by Cairo
I disarm my alarm, then open the door and slide behind the wheel. I’m really not in the mood to be out with this ho tonight and I tell her so. She sucks her teeth. “See, bitch. You stay dissin’ me, ho, and I’m not likin’ it one damn bit. You act like you can’t even go out wit’ ya girl for a few goddamn drinks. Damn, Cass. Every since you got ya lil’ truck you been actin’ like a real stuck-up bitch.”
I roll my eyes. This bitch is always tryna make someone feel guilty. “Trick, I’ll be there at six. Have your ugly ass downstairs.” I end the call pullin’ outta the mall’s parkin’ lot. I ain’t been out since last week so hittin’ The Crack House and tossin’ back some yak ain’t a bad thing. Mmmph. And I can serve it up in my new heels.
Eight
Baaaaaby, tonight is not one of those nights where I’m in the mood for some crusty-ass niggah to be all up in my goddamn face. Everything about this niggah-bitch standin’ here in my face is wrong. Dead wrong! From the half-moon fade up on his head—like, really, if you’re balding, shave that shit off! There’s nothin’ sexy about a niggah’s hairline startin’ where his ears are. Not it! Not for Big Booty, baby! Then his I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Not-Butter teeth are enough to make me wanna throw up. Oh, no. A niggah with yellow corn kernels can’t get anywhere near this coochie ’n ass. What the hell I want with a mofo who has teeth that look like mini chicken McNuggets tryna gnaw up my pussy? I think not! Then this fool has the nerve to have two of his nuggets trimmed in gold.
I frown.
“So, I’m sayin’, baby,” he says, lickin’ his big, juicy lips. “When you gonna stop playin’ games and let Big Daddy chill with you?”
I blink. Tilt my head. Look around the bar for my girl, Dickalina’s dumb ass. I don’t know why I even let her talk me into comin’ down here tonight. She knows ain’t shit poppin’ off in this dump on a damn Wednesdaynight. It doesn’t get live up in here until Friday and Saturday nights, then it’s packed wall-to-wall with them thorough, get-money, hood-type niggahs. Otherwise, you’re sittin’, or in my case, standin’ here looking in the face of rejects, like this busted-ass niggah gawkin’ at me, hopin’ to score some pussy.
I bring my attention back to him. “What was the question, again?”
“Yo, stop frontin’, baby. You standin’ here lookin’ and smellin’ all good, got me wantin’ to take you home and do some thangs to you. When can I spend some time with you?”
I slowly lick the crushed peppermint and sugar from around the rim of my glass. I do it deliberately to fuck with his ass. Tonight I’m drinkin’ a Gut Twister, one of the Crack House specialty drinks. And somethin’ he’ll never get to do. Not with me anyway.
“Easy, boo,” I say, slidin’ my lips over the tip of my straw, takin’ a sip of my drink. He keeps his eyes locked on my lips. And the whole time I’m lookin’ at him all I keep thinkin’ about is him tryna gnaw my pussy ’n clit up like it’s calamari. I cringe. “When you invest in a new set of teeth and let me run your pockets down into the ground, then I might consider it.”
“Oh, damn. It’s like that? Why you gotta go in on my teeth?”
“No, the question is why haven’t you taken your black ass into a damn dentist office?” I walk off, shakin’ my ass real hard and nasty-like. I sashay around the bar until I find Dickalina.
I hope this ho’s ready to roll.
I spot her over by the pool table, laughin’ it up with Buddha—this tall skinny, sexy-ass, light-skinned niggah from around the way I’ve had my eye on ever since he was sixteen, patiently waiting for his ass to turn legal. And now that he is, mmmph . . . I wanna fuck the shit out of him. He’s with some other niggah who looks like someone I’ve seen somewhere before. And the closer I get to them, the more certain I am that I have. I may be bad with names. But there are two things I don’t ever forget. The face of a niggah I’ve fucked and the face of one who’s a snake. And since I know I ain’t ever fuck his ass that leaves only one other option. He did some shady shit somewhere around me and his ass can’t be trusted!
I eye him for a hot minute, then shift my eyes over at Dickalina. She’s shooting a game of pool with Buddha. Mmmph. I heard he had a big-ass dick. And I’m ready to find out up close and personal. I’m about to reel his ass in nice and slow.
“Hey, girl,” Dickalina says, lookin’ up from the table. “You ready to blow this joint?”
“Ho, I’ve been ready,” I say, walkin’ up on them. “But now that I see Buddha’s fine ass up in here, I might wanna hang around a little longer.”
He grins. “Hey, Miss Simms. How you, ma?”
I smile back. “I’m good. But, I’d be even better if I was ridin’ down on somethin’ thick and hard.”
He laughs.
Dickalina shakes her head. “Girl, you’re a damn mess.”
“No, I’m horny. And ain’t a damn thing messy about that.” Buddha eyes me, pullin’ in his bottom lip. I imagine them pretty lips nibblin’ on my clit, kissin’ up and down my pussy lips. “Buddha, what you been up to, lil’ niggah?”
“Shit. Chillin’. Tryna stay outta the heat. Shit’s been kinda hot lately.”
“I heard that. Yeah, your fine ass don’t need to be gettin’ clanked up.”
He smiles. “Nah, I ain’t beat.”
“Where’s your ole nappy-headed sister at?”
He laughs. “Locked up.”
“Mmmph. What her dumb ass do now?”
“She violated a restrainin’ order.”
“Again?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I roll my eyes. This is like the third time her dumb ass has been locked up for violating a restrainin’ order. Her ass is crazy! “Anyway . . . boy, how old are you now?”
“I’ll be twenty-two in two weeks.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know you were that old. Damn time flies. We gonna have to celebrate.”
“Oh, aiight. That’s wassup.”
“You lookin’ real fine, daddy. Where you been hidin’ at, Buddha? I ain’t seen you around in a minute.”
He grins. “Yeah, I know. I was stayin’ up top for a minute. I have peeps in Brooklyn so I was out there tryna lay low for a while.”
I lick my lips. “You shoulda had me lyin’ with you. I woulda dropped down real low for you.”
He laughs.
“Damn, son,” his boy says, laughin’. “She’s ridin’ you real hard.”
I shoot him a “mind-your-motherfuckin’-business” look.
Dickalina eyes me.
“Whaaat, ho? Why you lookin’ at me like that?”
She shakes her head. “Oh, nothin’, boo.”
“Oh, I ain’t think so.” I turn my back to her, blockin’ her view. “So, anyway, Buddha. You out here gettin’ a buncha pussy?”
Sneaky-Ass laughs, again. “Yo, son. Ya peeps wildin’ for real.”
I cut my eyes at him, again. Oooh, this thug niggah’s kinda fine, too, with his sneaky-looking self. He has dreads and big, round brown eyes. And he reminds me of . . . damn, I can’t think of the name of that little sexy mofo who plays on CSI: NY. Damn it!
“I do me,” Buddha says, slicin’ into my thoughts. I don’t mind though ’cause I want the niggah slicin’ into this ass, too. “Nothin’ serious. But I gotta few friends.”
“Mmmph. I bet you do. But I bet them young bitches can’t handle no real dick, though. What you need is a woman who can fuck your lights out.”
He and Sneaky-Ass laugh.
Where the fuck have I seen him? He looks at me. He probably got one of them short, stumpy-type dicks with the big balls.
I should walk over there and grab his damn crotch real good to see what he’s workin’ with. I shake the thought of yankin’ his boxers down to see how the niggah’s hangin’. “Lina, what’s the name of that real-tiny, sexy niggah who plays on CSI and has those books out?”
“Oooh, Hill Harper, girl. Why?”
I walk over to the Hill Harper look alike. If he wasn’t so short, he’d be fuckable, too.
But short men don’t do it for me. But there’s always an exception to every rule if the price is right and if he has an exceptionally big dick. Now where the fuck I know him from? “Who are you?”
“AJ,” he says, lookin’ me up and down. Damn, I’ve heard that voice somewhere before. “Why? You see somethin’ you like?” He licks his lips.
“Niggah, you the one eye-fuckin’ me. So maybe you like somethin’ you see.”
He shakes his head, smilin’. “Maybe I do.”
I laugh. “Boy, you wouldn’t know what to do with all of this right here.” I turn around and slap my ass, glancin’ at him over my shoulder. I see the lust buildin’ in his eyes. “If I sat all this ass up on your face you’d nut before you got your tongue in it.”
“I’ma grown-ass man, ma; real shit. I handles mine. Believe that.”
I step up in his face. Lick my lips. “That still doesn’t mean you can handle me.”
“Try me.”
“You like your dick sucked?”
“All day.”
I raise a brow. “Pull your dick out and let me see what you’re workin’ with then.” When he doesn’t budge, I roll my eyes. “I didn’t think so, lil’ niggah. You ain’t ready for none of this.”
Dickalina misses the pocket she called out. “Damn you, Cassie! You done made me miss my damn, shot fuckin’ with your crazy ass.”
The Hill Harper lookalike laughs. “Yo, ma. You wild.”
“And I’m thirsty, too. How ’bout you make ya’self useful and buy me another drink. Then come back and let me tell you how wild I am.”
He eyes me, suspiciously, then looks over at Buddha. “Yo, she’s your peeps?” he asks.
He nods. “No doubt. Miss Simms good people.”
“Aiight, ma. I got you, then. Whatchu drinkin’?”
“I was drinkin’ a Gut Twister. But now I think I want me a Blow Job. Yeah, that’s what I’ll have. And tell him I want it wet and sloppy.”
“Damn, it’s like that?”
“It would be if I were talkin’ about suckin’ your dick. But it’s not. That’s how I want my drink, niggah. Sloppy and wet; that’s no ice with an extra shot of Patrón.”
He smirks. “Oh, right-right.” I wait for him to walk off toward the bar, then turn to Buddha. “Where’s that niggah from?”
He raises his brow. “Who, AJ?” I suck my teeth, rollin’ my eyes. He chuckles. “Oh, he’s from Irvington. Why, you diggin’ him or sumthin’?”
“No. I’m diggin’ you, but you act like you all scared ’n shit. I know you ain’t scared of pussy, lil’ niggah. Anyway, that niggah seems real sneaky.”
He takes a sip of his Heineken. “Nah, he’s cool peeps. But, nah. I’m not scared, ma. And I’m def not scared of pussy. It’s just that, you know. Jah and me used to be mad cool. And you his Moms and all. I’m not beat for no beef, feel me?”
I nod, knowin’ly. Jah, well Jah’mel—my twenty-one-year-old son, would be ready to whoop his ass if he even thought I was lettin’ him hit this. But, shit. Who says he has to ever know?
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” I say as I lightly rake my nails along his forearm. I glance over at Dickalina as she pulls out her phone and starts textin’. I roll my eyes. “Besides Jah’s ass is still sittin’ in the county.”
“Oh, word? Damn. What he get popped for?”
“Child support and drivin’ with a suspended license; what else. You know my baby ain’t tryna do no real time. That boy loves pussy too much. He’d lose his damn mind if he had to do a state bid somewhere.”
He laughs. “Right-right.”
“Fuck!” Dickalina snaps, still textin’. “A bitch can’t even go out and have a few drinks without Knutz’s dumb-ass nuttin’ up ’n shit. I’m so sick of this motherfucka.”
I roll my eyes, iggin’ her dumbness, keepin’ my attention on Buddha. “Anyway, so what you got good on you? I want some get right tonight.”
He eyes me, puttin’ the bottle to his lips, then tossin’ his head back. I watch as his Adam’s apple moves and down his throat as he guzzles the rest of his beer down. He burps. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know you get on. But, nah, I don’t hold no weight on me, ma. What you want, though?”
“Niggah, I ain’t no fiend. I roll and smoke and get lifted, but you know I only do that with Darius and Jah’mel. So I’m not talkin’ about that.”
“Oh, damn. My bad, ma. Then what kinda get right you talkin’ about?”
I lean in toward him, whisper in his ear, “I’m talkin’ ’bout this”—I grab at his crotch—“I want some dick, lil’niggah.” I squeeze it for emphasis.
“Damn.”
I step off when Tupac’s “Wonder Why They Call You Bitch” starts playin’ from the jukebox. “Aaaah, shit. They takin’ me way back with this right here.” I drop down, then pop it back up. “This used to be my shit.” I throw up deuces. “Rest in Peace, Tupac, baby!”
I jump up and down, stepping back up in Buddha’s face, singing. “You wonder why they call me bitch?”—I pull him by the arms—“ ’Cause I take it in the ass, bring a niggah to his knees. Give him head. Suck that nut out and swallow. Fuck him in another bitch’s bed . . . ”
He starts laughin’. “You funny as hell.”
“Yo, here you go, ma,” Sneaky-Ass says, finally walkin’ back over and handin’ me my drink. I tell him thanks.
Dickalina snatches her bag off one of the nearby empty tables. “Girl, Knutz is talkin’ a buncha shit. Let’s get outta here before he comes up in here tryna set shit off.”
I suck my teeth. “Bitch, fuck him! We’re out having a few drinks. Make that niggah wait. I keep tellin’ your retarded-ass to get rid of him. You know that niggah’s not playin’ with a full deck. I told you I think they took half of his brain out at birth as part of an experiment. But you don’t wanna believe me.”
Buddha laughs.
Dickalina shakes her head. “Now why in the fuck would they do some stupid shit like that? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my baby.”
“Bitch, how the fuck I know? He was probably a part of some botched brain study to cure retardation.”
“Whatever. I’m ready to go. I don’t feel like arguin’ with his ass all fuckin’ night, so let’s roll.”
I raised a brow. “Girl, you better hop a ride on a dick, or walk. I’m not ready to go.”
She huffs. “Oh, so now you not ready to go. Mmmph, ain’t that somethin’. Just a few minutes ago you said you were ready to bounce. Now all of a sudden you done changed ya mind.”
“Yeah, ho, I was. That’s until I knew Buddha was up in here and before I knew Knutz was spazzin’ out, poppin’ a buncha shit. Now I wanna stay. Knutz’s ass is already pissed, so let him stay pissed until we finish gettin’ our drinks on.”
“Well, yeah. You gotta point there. Fuck him then.” When the music stops playin’, she yells over to the bartender. “Hey, Leroy, let me get a Bloody Tampon; extra bloody.”
Girlfriend knows she’s gonna need that extra shot of yak ’cause the minute she stumbles through the door, Knutz’s crazy-ass is gonna whoop the shit outta her.
I grin. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, girl. Show that crazy niggah who’s boss.”
Nine
“Girl . . . I’m so glad . . . that we . . . stayed,” Dickalina says, leanin’ over toward the passenger window. She has the window down so the air can hit her in the face. She’s real twisted. Mmmph. There’s nothin’ worse than seein’ a bitch that can’t hold her liquor. “I had a nice . . . time . . . ”
“Yeah, and a little too damn much to drink.”
She turns to face me to say somethin’, but starts coughin’ and gaggin’ and dry-heaving.
“Bitch, if you throw up in my damn truck, I’m gonna push your ass out and leave you on the damn curb for the garbage truck.”
She glances over her shoulder at me. “Oh, fuck you, Stank Booty. Ain’t nobody gonna throw up in yo’ shit. I’m feelin’ nice. I ain’t fucked up. You always somew
here talkin’ shit. That’s why I can’t stand ya ugly ass.”
“Ho, shut the fuck up with your dumb, drunk, ghetto-ass. You the ugly one with that stank-ass name of yours. Dickalina.” I laugh. “Who the fuck names their child Dickalina? Don’t even get me started on your Rent-to-Own ass, boo-boo.”
She leans her head back on the headrest. “Eat my ass.”
I laugh. “Yeah, right. Save that shit-stained cavern for that buck-tooth niggah of yours. He seems to like his teeth brown any-damn-way.”
She playfully swats me on the arm, chuckling. “Oooh, fuck you. You wrong for that. Leave my man’s teeth alone. He can’t help it if his triflin’-ass mammy didn’t do anything about gettin’ his teeth fixed when he was younger.”
I frown, stoppin’ at a light. “Ho, that six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-somethin’-pound niggah is a grown-ass man.”
“Yeah, but he ain’t got no dental insurance,” she says, soundin’ all pitiful.
I cut my eyes over at her. “That niggah stays robbin’ niggahs. He should be takin’ some of that money he gets for sellin’ that stolen shit and invest it in shavin’ down them damn horse teeth instead of trickin’ it up on drinks and smoke.”
“He don’t be trickin’ all of it up. He buys groceries and pays the cable bill too, ho. Don’t get it twisted.”
So this is what it’s all come down to. Having a niggah to buy your groceries and pay your cable bill. And a bitch is cool with just that. I sigh. Shit, I know I’m ghetto. But at least I’m classy-ghetto with mine. But this ho right here, she’s straight gutter-trash with hers. And you damn sure can’t take her ass anywhere outside of the damn hood unless you wanna get embarrassed. And that’s exactly why I only hang with her ass down at the Crack House. She could never roll with me up to any exclusive-type shit.
I reach over and pat her hand. “Girl, what can I say? You definitely snagged the door prize.”
“I know, girl. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Knutz does some fucked up thangs sometimes. But y’all don’t know him like I know him. I wish you’d get to know him a little better and you’d see. He’s really a good man, Cassie.”