other, and were both the only children of single moms who were Spanish, though her mother was full Puerto Rican. And they had both gotten knocked by a stiff black dick, so we shared a special connection and understanding of each other. It didn’t hurt that she was also a fly chick with curly brown ringlets that bounced off her shoulders when she walked. And her body was almost as tight as mine. With her beautiful caramel-coated complexion, big brown doe-like eyes, and a beauty mole bitches dream of having over the right corner of her full lips, she looked fresh off the cover of a damn magazine. Chick was definitely a dime; but not quite as hot as me. I ain’t hatin’. I’m just sayin’. That’s my girl, fuck what ya heard. I’m keepin’ shit real. Still at the end of the day, if I wasn’t mad cool with her ass, or if I was one of them weak bitches worried ’bout the next bitch, chick could and would be a serious problem.
“I hate ya stank ass,” she said, laughin’. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ no broke niggas.”
“Oh, I forgot. They ain’t broke. Them niggas cheap as hell!”
“Least I’m fuckin’. Shit. You still ridin’ them fingas.”
“Yep, I sure am,” I snapped, laughin’. “And them fingas know how to push the button and keep my pussy wet; and I ain’t got to worry ’bout some nigga short-changin’ me, either. Now, what’s your excuse, ho? And what you want, anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…whatever! Anyway, I was callin’ ya ass to see if you wanna meet up for drinks tonight, but since you all ghost on a bitch, scratch it. Hit me up when you touch Jersey.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“So, what’s good with that nigga pushin’ the Bentley? He get at you yet, or what?”
“Nah,” I lied. Yeah, she my girl and all, but her pussy gets wet like mines. And chick likes to fuck like the next bitch. I had already peeped how she was tryna clock him in the club and out in the parkin’ lot, so I already know what time it is. Until a nigga’s ya man, it’s open season. And a bitch in heat is always lookin’ for prey. She don’t care who else got their eye on it, get caught sleepin’ and she’s gonna swoop down on the dick and take ya spot. A hood bitch is always schemin’. It is what it is. “If he calls, he calls. If not, it’s whatever,” I said, sittin’ at the foot of the king-sized bed. I leaned back on my forearm, then spread open my legs to let the cool air in the room hit my pussy. My nipples got hard as ice.
“I heard that. But the nigga was
“Actually, I’m not,” I said, lyin’ outta my ass, ’cause on some real shit, I already knew I was gonna fuck him the first chance I got. But since e’erything ain’t for e’erybody, there was no need for her to know that. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back tryna imagine him between my legs long strokin’ this tight pussy. I ran my hand over my slit, then teased my clit with my two fingas.
“Girl, I don’t know why not. That’s the first thing I thought when I peeped him. The nigga looks like he got some bangin’ dick. You need to stop frontin’ and go ’head get you a taste.”
See, I learned a long time ago that sometimes ya gotta know when to sit back, keep ya grill shut, and listen. Let a bitch flap her jaws ’cause if ya listen long and hard enough, she’s gonna slip up. “Hmm…maybe,” I said, pullin’ my fingas outta my pussy and off my clit, then lickin’ ’em. “But since you sound so ready to ride his dick down into the mattress, I’ma tell ya what. How ’bout you fuck him and let me know what’s really good.”
“If ya don’t want ’em, I might,” she said, gigglin’. I didn’t even know the nigga, didn’t even know if he was a good fuck or not, and for some reason I was startin’ to get vexed that this bitch was seriously thinkin’—or fuckin’ jokin—’bout tryna get at him. But I kept my shit in check, and let her ass keep talkin’.
“Well, the nigga ain’t my man,” I admitted. “It’s open invitation, right? So do you.”
“Nah, girl, you know I don’t get down like that. I’d never do you like that. Another bitch, most def. But you my muthafuckin’ peeps. You can try ’n front if ya want, but I know you was clockin’ his ass. But, I ain’t gonna front. A bitch could really use an upgrade on some dick ’cause Divine’s shit ain’t hittin’ on nuthin’. The dick is thick as hell, but the nigga nuts in like six minutes. And he can’t eat pussy to save his natural black ass. I swear if it wasn’t for him payin’ the note on this truck, I’d dismiss his ass.”
I rolled my eyes up in my head. I hated when a chick dissed a nigga who was takin’ care of her ass. Lousy fuck or not, a bitch needs to know when to keep her mouth shut. What might be a whack piece of dick to her, may be exactly what the next bitch needs to get off. I tell ya, some bitches ’bout as dumb as they come. They really think a wicked head game and a deep pussy is gonna put them on top. Yeah, maybe for a minute, but ya best believe once the verdict is out on the streets that ya ass is a trick, ya rep is a wrap. Believe that. Real niggas ain’t tryna wife no hoes. Yeah, he gonna fuck her, might even splash up in her raw. He might even keep her laced in the hottest shit, but at the end of the day, she still gonna be a damn ho to him, real talk. And niggas run their mouths worse than bitches, especially when it comes to who’s suckin’ ’n fuckin’ who.
Over the past two years, Chanel’s been really gettin’ it in with these niggas. Ever since she got played by this big-Willy nigga she was fuckin’, she been straight wildin’ out with the niggas. Divine is like the fourth nigga she’s fucked in the last six months tryna keep her bills ’n shit paid. That shit is straight nasty to me. Get ya ass up and get a damn job! I mean, there’s nothin’ wrong with slayin’ a nigga’s pockets, but it’s a dumb bitch who lets that shit be her only hustle. And these bitches kill me with no credit, no savin’s, nothin’ to fall back on. If they got credit, it’s either maxed the fuck out or fucked up; and if they got a few dollars stashed, it’s just that—a few damn measly dollars, nothin’ major.
“Chanel, you do know you a certified trick, right? I mean, really. What the fuck! You sound like a real bird. What you need to do is find ya’self a hobby, take ya ass back to school, do somethin’ constructive with ya’self instead of bobbin’ ya neck up and down a nigga’s dick, and chasin’ niggas to support ya ass.”
Oh, trust. I know if a nigga wanna trick his money on some pussy or brain, then oh fuckin’ well. I think a real bitch holds shit down for herself, by herself. She knows how to make her paper, and get it poppin’ without leanin’ on a dick to do it. Hell, I know what I’m doin’ is far worse than what she’s doin’. But say what ya want. I’d rather slump niggas for a livin’ than have them hump up in my guts for one. I might be many things, but a gold digger ain’t ever gonna be one of ’em. I don’t need a nigga lacin’ me with ice ’n shit, payin’ my mortgage, car note, or anything else, ’cause a bitch like me buys her own shit.
“Say what ya want,” she said, soundin’ offended. “Hustlin’ these niggas
“Do you, sweetie,” I said, gettin’ heated listenin’ to her stupid ass. “But tell me this. What’s really good with a bitch who—after all the fuckin’ and all the suckin’ is done—has nothin’ to show for givin’ up her ass other than rug burns, a wet hole, and some shit that ya had to whore for? What’s really good with a bitch with a pussy the size of a parkin’ garage because she done let every muhfuckin’ wanna-be balla run all up in her so she can get laced? Bitch, you bigga than that, that’s all I’m sayin’. Get ya mind right.”
“Yeah, whatever!”
On the real, the only reason I was comin’ at her neck is ’cause she’s my fuckin’ peoples. Otherwise I wouldn’t give a fuck. Do you. See, unlike Tamia and Iris, Chanel not only has street smarts, but the bitch is bright as hell. That makes her ass a serious threat. She graduated top in our class, and hustlin’ niggas is all the bitch wants. She could be a lawyer, engineer, whatever! Humph. If her ass stopped trickin’ for a minute she might see what I’m sayin’. But right now she’s too wrapped up in a nigga’s dick stroke and his pockets. Like my mother always said, “The smartest bitch can still be the dumbest bitch.” And there ya have it!
“That nigga Divine is big on ya ass, Chanel. The nigga don’t cheat on ya. And if he does, he keeps that shit tucked on the low. He don’t bring drama to ya ass. He don’t call ya out ya name, and keeps ya ass laced. And that still ain’t good enough. You still got ya eyes and mind shiftin’ to the next nigga. Keep up, and ya gonna find ya’self like the rest of them greedy bitches…with
“Bitch, I ain’t call ya ass for no damn lecture.”
“Whatever.” I was done.
“And what is it you do again, huh, tramp? None of us seem to know since ya always top secret ’n shit.”
I had to laugh to myself. A real bitch moved in silence. Thought she knew. Girls or not, the less they knew the better. The last thing I needed was one of them hoes sittin’ around drinkin’ and smokin’ and blastin’ off at the mouth. Then before ya know it I got feds ’n shit sniffin’ ’round like fiends tryna be all up on mine. It’s bad enough I have to watch how I make moves. Can’t be flashin’ and shinin’ and tryna buy up too much shit without havin’ some way to explain how I can afford it. Them feds got eyes and ears everywhere, listenin’ and clockin’ niggas. Lucky for me, my moms got major paper from her accident a few years back, so I can say she hit me off with gifts ’n shit. But still, a bitch gotta know how to move.
