, followin’ behind me. We heard a few “damns” and “oh, shits” as we walked over to them, disruptin’ their flow. Even a few bitches kept they eyes on us. It was all good. All eyes on me, bitches. Chanel and I kept it cute, and posed for the audience.

  “I see you made it,” Cash said to me, but he was eyein’ Chanel. “And you brought Miss Whatever with you.” He smiled. Chanel gave him one of them phony smiles. He introduced us to the niggas, then leaned into my ear. “Yo, hook a nigga up with ya girl.”

  “You silly as hell, nigga,” I said, laughin’. “She’s off limits.”

  He didn’t get the hint. “I ain’t tryna marry her gold-diggin’ ass; I just wanna get in them drawers.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Drop dead, nigga,” I said, catchin’ Chanel givin’ me the eye. She ice-grilled Cash.

  “Yo, that’s fucked up. But it’s all good.”

  “Whatever,” I said, lookin’ over at the niggas ’round the table. “Me and my girl got next.” Chanel looked at me, then smirked. She knew what it was. We was ’bout to run ’em.

  “Bitch,” Chanel snapped, puttin’ her hand on her hip, “what the hell you doin’? You know I can’t play no fuckin’ pool.”

  “So what,” I said, “I ain’t that good either, but we can still get it in.”

  I peeped all the niggas ’round the pool table had stopped talkin’ and the niggas who were shootin’ pool were now standin’ with they sticks in they hands, lookin’ all bug-eyed ’n shit at me.