Page 91 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

I smirk. “Oh, you ain’t said nuthin’ but a word, Big Man. Show ya paper, and let’s get it poppin’.”

He snaps his finga at the Chipmunk wit’ the sash. She digs into her blouse pullin’ out money. She counts out ten Ben Frankies, then stuffs the rest back down in ’er titties. I take his money, count it, then scoop up my paper and hand it all to the amazon. Why I choose ’er ova the Chipmunk is beyond me.

I eye ’er, walkin’ ova to ’er. “Here, Boo, you hol’ this. But don’t hol’ on to it too tight ’cause I’ma be takin’ it back in a minute.” Big Man laughs. Tells me he digs my cockiness. Tells me is gonna beat me softly. I roll my eyes. Tell the nigga instead’a yappin’ his trap to break the balls and let the games begin.

The first round I fuck wit’ the muhfucka, give ’em all’a good show and let ’im win. Then I dare the nigga for anotha round; double or nuthin’. At first he wants no parts of it; pussy muhfucka wants to run wit’ his change. But muhfuckas start eggin’ ’im on, gassin’ the nigga up that it’s an easy win. The nigga starts feelin’ himself, gettin’ all caught up in the hype. Fifteen minutes later, I rock the nigga’s socks off, moppin’ ’im up off the table. Niggas start high-fivin’, and poppin’ mad shit. Big Man runs me my paper, then I step, walkin’ right into my mark.

“Hey, beautiful, I see you know how’ta handle a stick,” he says, grinnin’.

I look ’im up and down. He has on a V-neck Polo tee and a pair of faded blue jeans. His curly hair is tucked under a blue Yankee fitted. Seein’ this no-good, women beatin’ muhfucka makes my guts churn. But my clit jumps, anticipatin’ finally spinnin’ the nigga’s clock back. “That’s not da only thing I can handle.”

He stares at me as if he’s tryna remember me from somewhere. But the nigga’s only seen me once, and Juanita wasn’t the kinda ho to have a buncha flicks of me all round ’er spot, so I ain’t beat.

“Oh, is that so?” I nod. “Where you from? I can tell you ain’t from around here.” I tell ’im I rest in Cali; that I’m here for a family reunion. “Oh word? That’s wassup. How long you in town for?”

“’Til Sunday,” I lie, glancin’ ’round the room for a spot to sit. I peep two empty seats ova in the corner. “How ’bout we finish our talk ova a drink, then see what else pops off; if you know what I mean.”

“I got you. How ’bout you go grab them seats, and I’ll go get us some drinks.” He tells me they only servin’ moonshine and brandy up in this muhfucka. Oh, and beers. I tell ’im to hit me wit’ some brandy, then walk off, feelin’ the muhfucka starin’ at my ass as I spin off.

“Here you go,” he says, five minutes later when he comes ova, handin’ me a plastic cup. He grabs the chair next to me and sits it in front of me. He sits so he can face me. “Damn, ma, you look real familiar. You got people in New York?”

Yeah, muhfucka, the bitch you beat into a coma. I shake my head, shiftin’ in my seat. “Not that I know of.”

“Oh, aiight. For some reason it feels like I’ve met you before.”

I stare at the nigga, then shake my head. “I doubt it. A bitch like me would definitely remember a sexy-ass muhfucka like you,” I say, baitin’ the nigga in.

He smiles, flashin’ his chipped tooth. Muthafucka, I’ma be knock-in’ ya fronts out in a minute. “Oh word? You think I’m sexy?”

I slowly nod my head. “You made my pussy pop da minute I peeped you walk through da door,” I tell ’im, reachin’ ova and lightly touchin’ his hand.

“That’s wassup. You get on?”

I frown. No this no-good muhfucka ain’t cokin’ it up, too. I shake my head. “No. I ain’t wit’ that shit.”

“Oh aiight. What you wit’ then?”

I lean into his ear real-sexy like, then say, “I’m wit’ a fine muhfucka wit’ a big-ass dick fuckin’ my pussy deep.”

“Daaaaamn, it’s like that? You real bold, ma. I like that shit.”

“It is what it is. I’m on vacay, and a bitch tryna have a good time, you feel me?”

He licks his lips. “I got you.” I ask the muhfucka if he gotta girl. “Nah, I’m chillin’.”

“Good. ’Cause I’m lookin’ for good dick, not drama. You got good dick, daddy?” Of course the muhfucka starts suckin’ his own dick, talkin’ ’bout how good the shit is; ’bout how he brings it in the sheets, makin’ bitches breakdown. Juanita pops into my head.

“Yo, you got my dick hard as hell right now. I wanna freak you, real talk. I wanna eat it up, heat it up, then beat it up. Nonstop fuckin’, feel me?”

I keep myself from rollin’ my eyes up in my head. I laugh in his face. “Nigga, that kinda talk might work wit’ these country boogas, but you wanna impress me, you gonna have’ta pull ya dick out and show a bitch; not tell ’er.”

He flashes his crooked smile. “I dig you.” I shrug. “I’m sayin’… what’s good, ma?”

I sit back in my seat, open and close my legs real slow and sexy. Let the nigga see a bitch ain’t wearin’ no drawers. “What’s good is this hot-ass pussy, muhfucka.” I cross my legs, then put the tip of the straw back up to my lips and sip on my drink.

His eyes scan my smooth cocoa-brown thighs. “Daaaamn, you got some pretty-ass legs. I’d definitely like to slide up in them hips.”

“Nigga, you couldn’t handle this pussy,” I say, twirlin’ my tongue ’round the straw, “so you might wanna stick to these dusty bama-freaks you got eyein’ you.” I slide the tip of the straw in and outta my mouth as if I’m suckin’ a dick. I’m done wit’ drinkin’ the shit since I know a

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