Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

mine.”

She laughs. “Fuck you wit’ ya hatin’ ass.”

“I can’t stand this damn song,” I say, reachin’ for the remote. “It gives me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Oh-oh-ohmyGod, oh-oh-ohmyGod,” she laughs. “I think it’s a cute club banga.”

I grunt. “Mmmph. Yeah, and I bet ya ho-ass is wishin’ he was gut-bangin’ ya back out, too.” She passes off the blunt, then fires up another. I take two pulls, then put it out.

“Please, Usher can’t do shit for me. He lost a buncha cool points when he married and knocked up that man.”

I bust out laughin’. “Girl, you wrong for that. That ho ain’t no damn man.”

She bucks her eyes. “Says who? You ever really look at ’er.”

“She’s a chick wit’ very manly features; that’s all.” I change the track. Alicia Keyes “Love Is Blind” starts playin’. “Some chicks are just mannish like that.”

“Whateva,” she says, rollin’ her eyes up in her head.

I keep laughin’. “Well, they divorced now, so you can go ’head ’n gargle the nigga’s balls.”

“Please, I wish da fuck I would. Da nigga still ran his dick up in that; no thank you.”

I shake my head. Chanel’s simple ass thinks any nigga fuckin’ wit’ a bitch wit’ manly features or mannerisms is fightin’ homo tendencies, or is out gettin’ his creep on wit’ trannies ’n shit. I don’t necessarily agree wit’ her on it. But what I care. It’s her opinion, her choice. I leave it be. She opens her mouth to say sumthin’ else, but her iPhone rings. She answers.

“Wassup, Trick? Anyone make you they bitch yet? Mmmph, whateva, ho…yeah, yeah, yeah…well, guess who I’m wit’? No stupid…Kat. Hold on…” she hands me her phone. “Here, someone wants to speak to you.” I ask who. “Don’t worry ’bout it.”

“Well, I hope it ain’t that nasty bitch, Tamia.”

“No, it ain’t Tamia, ho,” she says, suckin’ her teeth. “Just take da damn phone.”

I snatch it outta her hand. “Hello?”

“Wow,” is all she says. And as soon as I hear the voice the hairs on the back of my neck raise up. I shoot Chanel a look. She smirks, poppin’ another shrimp into her nasty-ass cum trap.

Nigga, don’t play me…did you fuck da bitch or not? I hear the muhfucka say, Yeah. “Oh, wassup, Iris?” I say, nonchalantly. But inside I’m ready to bring it to this ho. Oh, what? I know you didn’t think I forgot how this dick garglin’ bitch was ridin’ down on Naheem’s dick while I was fuckin’ ’im, too, and never, ever, opened her muthafuckin’ nut-coated mouth to let me in on it. Not! Ain’t shit change. I’ma still fuck this bitch up when I see ’er. And I don’t give a fuck how long I gotta wait.

“Damn, bitch,” she says, soundin’ disappointed that I ain’t all amped to hear her voice. “I ain’t talked to you in a minute and that’s the best you can do? Wassup? A bitch gets locked down and now it’s fuck me, right?”

“Looks that way,” I say, takin’ a swig of Ciroc.

“That’s fucked up, Kat. We used to be girls ’n shit. What happened?”

Bitch, you fucked my man, then smiled all up in my muthafuckin’ grill. “Sweetie, what you thought it was gonna be? You let ya’self get tricked out and started mulin’ for some nigga, so you get what you got. A bitch like me ain’t entertainin’ no dumb-ass hoes. I told you that from da rip.”

“Fuck you, Kat,” she snaps. “How da fuck you gonna turn ya back on ya girl ’n shit. I’ve been locked up for almost two-and-a-half years and not once have you dropped a bitch a card, a letter, nuthin’.”

“Bitch, you ain’t my girl. Be clear. What da fuck I look like jailin’ wit’ you. I’ma real bitch, ho. And real bitches, ain’t doin’ no bid wit’ a dumb-ass bitch who knew betta.”

“No, bitch,” she yells into the phone, “a real bitch stands by her girls whether she agrees wit’ her choices or not! Not turn her back on ’em. I did what I had’a do.”

“No, bitch, you did what you wanted to do. It’s not what you had’a do. Big difference, so don’t go there. Save that bullshit for a bitch who don’t know betta. I told ya ass before you got knocked what it was. And that’s what it is.”

“Oh, so you real brand new, I see.”

“Bitch, I’m keepin’ it a hunnid wit’ ya dizzy ass; how da fuck you see that bein’ brand new?”

I feel myself ’bout to bring it to this bitch, but I bite the inside of my lip. Keep it cute, ho, I think, starin’ at Chanel. She has the blunt hangin’ from her dick suckas, gawkin’ at me. I walk over to her and snatch it outta her mouth. She sucks her teeth, laughin’. I take a pull. I decide to flip the script. “So, how you been?”

She laughs. “Oh, now you wanna know how a bitch’s doin’? Mmmph, fuck you, Kat.”

“Bitch, fuck it, then.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ evil-ass bitch,” she says.

I laugh. “Yup; tell me sumthin’ I don’t already know.”

“Whateva, bitch. When you gonna get ova ya’self and come through? Or is that too much for a real bitch like you? And don’t give me no bullshit, either, Kat; we’re bigger than that.”

I grin. Oh, bitch, you just made splittin’ ya shit that much easier. “Where they got you?” She tells me she’s holed up at a federal correctional facility in Danbury, Connecticut. Tells me they had her down in Tucson, Arizona before movin’ up here. “Oh, well, I guess I can squeeze a day trip in. I’ll let you know when I’m beat to see ya silly-cock-washin’ ass.”

The stupid bitch grunts, soundin’ agitated. “You know what bitch? I’m done. Put Chanel back on the phone.”

“Toodles,” I say, laughin’.

I hand Chanel back her phone. “Girl, don’t pay her crazy ass no mind,” she says to Iris. “You know the bitch is touched.” She laughs.

“Bitch, whateva. Both of you slut-boxes can eat shit.”

Chanel sucks her teeth, givin’ me the finga. “I know, right. But, don’t stress that shit. We’ll be up there to see you, soon. I know. We got you, ain’t that right, Kat?”

Yeah, I got that ho-ass bitch, aiight. “Yup, wit’ muthafuckin’ bells on.”

I sit back in my seat, grinnin’. Oh, yeah, I’ma serve that ho up a nice dish of whoop ass. The idea of breakin’ Iris’s jaw makes my clit twitch. I spark another blunt, takin’ it straight to the dome. Chanel finishes up bullshittin’ wit’ Iris’s trick-ass, then lays her phone back on the table.

“Bitch, you was dead wrong for that,” she says, tossin’ her hair to the side. “Why you do her like that?”

“Fuck that bitch,” I say, turnin’ the volume up on the stereo when Raheem Devaughn’s “Love Drug” plays. “She was fuckin’ Naheem, or did you forget that?”

“Bitch,” she snaps, takin’ the Ciroc to the head. “That ho fucked that nigga years ago. We all were mad young…”

“Yeah, and that bitch was mad nasty; and she still is.”

“You need to let that shit go. You ain’t fuckin’ wit’ the nigga, so who gives a fuck if she had his dick in her throat? That’s old news.”

“Ho, I ain’t lettin’ shit go. That trick-ass, cum-guzzlin’ bitch was grinnin’ all up in my muthafuckin’ face and suckin’ da snot outta my man’s dick at the same time. I don’t think so. Say what da fuck you want, but that shit ain’t sweet.”

“Bitch,” she huffs, “hand me the fuckin’ blunt.” I take another pull, then pass it off. She snatches it. “Listen to how da fuck you sound, Kat. That shit popped off, what, almost ten years ago? The bitch is locked da fuck up. And you soundin’ extra crazy, for real. Give the ho a pass, damn.”

I smirk. “You know what, Trick? You right. I’ma let da ho live. We been through too much to let some dick come between us. Let’s make plans to go see her ass, soon.”

She grins. “Now that’s more like it, Boo. I knew you’d come to ya senses and see shit my way.”

Please, you can sit here and think what you want. But I’ma beat the cum outta that bitch, trust!