Page 28 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“Did the nigga dick you right?”

I replay the afternoon of fuckin’ Tone out in my head, remember how I dug the nigga’s neck out wit’ my nails. How I couldn’t get my nut wit’out thinkin’ ’bout blood. Although it wasn’t the greatest fuck, fuckin’ the muhfucka definitely made a bitch realize how badly I missed havin’ a nigga to crawl up on; how much I’ve missed havin’ this pussy stroked. How I’ve missed the touch of a real nigga who knows how’ta handle a real bitch. And keepin’ shit real, it forced a bitch to realize ’xactly how bad I miss fuckin’ a nigga, then snatchin’ the muhfucka’s last breath right before he nutted.

For some reason, images of Grant’s thick dick flash through my head. Flashes of sweaty, knee-bucklin’, all-night-long, fuckin’ take over and a bitch can almost feel him bangin’ this pussy from the back; tip-drillin’ and slammin’ his thick dick in ’n outta my hot, sticky snatch; slow fuckin’ it, deep fuckin’ it; runaway train fuckin’ it; my hips grindin’ ’n windin’; feelin’ his warm, gooey cream, slide down into my asshole, drippn’ along the back of my pussy. The memory gotta bitch in heat. I cross my legs, try ’n pinch off the stirrin’ in my clit.

I clear my throat, take this nigga in. Dark dreamy chocolate muhfucka wit’ deep spinnin’ waves that can make a bitch sea sick. Dark brown eyes…thick full lips, thick nose, and big-ass hands. And the nigga’s bow-legged! Yeah, but the muhfucka’s a dog!

“Yo,” he says, tappin’ me on the leg, “you aiight over there? Let me find out that smoke got you zonin’.”

“Nigga, puhleeeze…I’m good. This shit you got is a tease.”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiight. Well, answer the question. Did the muhfucka beat them walls up?”

“It was aiight. I mean, it wasn’t nuthin’ to write home about, but the nigga wasn’t no slouch, either. I fucked ’im once and knew he wasn’t gettin’ da pussy again, so I wasn’t keepin’ a scorecard on his stroke game. He did what I needed ’im to do for that moment, and there you have it.”

“Oh, aiight. I feel you. So who you got lined up to hit that the next go round?”

I laugh. “Don’t be tryna monitor how I dish out my pussy, muhfucka. But to answer ya question, no one. Why?”

He laughs. “Maybe I’m tryna get next. You gotta problem wit’ that?”

I roll my eyes, suckin’ my teeth. “Next question.”

“Yeah, aiight. Why you don’t have a man?”

’Cause da nigga’s dead, I think, runnin’ my hand through the back of my hair, keepin’ my stare locked on ’im. “Nigga, why you think?”

He laughs. “’Cause ya fine-ass is evil as hell.”

“Whateva…wrong answer. ’Cause a nigga don’t define me; next.”

“You lookin’ for a man?”

“Nope; now what?”

He hits me wit’ a sexy grin, passin’ me the blunt. “Aiight, next question. How many niggas have you let run up in you?”

I tilt my head. Tellin’ this muhfucka the truth ain’t an option. The nigga would think I’ma bona-fide slut-bucket if I did. Fuck what ya heard. I was a cock slayer; and yeah a bitch slutted for the dick. But my name ain’t out there in the streets; one’a the advantages of shuttin’ a muhfucka’s lights out. Almost e’ery muhfucka I bodied; too many to count. And plenty more who lapped at this clit and gobbled up this sweet, juicy pussy. I decide to spit a buncha half-truths. “With da exception of the muhfucka I fucked recently, da niggas I let run up in me are the same niggas who I was fuckin’ wit’ on da regular.”

“Okay, so how many?”

Not countin’ the young nigga who I let pop this pussy when I needed a burner, I think, count, in my head. Naheem…B-Love… Grant…Tone. “Four.”

“Daaaaamn, that’s wassup. That pussy must be mad tight.”

I smirk. “Yup, it’ll suck da skin off a dick.”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiight. Question is can you handle a dick?”

I stare at ’im for a few seconds. “Who says I’m tryna handle one?”

He keeps laughin’. “It’s all in ya eyes, ma.”

I roll the window down, take two more pulls off’a what’s left of the blunt, then toss the shit out. He frowns. “Yo, ma, why you throw that shit out?”

“Nigga, this shit we smokin’ must be laced ’cause yo’ ass is seein’ shit.”

He cracks the fuck up. “Yo, ma, you funny bad. Front if you want.”

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