The Kat Trap

sightseein’, and see what was really good there. Mmm, I could really use some dick. “When?” I asked, slippin’ on my silk robe, then slidin’ my feet into my slippers. I opened up the glass door to the balcony, then stood in the middle of the doorway and let the cool mornin’ air rush in. My nipples hardened under my robe.

“Like yesterday.”

“Send me the paperwork. And if I accept, I want my money—”

“I know, I know. I got you.”

“Humph,” I grunted. “Make sure you do, Cash. I’m really not beat for cussin’ ya black ass out again.”

He laughed. “Yeah, keep talkin’ nasty. You know that shit gets my dick hard.”

I rolled my eyes and igged his ass. But I had heard his ugly ass had a long, thick, juicy, black dick, though. Ugh. The thought of that fat, nasty nigga smashin’ me down into a mattress, smotherin’ me and sweatin’ and gruntin’ on top of me, made my stomach turn. But the freak-nasty bitch in me wanted to see the nigga’s dick. I shook away the thought.

“Expect ya package sometime this afternoon,” he said. “Then hit me back when you look the shit over.”

“Aiight,” I said.

“Right back,” he snapped.

“I heard you, damn!”

“Oh, aiight…One!”

“Later.” I said, disconnectin’ the call.

I went downstairs and fixed myself two scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, four slices of turkey bacon, then sliced some cantaloupe and strawberries. When e’erything was ready, I pulled out a stool and sat at my counter, then dug in while flippin’ through my latest edition of Sister 2 Sister. I thought ’bout sparkin’ a blunt, but decided it was too early in the day to get lifted. Besides, I needed to cut down on smokin’. That shit was startin’ to fuck my memory up. And a bitch can’t have that.

Three hours later, my package arrived and just as I was gettin’ ready to go through it, my private line rang. I looked at the number and smiled. It was Grant. “Hello,” I answered, tossin’ the envelope on the counter. I’ll get to this shit later.

“Yo, what’s good, pretty baby? Can a nigga get some love today? I’m tryna come through and scoop you.”

“Oh yeah, and do what?” I asked.

“Come on, ma. Don’t play. You already know.”

“What, you tryna get ya dick wet or somethin’? ’Cause if ya are, I ain’t the one.”

He laughed. “Nah, baby, I ain’t on it like that. I’ma grown-ass man; if a nigga wanna get up in some pussy, I’ll tell ya straight up.”

“Hmm. Yeah, okay. So, where ya tryna take me, ’cause ya ass ain’t sittin’ up in my spot.”

“Let’s start with dinner. Let me get ya address and I’ll be through around six.”

“Where you comin’ from?” I asked, tryna decide if I wanted him all up in my face tonight. It was bad enough I never called him when I got back from Chicago, and I didn’t pick up when he called back last night. I can be real funny-style when it comes to niggas. Besides, once ya ass is always accessible to a muhfucka, he starts expectin’ the shit. I ain’t the one. I learned never let a muhfucka know he got ya ass on lock, otherwise he starts takin’ ya ass for granted. Then I gotta dump a clip in his ass. Besides, he seemed like the type who liked for chicks to be all up on his nuts. Well, that’s cute ’n all. But a bitch like me ain’t beat for sweatin’ no nigga’s balls.

“Newark,” he said. I pursed my lips. Hmm, I thought. What the hell. I gave him my address and directions to my spot. “Bet. I’ll see ya at six, sharp.”

“I’ll be ready. But if ya a minute late, it’s a wrap. A bitch like me don’t wait on a nigga for nothin’.”

“I hear ya, baby. But be clear. A nigga like me ain’t tryna have ya wait.”

“Yeah, that’s what ya mouth says.”

“And that’s what it is. Oh, and wear something sexy.”

I laughed. “Oh, what…you ain’t know? Nigga, I was born sexy.”

“Oh, my bad,” he said, laughin’. “I forgot who I was fuckin’ with.”

“Exactly,” I responded. We said our good-byes, then I ran my ass upstairs to figure out what the hell I was gonna wear. It was a little after eleven, so I had seven hours to show this nigga how a sexy bitch rocks it. I made a quick phone call to my girl Gabby’s salon in SoHo to get my hair done, along with a mani and pedi. Thank God she was able to fit me in. There was nothin’ worse than a chick tryna be fierce with chipped fingernails and man hands and a pair of gorilla feet. I grabbed my keys and bounced out the door.

At exactly six p.m., my doorbell rang. I checked myself in the wall mirror and winked. My cinnamon skin was flawless. No need for makeup; just a splash of lip gloss to accentuate my already pillowy-soft lips. And my silky, naturally long hair hung past my shoulders. I opened the door, smilin’. I ain’t gonna front. The nigga was finer than I remembered. He was dipped in a bangin’ black Versace button-up and black slacks that hung just right and clung in all the right spots. I peeped the bulge behind his zipper and grinned. I was glad I decided to wear a black Yves Saint Laurent jersey halter set—fortunately for me, my titties didn’t sag or flop all over the place so I could go braless— with a pair of black Louis Vuitton six-inch stilettos. I started to rock one of my diamond necklaces, but decided against it. I didn’t wanna overdo it. So I kept it cute, and stuck in my diamond hoop earrings. The nigga stood in my doorway, droolin’. “Is this sexy enough?” I asked, slowly turnin’ around, givin’ him a nice front and back view of my bangin’ body. Yeah, I was teasin’ the nigga, oh well. “Can you put this on for me?” I asked, handin’ him my tennis bracelet.

“Hell yeah,” he said, takin’ the bling and claspin’ it around my wrist. “You killin’ it, baby.”

“Good,” I said, throwin’ my hips and bouncin’ my ass—just enough to let him know what was poppin’ underneath my wears as I walked toward my dinin’ room table. “I just need to get my bag, then I’ll be ready to bounce.” I felt his eyes on me as they followed the outline of my hips, trailed along the humps of my juicy ass. I grabbed my black and white Dooney & Bourke, set my alarm, then followed him out the door.

“So, where you takin’ me?” I asked, slidin’ into the passenger seat of his Bentley Arnage RL. The smell of fresh money filled the car’s cabin and made my nipples harden. I immediately pressed my legs together to keep my pussy from suckin’ in my thong. A nigga caked up always got me wet. Still, although I was impressed with the nigga’s whip, I kept it cute and acted like I’d been ridin’ in one all my life. I learned a long time ago to never let a nigga think he’s schoolin’ you on shit. Just sit back ’n act as if ya was born to live it. Yeah, this nigga was paid. But the beauty of it all was that a bitch like me didn’t need his paper. I smiled. I had come a long way from the days of needin’ a nigga.

“Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride, baby,” he said, flashin’ his sexy smile. He started the engine, then backed out of my driveway. “No need for a bunch of questions. Let a real nigga show you how it’s done.”

I did what I was told, sat back, and got comfy in my seat. I smiled when Teedra Moses’ “Take Me” came on. “What you know ’bout Teedra?” I asked, shiftin’ my body toward him. I was impressed. “A lot of peeps are sleepin’ on her.”

“Yeah, she’s kinda dope,” he said, glancin’ over at me.

I smiled. “I’m surprised.”

“’bout what?” he asked.

“That a rugged nigga like you digs her,” I answered. “You don’t seem like the type that would know anything ’bout her.”

“Wow,” he said, laughin’. “Well, stick with me, baby, there’s a lot more surprises in store. ’Cause I ain’t ya average cat. Don’t get me wrong. I can rock it hardcore with the best of ’em, but every now and then I wanna hear that soft, sexy shit, feel me?”

I laughed. “I feel ya, daddy. I ain’t mad. I guess it doesn’t hurt that she’s also pretty.”

“Yeah, she is. But she can’t hold a candle to you, baby.”

“Good answer,” I said, smilin’.

I leaned back in my seat, then sang along quietly to “You Better Tell Her” when it came through the stereo. I felt him stealin’ glances at me while he drove, but I kept my eyes straight ahead, starin’ at the road and swayin’ to the music. E’ery now and then I gave him sideways glances on the low, tryna figure out what was really good with this nigga’s flow.