by Cairo
“C-C-Casssssss,” she wails in my ear. “H-h-he’s goooone.” She’s boo-hooin’ it up all up in my eardrum.
I frown. “Lina, calm down. Who is you talkin’ about?”
“Knutz . . . he . . . left me,” she coughs and says between sniffles.
Good riddance, coon-bitch! I decide to keep that to myself. Ain’t no sense in tryna kick a bruised ho who’s already down. “Well, what happened? Why’d he leave?”
“H-h-he said . . . he was sick of me bein’ up in . . . other niggahs’ faces and runnin’ da streets wit’ you. Aaaaaaaahbwwwwwaaaaah,” she screams as if someone’s stabbin’ her with a burnin’ blade. “My man left me ’cause he said I don’t have his back when you . . . talk . . . shit. Aaaaaaaaahbwwwwwwaaaah. You chased . . . my . . . man away . . . Bitch, whhhhyyyyy you ain’t . . . just . . . keep ya mutha . . . fuckin’ . . . mouth shut?”
I frown. Fuck sympathy, not that I had any for the ho. “Bitch, I don’t ’preciate you callin’ here and tryna do me over some bum-ass niggah. Bitch, boom!”
“But he was . . . my . . . bum-ass niggah. Not yours. You hatin’ bitch!”
“Oh, puhhleeeze. Bitch, boom! Boom! Don’t fuckin’ try ’n do me with that shit. His coon-ass left you ’cause he got some other dumb bitch he fuckin’. And it’s probably the young ho I saw him all grins ’n giggles with at the club . . . ”
“When? When you seent my man wit’ some other bitch, Cass? And you ain’t call or send me a text so I could run up on them? Bitch, we ’posed to be girls.”
“Trick, we are friends. And the last time I told you I saw him with some bitch you cussed me out and we got’ta fist fightin’. You almost let that niggah ruin our friendship, ho. So don’t do me, bitch.”
“Ya ass is real goddamn dizzy when it comes to believin’ anything anyone tells you about that niggah Knutz. He’s dirty, boo. But you too stuck on stupid to wanna hear it or see it, so why am I gonna waste my time, tellin’ you shit knowin’ I’ma have’ta bust you upside ya knotty head if you come at me tryna do me.”
“I love . . . ”—hiccup—“him. He’s the”—hiccup—“only man that . . . I ever . . . let fuck me . . . in the assssssss. Oh, whyyyyy he do me like this? I ain’t never lick a man in his asshole and I did h-h-his . . . ”
I cover my mouth, feelin’ myself throwin’ up in the back of my throat. Oh, this bitch is givin’ out too much. She done forgot she told me how he don’t wipe his ass all the way clean. “Oh sweet Gawd, Lina! What the fuck?! I ain’t need to know ’bout you bein’ a shit licker. You’se a nasty bitch, boo. And now the niggah done dipped on you for some other bitch. Mmmph.”
“When I find out who that bitch is, I’ma fuck her up good.”
I frown. “Wake the fuck up, ho. You are not his priority; only an option. That niggah stay fuckin’ around on you and you know it. So don’t even try ’n put the shit on me ’cause both of you coon-bitches can eat the inside of my ass. Yeah, he’s ya bum-niggah, boo. And every other low-budget bitch on the block.”
“Bitch, what da fuck is you tryna say? I ain’t low-budget.”
“And you ain’t high-end, either. That niggah. Aint. Shit. So count ya blessin’s and be happy the niggah dipped. And if you got any goddamn sense you won’t take his shit-stained-ass back, this time. And you’ll keep ya tongue outta his ass, too. I mean, really? What kinda bitch fucks with a niggah who got shit tracks in his drawers? It’s bad enough you told me the niggah let another niggah suck his dick.”
“You ffffffuckin’, bitch! I-I-I . . . t-t-t-ttold you thaaaaaat . . . in confidence. And you throw it back in my face. You ain’t shit, Cass.”
“Bitch, you delusional. You told me that shit in drunkenness. Fuck outta here. You ain’t tell me shit in no confidence. Not sittin’ up in no goddamn bar. But do you. That niggah probably suckin’ dick, too.”
“Fuck you—”
“Maaaaaaaa,” Fuquan yells, bustin’ up in my room.
“I’m on the phone, boy. What is it?”
“There’s somebody here from the zoo for you.”
I frown. “Boy, ain’t no goddamn body from no damn zoo here. Get yo’ ass outta here with that mess.”
“Unh-huh. He is from the zoo. And he’s standin’ outside waitin’ for you to come to the door to feed him.”
I suck my teeth at his ass, gettin’ up from the bed. This boy’s always got some shit goin’. “Well, what he look like?”
“Ugly,” he says, scrunchin’ his nose and lips up. “Real ugly. And black too.”
I sigh. “Lina, I gotta go. Sorry you all distraught over that niggah Knutz, but stop with all the goddamn tears and let it go, boo. That niggah means you no good.”
“Fuck you, bitch. Motherfuck you!” She hangs up on me.
Bitch, puhleeze. What. The. Fuck. Ever. Stupid bitches cryin’ over niggahs who they know ain’t shit. Who the fuck does that? Bitches who ain’t shit, I think as I walk outta my room into the livin’ room.
I peek through the curtains and see a shiny black Benz out in the driveway. It’s one of them big boy motherfuckas so I already know it’s an S-series. But whose? And I can’t see who it is since someone left the goddamn storm door unlocked and whoever it is is holdin’ it open waitin’. All I see is a big white box. I swing open the front door. And almost pass out. It’s the niggah Cash.
I don’t know if I should be pissed at the ugly fucka for showin’ up at my doorstep, or impressed that the niggah is standin’ here on my porch holdin’ a box. I ain’t gonna curse him out, but I’ma check his ass.
“Ummm, niggah, what the fuck is you doin’ here?”
He grins, then licks his lips tryin’ not to stare at my thick nipples pokin’ through the white T-shirt I’m wearin’. I don’t have on a bra. Mmmph. This nasty niggah. I stick my titties out more. Give the niggah more to see. “Wassup, ma? You told a muhfucka if I wanna holla at you, I’ll find you. Well, I did. Now what, ma?” He hands me the box. “Yo, these are for you. A lil sumthin’ to let you know a niggah had you on the brain, hard.”
I eye him. Then step outside, closin’ the storm door behind me. He’s wearin’ black Polo sweatpants with a white Polo pullover. I glance down at the red and black Air Jordan 3 Retros on his feet—I know what the thousand-dollar kicks are since I bought Da’Quan a pair.
I eye the platinum and diamond chain hangin’ around his neck and the ice blingin’ in his ears. “Thanks,” I say, takin’ the box from him. I don’t open it, and I don’t tell the niggah that I ain’t a flowery-type bitch. “So, how’d you know how to find me?”
He chuckles. “I got my ways. Trust me. Anything I wanna know about someone I can get it, real shit. But it cost a niggah a grip to get the info. But in ya case all I had’a do was ask ’round the bar who da beauty wit’ da phat, juicy booty was and for the right price, here I am.”
I toot my lips. “Mmmph. You coulda asked one’a them niggahs to hit you with my number, niggah. You don’t just show up at somebody’s house without bein’ invited. What if I had a niggah livin’ here, or somethin’?”
He laughs. Tells me he knew I ain’t have no steady dingaling livin’ up with me. Said he ain’t wanna get my number to call me. That he wanted to get at me face to face. And he wasn’t waitin’ to run into me down at the club, since that’s not one of his regular spots.
“But, yo, if I had to post up in that muhfucka e’ery night ’til I got at you, I woulda.”
I look him over. He ain’t really all that ugly-lookin’ to me now that I know the niggah’s caked up like a bakery. I mean, I can get past that face with the right kinda incentives. He cuts his eyes over at the window, then smirks.
“Y’all get ya nosey-asses outta the goddamn window,” I snap, not needin’ to see what caught his attention. “They some bad-asses,” I tell him, shakin’ my head. “Was they makin’ faces at you?”
He laughs again. “It’s all good. They yours?” I tell him yeah. The niggah opens his big juicy pussy eatin’ lips and asks if they my onl
y ones. I kinda wanna laugh, but I don’t. The niggah ain’t do his homework; otherwise he woulda known. I tell him I have ten kids. He blinks, then gives me a look like he ain’t believin’ it. “Yo, get da fuck outta here. Ten? And ya body still looks like that?”
“Believe it. My oldest is twenty-three.”
“Daaaaayum. You look mad young, ma. And that body’s right.”
“Of course it is, niggah. Now what you want? And what kinda paper you spendin’ to get it?”
Fuquan’s bad ass comes outside from around the back of the house on his skateboard without wearin’ his helmet. Now usually I’d scream on him, but I’m keepin’ it classy. I sweetly tell him to take his nosey-ass back inside and put on his helmet.
“Awww, man. I’m not gonna hurt myself.”
“Fu, don’t do me, boo. Get yo’ ass in that goddamn house and get that helmet on.”
He looks over at Cash. “Do you live at the zoo?”
I blink.
Cash chuckles. “Nah, lil’ man. Why you ask?”
I hold my breath. Shoot him a look, warnin’ him to keep his fresh mouth shut. But he acts like he don’t see me and says, “ ’Cause you look like a gorilla.”
I snatch my shoe off and throw at him, screamin’, “Boy, what I tell you ’bout ya goddamn mouth?! Get ya black ass in the goddamn house before I fuck you up! You too goddamn grown!”
Fuquan takes off runnin’ ’n laughin’. I hear Isaiah laughin’, too. I swing open the front door, then walk into the house. “Isaiah, I’ma fuck you up. I know you put his black ass up to that shit.”
He starts laughin’. “Unh-uh. He did it on his own. But he do look like a gorilla.”
I bite my tongue from laughin’ too. “Oooh, I’ma fuck y’all up. You know better than to do me like this.”
“Well, he is ugly.”
“See. Now you bein’ messy. I know he is. And he knows he is, too. But you ain’t supposed to remind nobody of how ugly they is. It’s rude and disrespectful. The uglies can see their ugliness on their own. They don’t need you throwin’ it up in their faces. Don’t do that shit again. Now get away from that goddamn window ’fore I bust ya eyeballs out.” I sit the box on the sofa, then walk back outside. I narrow my eyes when I see Fuquan back on his skateboard with his Captain America helmet on. He got the nerve to be grillin’ Cash, like he my damn man.
“Why you here? You tryna do it to my mommy?”
Cash laughs. “Nah, lil’ man. Ya moms cool peoples.”
“Well, you better not try ’n touch her cootie-coo or me and my brothers gonna jump you.”
“Fu, don’t have me punch you in ya goddamn throat. And you better apologize to Mister Cash for bein’ disrespectful.”
He folds his arms, then takes off on his skateboard when I come down the steps after him. I tell him his ass’s gonna be on punishment.
“Yo, it’s all good. Lil’ man’s cool. How old is he?” I tell him eight. That he has a twin brother. “Daaayum, so you stay busy.”
“Somethin’ like that. But they mine. And I don’t regret havin’ ’em.”
He grins, eyein’ me. “That’s wassup. Yo, check this out. You sexy as fuck, ma. I ain’t gonna hold you ’cause I know you prolly got mad shit to do. But I wanna take you out, real shit. And if you ain’t gotta babysitter, it’s all good. I’ll take them too.”
I blink. Ain’t no niggah ever offer to take me and my kids out anywhere. I look around to see where Fuquan is. When I don’t see him in the yard, I say, “Look, boo. I ain’t gonna lie, you ain’t really my type in the face, but I liked how that big juicy dick felt in my hands and you got paper that makes my pussy drool. Now I appreciate you offerin’ to take me and my kids out, but I ain’t no ghetto bitch who lets any ole niggah around her kids like that. I’m classy with my shit, niggah. I gotta feel like I can trust you. I ain’t tryna have no niggah up around my kids who’s gonna be tryna fuck ’em or abuse ’em.”
“Yo, that’s wassup. I can dig it. That’s how you ’posed to be. Trust me, ma. I ain’t into fuckin’ lil kids. I’ma freak, not a pervert, ma. And I ain’t into abusin’ kids. If they outta pocket, I’ll snatch ’em up real quick, but that’s about it.”
“Well, I still ain’t lettin’ you around my kids. And I don’t want you comin’ back over here unannounced, or uninvited.”
He grins, noddin’ his head. “You got that, ma.” He digs in his back pocket and pulls out a black leather card holder, then hands me a card outta it. “Check it. Here’s my card. I own a few detail shops throughout da tri-state area. Come through and let me take care of ya whip . . . on me. And anything else you need, I got you.”
I raise a brow. Tilt my head. “Anything?”
“Yeah, anything. I’ma muhfucka who gets shit done, ma. Check for me, and you’ll see for ya’self. I’m out.”
Fuquan comes ridin’ back up on his scooter, lookin’ into Cash’s car. “Mister Gorilla, you rich?”
“Fuquan!” I yell, snatchin’ him by the arm. I whack him on his ass. “See, now you tryna be messy. Don’t have me sling you down on this ground. Get ya black ass in the house.”
He throws his skateboard, then stomps off screamin’ up the driveway. “I don’t like you,” he says, swingin’ open the door.
“And I don’t like you either. Now get the fuck in the house.” He walks in and slams the door. I shake my head. “Ooh, he’s terrible.”
He laughs, openin’ the door to his Benz. “Yo, it def looks like you got ya hands full.” He slides behind the wheel, lookin’ and smellin’ like fresh cake. He shuts the door, rollin’ the window down. Oooh, I wanna fuck this niggah in the back seat. His eyes lock on my hard nipples. “Yo, c’mere.” He gestures with his head.
I lean into his window. “Yessss?”
He lowers his voice. “Yo, you got on panties?”
I smirk. “Yeah, niggah, why?”
“Let me get them shits to go, ma.”
He starts peelin’ money off’a a thick roll of hundreds. And you already know it doesn’t take long for the cash register in my head to start ringin’. And you know I ain’t one to ever turn down a few dollars. “Niggah, you real nasty with it. Mmmph. But I’ma run inside and get you a pair of my sweet scented drawers. I gotta pair in the dirty clothes from last night.”
“Nah, baby. I ain’t into smellin’ no stale drawers. I likes my shit fresh. Get in the back seat and take them shits you got on off.”
I blink. Oh this niggah is definitely some kinda extra freak. But I get in, shut the door, then lift up and roll my pink mesh thong down over my hips. “So what’s up with you smellin’ bitches’ drawers?”
“No mystery, ma. I like the smell of pussy. I like lickin’ ’n sniffin’ them panties when I’m strokin’ this big-ass dick, ma.”
There’s somethin’ about the way he says this in that deep, rugged voice of his that makes me wanna slip my fingers into my pussy and ass. “Well, do you like anything else about pussy?”
“Yeah, ma. I dig eatin’ it. And fuckin’ it. Now let me get them panties so I can roll out and handle this hard dick.”
I grin, foldin’ my panties, then handin’ ’em to him. He hands me the money. And I step outta the car, shuttin’ the door. “So what you gonna do, keep payin’ to sniff my drawers?”
He licks his lips. “Yeah, until I’m ready to get up in the hips.”
I place a hand up on my hip. “Niggah, who said I wanna let you get up in all this?”
He cranks the engine. And it purrs along with my pussy. “You got my card, ma. Hit me up when you ready for a muhfucka who knows how to treat a bad bitch like you. In the meantime, I’ma be back in a few days for another pair of them panties, so be ready for me.”
“Niggah, you better call first,” I snap, eyein’ him as he backs outta the driveway. He winks at me, tappin’ his horn, then rollin’ out. Nasty, freak-ass motherfucka! I strut back into the house, grippin’ the knot of money I just collected, grinnin’. Shit, if all I gotta do is slide th
at niggah my drawers on demand, I’ma definitely be callin’ his ass. A niggah who likes spendin’ money is just the kinda sponsor I need.
And if I get this niggah to finance me, then I can cut that crazy-ass niggah JT’s black ass off!
“Isaiah! Fuquan!” I yell as I walk down the hall toward my bedroom. “Get ya asses washed and dressed. We goin’ shoppin’.” They all hyped and whatnot, jumpin’ up and down, tellin’ me what they want when I ain’t ask them shit. “Fuquan, I shouldn’t buy ya black ass a goddamn thing for you tryna do me, lil’ niggah. You need to learn when to keep ya goddamn mouth shut!”
Thirty-Eight
“Yo, why da fuck you ain’t been answerin’ ya shit?”
Instead of goin’ off on this niggah-bitch, I decide to keep it light ’n friendly. “Look, boo. This shit ain’t workin’.”
“What? What da fuck is you talkin’ about?”
“I’m talkin’ about you, me . . . it ain’t workin’ for me. Ya black ass ain’t stickin’ to the program.”
“Yo, fuck outta here. You already know what it is. We gotta deal. You fuck me, and I keep breakin’ you off. I lace ya ass wit’ mad paper so you ’posed to have ya ass on call for me.”
“Coon-niggah, boom! I ain’t no motherfuckin’ call girl. I told you I don’t answer to you, or no other . . . ” My cell beeps. I glance at the screen. I have another call comin’ in. It’s Day’Asia. I keep on talkin’. “ . . . keep tellin’ ya black ass that I don’t answer to you.”
“Yo, fuck outta here. I own you, bitch. Do you understand that?”
I laugh. “Boo-boo, I know you crazy and all, but niggah, yo’ ass is certifiable. If ya wife wants to put up with that shit, then that’s on her. But I ain’t the one. The deal was, that we fuck and you go on about ya merry business. Don’t catch no feelin’s. Don’t get wrapped up in ya lil’ happy home and you stay the fuck outta mine. Not you tryna motherfuckin’ control me, niggah. Not you thinkin’ you own me.”
“Yo, Cass, real shit. You gonna have me fuck you up, aiight. I’m warnin’ ya ass. Don’t fuckin’ try me, yo.”