Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

get…mmmmmm…”

He lifts up and, somehow, in one swift move the muhfucka has me lifted up off’a the bed and he’s standin’ up, fuckin’ a bitch for filth. He dips at the knees, thrusts his dick up in me while slam-min’ me down on it. Long strokin’ my pussy; feedin’ my cat deliciously. I lay back on his chest, reach down ’n play wit’ my clit, and let the muhfucka rock my pussy ’til my cream shoots out and runs down the shaft of his thick dick, and along his balls.

“Daaaaamn, I need’a blunt,” he says, catchin’ his breath. “That shit was good as hell. You gotta muhfucka hooked, wit’ that fat, juicy pussy.”

I laugh, reachin’ for a blunt. I spark it, then take two pulls, slowly blowin’ smoke. “Nigga, puhleeze. Picture that.” But, a bitch already knows she got that bomb-ass pussy.

I hand ’im the blunt. He shifts his body, raises up on his forearm, and takes it from me. I watch ’im pull it up to his thick lips, and puff. He looks at me. He strokes my hair, then rubs the side of my face. “Look, ma, I don’t know what it is ’bout you, but a muhfucka’s really diggin’ you.” I raise my brow. “What?”

I shake my head.

“Yo, you think I’m bullshittin’, don’t you?”

“I think you’ll say whateva you think I wanna hear at da moment.” I take the blunt from ’im.

“Nah,” he leans in, kisses me on the lips, then stares me in the eyes. “True story, baby. You gotta muhfucka open.”

I blink, blink again. Shake my head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“I tell you what. You don’t believe me. Let me introduce you to da only woman whose ever meant anything to me. She’ll keep da shit funky and tell you what it is.”

“Oh, really? And who is that?” He takes another pull off’a the blunt, leans ova me, puttin’ it out in the ashtray, then blows weed smoke up at the ceilin’. “Well, muhfucka, who is it?”

He grins. “My moms. E’ery Sunday I have dinner wit’ ’er. I want you to meet ’er. She’s as real as they get, and she’s a good cook. She ain’t gonna front on you.”

I twist my lips up. “And you want me to meet ’er?”

“No doubt.” He gets outta bed. I watch ’im as he walks ova to his pile of clothes. He pulls out his cell. “I’ma put it on speaker so you can hear it for ya’self since you think a muhfucka’s front-in’ on you.” I sit up in bed, proppin’ a pillow up in back’a me. He shakes his dick at me while the phone rings. I roll my eyes. “And when I’m done wit’ this, I want some more’a that pussy, too.”

“Whateva.”

“Oh, you finally decide to call,” a woman says, soundin’ like she gotta taste of the streets in ’er.

He smiles. “You know I was gonna be hittin’ you up, sooner or later.”

“Mmmph, so who you whorin’ wit’ now, and where?”

I give ’im a look, shakin’ my head. “He laughs, starin’ at me. “No one, ma. I’m chillin’.”

“Yeah, right. And I’m goin’ blind.”

“Nah, real talk, ma. I’m good. But there is someone I want you to meet.”

It sounds like she’s chokin’ on sumthin’. “Say, whaaat? You want me to meet who, a woman?”

He laughs. “Yeah, ma.”

“Who is she?”

He looks at me. “This beauty I’m diggin’.” I suck my teeth, rollin’ my eyes up in my head.

“Who?” she asks, soundin’ shocked. He repeats himself. “I thought that’s what I heard you say. Are you alright? Have you banged ya head on something?”

“Yeah, ma, I’m good. And no I ain’t banged my head. Why?”

“Boy, something must be wrong ’cause you ain’t never called here wantin’ me to meet any of your lil’ girlfriends.”

He keeps his eyes on me. Okay, so the nigga ain’t neva brought any of his hoes ova to meet his moms. I can’t front. I’m caught off guard wit’ this. I’ve neva met any nigga’s moms before. Still, I’m smart enough to know that that shit still don’t mean nuthin’.

“Yo, ma, they weren’t girlfriends.”

“I know them lil’ hot-ass hoes weren’t. I’m tryna be nice today. Does this beauty you want me to meet have a name?”

“Yeah, Kat.”

“Kat? What kinda damn name is that?”

He looks ova at me. I raise my brow, twistin’ my lips up. “Yo, ma, chill. That’s her nickname. It’s Katrina.”

“Mmmph. That’s more like it. Does Katrina know ’bout all them nasty-ass hoes you…” I grin, startin’ to like’ ’er already. He takes ’er off’a speaker.

“Yo, ma, chill, aiight. I gotta bounce. I’ma be thru Sunday… yes, I’m bringin’ ’er wit’ me…Aiight, aiight, I got you…See you Sunday…love you, too.” He turns his phone off, walkin’ back ova to the bed, holdin’ his dick ’n grinnin’. “Now what?”

I smirk, spreadin’ my legs ’n pullin’ open my pussy. “You tell me, muhfucka.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Family is overrated…hoes been hatin’…dislikin’ da facts a bitch been statin’…bringin’ it raw… gotta bitch wantin’ ta throw up da hands…fuck bein’ related…step outta pocket…a bitch knockin’ sockets…breakin’ jaws…ain’t shit to understand…

“Ohmiiiiiiifuckin’gaawd, Kat, you are really outta fuckin’ control cursin’ ya grandmoms out like that. That shit is straight disrespectful ’n nasty.”

Me and Chanel are chillin’ at my spot, doin’ what we do best. Blazin’ ’n poppin’ mad shit ’n cursin’ each otha out. I finally decided to fill ’er in on the rest of the hospital drama wit’ my nutty-ass family. As you already know, Chanel’s my only true friend. And I got mad love for the ho ’cause, on e’ery thing, she ain’t gonna tell me what the fuck she thinks I wanna hear; she’s gonna serve it to me just how I dish it to ’er—raw. Still, a bitch ain’t always tryna hear the shit. And today happens to be one’a those days.

I roll my eyes, flickin’ my hand. “Oh, well. Life’s a bitch, boo. She had no business comin’ at me da way she did.”

“It doesn’t make a difference how she came at you, bitch. That’s still ya grandmother.”

“Bitch, be clear. I’ma grown-ass woman; I don’t give a fuck who it is. You bring it to me wrong, you gonna get handled. You act like I come at these hoes tryna bring da noise. No, sweetie. A bitch stays mindin’ ’er own business. But these bitches stay tryna serve me. Sorry, boo-boo, I ain’t da fuckin’ one.” I take another puff of the blunt, then pass it back to ’er.

“Kat, c’mon, ya grandmoms? It’s one thing you dissin’ ya moms and ya aunts, but ya grandmoms. That’s some foul shit. No matter what, she’s da one person you ’posed to always respect.”

“Says who?” I get up from table to check on the lasagna I have in the oven. Yeah, believe it or not, a bitch cooked. I remove the foil so it can brown on top, then start choppin’ up da lettuce, then slicin’ cucumbers for our salad. “Tell me what handbook that shit’s written in so I can smack da shit outta da bitch who wrote it.”

She huffs. “Bitch, there ain’t no damn handbook. You ’posed to respect ya elders; period, point-blank.”

I tilt my head. “Again, says who?” When she can’t give me an answer that makes sense to me, I add, “News flash, Sugah: It’s kinda hard ta respect a bitch who ain’t neva did shit for you. When a bitch ran away from home ’cause I couldn’t take all da bullshit Juanita was into anymore, that old-ass ho told me I couldn’t stay wit’ ’er. Da bitch told me she didn’t have any room for me. But she had room for all’a Elise’s kids when ’er ass was in prison. I came to that bitch cryin’ ’n she flat out told me ta take my ass back home. Didn’t say I could stay for da night, then go home; nuthin’. She straight out told me I couldn’t stay there; that a bitch wasn’t welcomed there. And you expect me to respect ’er. Fuck outta here. Grandmother or not, she can lick da inside’a my asshole. And I’ll leave it