Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

CHAPTER NINE

Chocolate muhfucka likin’ what he sees…hopin’ ta get a fly, sexy bitch down on ’er knees…gotta keep brushin’ da nigga off…but da nigga stay tryna press…yeah da muhfucka’s fine…but a bitch ain’t beat for da stress…this kind’a nigga cums wit’ a buncha bullshit-ass mess…

“Yo, it’s Alley Cat.”

“Come again,” I ask, fuckin’ wit’ ’im. “You got da wrong number. I don’t know no nigga named Alley Cat.”

He laughs. “Well, in another six hours or so, you will. So you might as well start gettin’ ya sexy ass ready.”

“Get ready for what?” I ask, sittin’ up in bed. “I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you.”

Yeah, aiight, ma. Front if you want. You already know.”

“I don’t know nuthin’, muhfucka. So what you sayin’?”

He sucks his teeth, sighin’. “Yo, here you go. We already went through this shit. I told you yesterday I was comin’ through to scoop you. Ain’t shit changed, ma. So don’t play.”

“Who said I was playin’?”

“Gimme ya address, ma.”

I smirk. “Oh, so you really here in Jersey?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way to the crib as soon as I stop past my moms to see wassup wit’ her.” This is the first time I’ve ever heard him mention his moms. It dawns on me that all the times we’ve talked on the phone, I never asked the nigga where at in Jersey he rests; never asked ’im if he had any brothas or sistas. Come to think of it, we never really talked on some real shit. I decide to ask, but the muhfucka shuts it down. “Listen, all that social work shit you tryna get into ain’t important, right now; gettin’ ya address and snatchin’ you up is.”

“Nigga, I ain’t goin’ off wit’ a mufucka I don’t know shit about.”

“Aye, yo, stoppin’ makin’ ’xcuses; I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know tonight, when I see you.”

“Yeah, ohhhhkaaay. And don’t be thinkin’ ya nasty ass is gettin’ any of this pussy, either. ’Cause I’ma hate ta shut ya ass down.”

“C’mon, ma. Give a muhfucka more credit than that. I mean, yeah…I pop shit to you and whatnot. But, it ain’t that serious. Real talk, I might wanna get up in them hips. But, for now…I’m good, yo.”

Might? Oh, puhleeze, this nigga is frontin’ like hell. I laugh. “Yeah, right; whateva. Don’t gas me. If I threw this pussy up in ya face you’d be all up in it, tryna eat my ovaries out.”

He laughs. “Yo, you right, I might. But, check this. I get all the pussy, ass ’n throat I want. A muhfucka ain’t ever gotta sweat you for no pussy, and that’s some real shit.”

“Then we good.”

“No doubt, so where you rest at?”

“I’m not available,” I tell ’im, lyin’ back in bed.

“Yo, ma, what the fuck? Why you gotta make e’erything so fuckin’ difficult? I wanna see you, tonight. Not tomorrow, not next week, or the week after that. Tonight, you dig? And I’m not takin’ no for an answer. So stop bullshittin’ and tell a muhfucka where you rest…damn.”

Oh no this muhfucka didn’t. The nigga got me gaggin’. But I ain’t gonna front, either. The muhfucka’s aggression got’a bitch’s clit to twitch.

“Difficult?”

“Yeah, difficult. Do you need me to spell it for you, too?”

Oh this muhfucka is really pushin’ it. “Oh, hell no, nigga. You really tryna get da heat—”

“Yo’ hol’ up. Take that volume down, ma. All that ain’t necessary.”

“Muthafucka, you callin’ me; you pressin’ me. Don’t get it twisted, nigga.”

“You know what, you right. Fuck it. All a muhfucka’s tryna do is chill wit’ ya stuck up ass, but you too muthafuckin’ retarded…”

What the fuck? Is this muthafucka really tryna get it poppin’? “Muhfucka who is you talkin’—”

“Yo, on some real shit,” he snaps, “shut ya fuckin’ dick suckas. I’m talkin’ now. Dig this. I let you come at me all crazy ’n shit ’cause you mad sexy, and a nigga’s diggin’ you. But you not gonna keep comin’ at my neck anyway you want. All you wanna do is give a muhfucka ya ass to kiss. You got me fucked up, ya dig? You wanna be on some extra shit, then do you. But all that fucked up attitude you got is gonna keep ya ass lonely and miserable.”

The line goes dead.

“Hello? Hello?” I say, pullin’ the phone from my ear, starin’ at it. The screen reads: DISCONNECTED. “Ohmyfuckin’gaaaawd, this nigga hung up on me,” I say out loud, still holdin’ the phone ’n starin’ at it in my hand. “I don’t believe this shit.” And the nigga read ya ass for filth! This muthafucka actually cursed me out, then hung up on me. Now I’m pissed! “Who da fuck that black muthafucka think he is? I will straight take it to his ugly-ass face,” I’m snappin’ to myself. Bitch, stop frontin’. You just got finished sayin’ how fine da nigga is, now you callin’ his ass ugly. It’s ’bout time somebody brung it to ya ass.

Ten minutes later, my cell rings. I glance at the screen. I should let da shit go into voice mail. Of course, I don’t. “Yeah?” I answer wit’ ’tude.

“Yo, ma…let’s start this shit over. I apologize for comin’ at you like that. But, yo, you really know how’ta make a muhfucka crazy. Ya mouth is real extra, ma; for real.”

I ig the apology and the slick-ass comments. “Ummm, did we get disconnected?” I ask already knowin’ the answer, but I wanna hear the nigga say it.

“Nah, I hung up on you,” he coolly states. He sighs. “You ready to talk like you got some sense?”

“You know what, kiss my ass. You arrogant, egotistical, sonofa—”

He laughs. “Temper, temper. Why does this gotta be a big-ass production? All I wanna do is chill, blaze, and get to know you; no pressures. No bullshit. Is that too much for a muhfucka to ask for? Shit, I ain’t even had the pussy, yet. Don’t even know if the shit’s worth all the damn drama you be tryna bring.”

“Then step, muhfucka. Delete my shit, and make ya way onto da next.”

He laughs. “Yo, Kat, stop, aiight? You and I both know if you wasn’t beat for a muhfucka you wouldn’t be givin’ me all this air time. You a grown-ass woman, and I’ma grown-ass man, so wasssup…you givin’ me ya address or what?”

Bitch, you know you diggin’ the nigga, so get ova ya’self. I blow out a frustrated sigh. “What time you wanna pick me up?” I finally ask, surprisin’ myself.

“Aaaah, that’s wassup. Finally, we’re gettin’ somewhere!”

I suck my teeth. “Whaaaaateva.”

He laughs. “Yo, you a piece’a work, for real, ma. But check this. The nastier you are, the hornier I get, so how ’bout you try bein’ nicer so a muhfucka don’t have’ta walk around wit’ a hard dick all day.”

“Don’t press ya luck.” I give ’im my address. He tells me he’s scoopin’ me up at six. I glance at the clock. It’s already eleven in the morning. Shit, I’ma need to get my ass in gear if I plan on bein’ ready by then. “And don’t come up here ringin’ my doorbell all late ’n wrong, either. ’Cause a bitch ain’t one for waitin’ ’round for no nigga.”

“Yo, chill. You ain’t gotta stress ’bout shit like that; I’ma on time type nigga. The only thing I ever make a chick wait for is this hot, creamy nut, feel me?”

I suck my teeth. “Nigga, you are so full of ya’self.”

He laughs. “Yo, I’m keepin’ shit real.”

“Whateva,” I say, dismissin’ ’im. “Where you takin’ me?”

“Relax. I got this.”

“Relax hell. I need’a know how’ta dress.”

“All you need to know is you wit’ me.”

“That’s not—”

“See, that’s ya problem, ma,” he says, cuttin’ me off. “You don’t know how’ta go wit’ da flow.”