Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“Okay, so basically you ain’t beat for a relationship?”

“Nah, I haven’t been. On some real shit, I’ve always thought relationships were whack, feel me.”

Wow, this nigga’s head is all fucked up. “Okay and now?”

He shrugs. “The verdict is still out.” He winks at me, grinnin’. “But who knows. That might change.”

I laugh. “Oh, puhleeze don’t let it be on my account ’cause I ain’t lookin’ for a relationship. And if I were it wouldn’t be wit’ you.”

“Ouch,” he says, clutchin’ his chest. “You sure know how’ta stab a nigga in the heart.”

I laugh. “Oh, you’re a big boy. I’m sure you’ll get over it. Fact is you ain’t built to be wit’ one chick. And a bitch like me ain’t willin’ly sharin’ a nigga wit’ another bitch.”

“Yeah, you right. At least that’s how it’s been. But maybe a muhfucka’s ready to try sumthin’ different.”

“Yeah, like some new pussy.”

He laughs. “Nah…like tryin’ out the whole monogamy thing; you know…see if it works.”

“Trust, it works only when two muhfuckas want it to,” I tell ’im. “Personally, I rather a muhfucka tell me he wants to fuck other bitches than goin’ out there gettin’ his creep on tryna play me sideways.”

“I feel you.” He takes a sip of his water, then studies me. “Do you think muhfuckas can really change, or they just stop doin’ shit for the moment?”

I purse my lips, think ’bout my own life. Think ’bout how I stepped outta the killin’ game; how I miss it. Still ache ’n crave for it. I slowly nod. “Yeah, I guess they can. It may not be easy. But, if they really wanna, then yeah.”

“On some real shit, all my life I’ve been ’round muhfuckas who didn’t give a damn ’bout a relationship. My pops married my moms but kept a string of jumpoffs. He even took me wit’ ’im while he went to one’a his hoes’ spots to fuck ’em. Then he’d buy me shit to keep quiet. I never told anyone this, but a few of ’em he let top me off when I was mad young.” He chuckles. “Damn, a muhfucka must really dig you ’cause I can’t believe I’m sittin’ here tellin’ you all this.” He pauses, shakin’ his head. “On some real shit, I see a buncha miserable muhfuckas caught up in what they call a relationship and they still out doin’ them; lyin’ and fuckin’ ’round on each other. I ain’t beat for that shit.”

“I feel you on that. Niggas ain’t shit.”

“Bitches, either,” he adds.

“Mmmph,” I grunt, glancin’ down at my wrist to peep the time. I can’t believe it’s almost nine o’clock. The waiter returns wit’ the check. Alex looks at the bill, then pulls out his wallet. I pull out mine as well, and toss a hunnid on the table.

“Yo, ma, put that back. I got this.”

I smirk. “I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”

“It’s not,” he says, handin’ me my money back. “But tomorrow night will be.”

“Nigga, puhleeeze, who said I wanted to see you again?”

He grins, shakin’ his head as he slides two crisp Ben Frankies in wit’ the check. “Yeah aiight. Whatever, yo. I ain’t tryna hear that shit.”

I laugh, followin’ behind ’im out the door to his whip. My Gawd, I think, peepin’ his walk, this bowlegged muhfucka walks like he got some big-ass cow balls.

“YO, I HAD’A REAL NICE TIME WIT’ YOU TONIGHT,” HE TELLS ME as he’s pullin’ up in my driveway.

“Yeah, it was kinda aiight,” I say jokin’ly. “You ain’t a half bad muhfucka.”

He laughs. “Yo, one some real shit, I’ma good dude. I’m glad you came to ya senses and stopped all that frontin’ like you wasn’t beat for the kid.”

“Aiight, muhfucka, you got that. I ain’t gonna front, ya conceited ass is fine and all, but you too over ya’self. And I still think ya ass is mad trouble.”

“Baby, I’m good trouble. Good dick, good tongue, good fuckin’, good nuttin’…I’m all ’round good, ma; true story.”

“OhhhhmiiiiiGod, you are so full of ya’self,” I say, openin’ the car door. “I’m out. Thanks for the meal.” He jumps outta his whip comin’ ova to me. “Nigga, what you doin’?” I ask, steppin’ back, placin’ a hand on my hip.

He grins. “Damn, ma. Put the claws in. I’m only walkin’ you to the door.”

I laugh, reachin’ inside my bag to get my keys. “Muhfucka, my door’s right here in front of us,” I say, pointin’ in its direction. “You coulda sat in the car and watched me go in.”

He grins, placin’ his hand on the small of my back as we walk. “Maybe a muhfucka’s really feelin’ you and ain’t tryna see the night end.”

“Well, maybe, all good things gotta come to an end.”

“Not all good things,” he says, steppin’ into my space. I step back, backin’ into my door. He looks down at me, slowly pullin’ in his bottom lip. “You sexy as fuck, ma. I don’t know what it is ’bout you, but I ain’t gonna rest ’til I figure it out.” He leans in to kiss me, but a bitch shuts that shit down. Bitch, keep it cute. You know this muhfucka ain’t shit.

Yeah, but a bitch want some dick.

Then fuck ’im ’n keep it movin’.

No, not tonight!

“Oh, really?” I ask, stoppin’ him wit’ the palm of my hand up on his chest to hold his ass back from pressin’ all up on me. “Well, the only thing you should be tryna figure out is ya way back home; so good night.”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiiight. I’ma be findin’ my way back to you tomorrow night at six so make sure you’re ready.”

“I got plans,” I tell ’im, openin’ my door tryna hide my grin. Truth is I don’t have shit planned, but I’m not ’bout to make it easy for this muhfucka to get at me. Bein’ at a nigga’s beck ’n call ain’t what a fly bitch like me does. And, trust. A butter bitch like me won’t be home.

“Cancel ’em.”

“I don’t think so; wrong answer.”

“Then I’ma be sittin’ out this muhfucka waitin’ for you to come home.”

I shake my head. “And ya ass’s gonna be out here lookin’ like a damn fool,” I tell ’im.

“Yo, you heard what I said. I’ma be here at six.”

“Muhfucka, and you heard what I said. Now good night.” I shut the door in his face, makin’ my way upstairs to get outta these clothes, pull up Spartacus on On Demand, and ride the shit outta a dildo ’cause that black muhfucka got’a bitch’s pussy boilin’.

SEVEN A.M. MY CELL STARTS GOIN’ OFF NONSTOP, AND A BITCH’S pissed she didn’t mute the shit. I reach for it off the nightstand, glancin’ at the screen. It’s a 347 area code number that I don’t recognize. I press IGNORE. Three seconds later, the same number calls back. “Yeah?”

“Kat, when the fuck you bringin’ ya selfish ass back to Brooklyn to see ’bout your moms?”

The voice catches me off-guard. “Whaat? Who da fuck is this?”

“It’s ya aunt Rosa, bitch. Don’t play stupid. You know my damn voice. Now why the fuck nobody can get in touch wit’ ya disrespectful ass? What da fuck you changin’ ya numbers for ’n shit?”

A bitch is too fuckin’ through. And not in the muthafuckin’ mood, okay?! She’s one’a the last bitches I wanna hear from. “How the fuck did you get my number?” I ask, swingin’ my comforter off, then sittin’ up on the side’a the bed. I realize it’s a stupid ass question, knowin’ damn well Chanel’s stupid ass gave it to ’er. I’ma fuckin’ curse that retarded bitch out for filth!

She starts spazzin’. “Bitch, ya muthafuckin’ mother is in the goddamn hospital on life support and the only fuckin’ thing you worryin’ ’bout is how the fuck I got ya number, is you fuckin’ serious?”

“Yeah, Rosa, I am. And what?”

“Rosa? Oh, bitch you done ran off and got real glossy callin’ me some muthafuckin’ Rosa. I’m ya aunt, ho.”

“Sweetie, you ain’t shit to me. And for da record, I’ve always been shinin’. So, yeah, I’m real glossy, ho. Now how can I help you? You got three minutes to say what you need’a say and then get da fuck up off my line.”

She gasps. “Bitch, I’ma fuck—”

“Two minutes and forty-seven seconds,” I warn, cuttin’ her off. “Say what da fuck you called to say, and be