Page 74 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“Yo, you really got a nigga goin’ through it, Kat,” he says, takin’ two puffs on the blunt, then handin’ it to me. “Real talk; I’m really feelin’ you, ma. You know that, right?”

I hold the blunt wit’ one hand and rub his head wit’ the otha, lettin’ my fingas move ova the pattern of his waves. I nod, blowin’ smoke outta the side of my lips. “That’s what ya mouth says.”

He looks up at me. “Yo, that’s what it is.” I hand ’im back the blunt. “I ain’t tryna get all fucked up in this shit, yo.”

I lay my head back on the sofa, thinkin’ ’bout Juanita and all the otha bitches who lost their damn minds and souls to a nigga. Bitches who couldn’t think straight wit’out a nigga in they lives. I don’t care how good the nigga’s dick and tongue game is, I can’t eva let that shit happen to me. “Me either,” I say, shakin’ the shit outta my head. ’Cause muhfucka it ain’t gonna pretty if I do.

He lifts up off’a me, takin’ anotha pull from the blunt. He hands it to me, but I tell ’im I’m good. For the last few days a bitch ain’t really been beat to burn it up like normal. Shit, I ain’t even really tossin’ back the drinks like I used to eitha.

He looks at me. “I’m a hunnid wit’ you ’cross the board. No games.”

“Okay. And I’m real wit’ you.”

“Aiight, then we cool. Don’t play me, Kat.”

“Nigga, don’t you play me.”

He leans ova and tries to kiss me. I yank my head back. “Oh what, now I can’t get no lips?”

“Nope,” I say, smirkin’.

“Yeah right.” He hovers ova me, presses me back on the sofa. “Stop, playin’, girl, give me some’a that tongue.”

I stick my tongue out, then pull it back into my mouth. “You want it, nigga. You gotta take it.” He pulls me into him, kisses my lips. I press my lips tight to keep ’im from slippin’ his tongue in. “You gonna have’ta come betta than that.”

“Oh, aiight. I see how you doin’ it. I got you.” He starts nibblin’ on my neck, unbuttons th

e buttons on the shirt I’m wearin’, then takes my left nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirls ’round it while he reaches ova and lightly pinches my right nipple. I fight to keep myself from moanin’. Oh, gaawd, this muhfucka is gonna have’a bitch all fucked up, I think, closin’ my eyes. Keep it cute, ho. He looks up at me. “Can I get some’a that tongue, ma?”

I grunt. Moan. Shake my head from side to side. “No.”

He starts kissin’ down the middle of my chest to my stomach, then dips his tongue into my belly button. Wit’out thinkin’, a bitch spreads open ’er legs anticipatin’ the next spot his tongue makes. The nigga got me in heat. Got my pussy lips stickin’. He grabs me by the waist, pulls my legs up ova his shoulders, then wraps his arms ’round the back of me and lifts me up, standin’ up. He lifts my hips up in the air and begins suckin’ ’n lickin’ on my clit. “Oooooooh…aaaaaaah…” Ohhhhmiiigaawd, this nigga’s tongue is deadly. I grab the back of his head, fuck his face. “Ohhhhh, yes, muhfucka…make my pussy skeet, nigga…” I let go of his head and lay backward, lettin’ the nigga have his way wit’ my pussy. His dick stabs me in my back. I twist my body so I can get at it, then start strokin’ it ova his boxers. I’m not sure how or when, ’cause the muhfucka has a bitch in a zone, but the next thing I know the nigga turns me around wit’ his mouth still mounted on my kat-box and I’m face-to-face wit’ his dick. He alternates from lickin’ my asshole to the back of my pussy. I pull his boxers down ova his waist, takin’ his dick in my hands. I lick the precum leakin’ from its tip, then start suckin’ on it—slow and sexy at first, then fast and nasty. I take my hands off the dick, grab the back of his thighs and give the nigga all throat and neck action. He’s moanin’. I’m moanin’. Then, a few minutes later, we are both nuttin’, gulpin’ and slurpin’ each otha’s nut.

The nigga lets me down, then collapses back onto the sofa. “Fuck,” he says, lickin’ the rest of my cream from ’round his lips. “You da truth, baby—word up.” I grin, lickin’ my lips as well. I drop down in front of ’im and finish milkin’ the rest of his nut out.

When I’m done, I climb up on top of ’im and look ’im in the eyes. “Now you can have some tongue,” I tell ’im, slippin’ it deep into his mouth. Our tongues twirl and flick up against the othas. We kiss and stare into each otha’s eyes. I’m feedin’ the nigga a taste of his nut and he’s feedin’ me a taste of mine. I grind down on his dick, let my pussy coat it wit’ juice. And, for the first time in a long time, I wanna feel this nigga bust his dick up in me raw.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Where there is life…there is death…pullin’ in da final breath…one life traded for anotha…mixed emotions slicin’a bitch like a knife…da birth of a tiny lil’ brotha…gotta ho rethinkin’ some things…should a bitch play ’er position…be his sista, or play his motha?…

Three weeks later, on Saturday, June 26, 2010 at 6:36 p.m., after bein’ pumped up wit’ a buncha steroids to help the baby inside’a ’er lungs develop, the plug is finally pulled on my mother. And the truth is, I feel nuthin’; just like I knew I would. Watchin’ ’er life support machine bein’ shut off is like liftin’ a switch and turnin’ on bright lights to a dark, lonely past.

I am in the labor ’n delivery room, relieved that this is my last time lookin’ at ’er. I’ve been comin’ back ’n forth up to this hospital practically e’ery damn night, starin’ at Juanita. Cursin’ ’er out, sayin’ a buncha shit I kept bottled up for what I knew would be the last time, knowin’ she couldn’t hear shit I had’a say. But, I realize she didn’t need to. I needed it for me. And like I’ve said, there will be no tears, not ova ’er. And a bitch ain’t livin’ wit’ no regrets.

Patrice, Elise ’n my grandmother are here—lookin’ through the glass window, bawlin’ they eyes out. This is the first time I’m ’round all’a these hoes and we ain’t goin’ at it. Still, the tension is thick as shit, but we keep the drama at bay—for now.

I keep my back to them bitches. We are all consumed wit’ tears. Theirs are for the loss of another daughter ’n sister. Mine for seein’ this tiny lil’ baby brought into this world by C-section, then laid on my mother’s shoulder for a brief moment. Neither aware of the otha’s presence. Then havin’ the doctor hand the baby to me. I am nervous at first, takin’ it. It is the first time I’ve held a baby—a tiny life; a baby boy brought into this world at twenty-six weeks, weighing’ only 3 lbs. 8 oz. A bitch bursts into tears, so fuckin’ distraught knowin’ I woulda killed ’im.

Chanel is here wit’ me—my real family. Masked and suited up, she is cryin’ wit’ me. She’s the only bitch who knows and understands me. “Ohmiiiigod, Kat, look at ’im. He is soooo tiny.”

I don’t speak. I can’t. There are no fuckin’ words in me. E’erything ’round me is one big blurry mess from tears. And when the nurse finally takes ’im from me, I feel myself ’bout to collapse. I am shocked at myself. Surprised that I am feelin’ the way I do—overwhelmed. That I have all’a these emotions wrapped up in me. That I am a snotty-nosed mess behind all’a this. He will be placed in an incubator, and be under ultraviolet light. I watch ’em place a lil’ mask ova his eyes. Watch ’em place a trach tube down into his lil’ lungs, then connect it to a machine so he can breathe. I watch ’em stick a catheter into his umbilical cord so they can pump ’im wit’ fluids and drugs. He is pinched ’n pricked ’n probed and it tears a bitch’s heart to see this. I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. But I can’t stop cryin’. The doctor is sayin’ shit to me, but I ain’t hearin’ it all.

“…He will be in the NICU…the next few weeks are the most critical…”

I tell ’em I gotta leave. Tell ’em I can’t deal wit’ this right now. Tell ’em I’ll be back later. Chanel follows behind me, wrappin’ ’er arm ’round me. She swipes tears from ’er own face wit’ ’er other hand.

“I’m here for you, girl.”

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