The Kat Trap

“What I tell ya’ll bitches?” Chanel announced all excited ’n shit in between pulls of her blunt. “I told ya’ll hoes this shit was gonna be live tonight. We ’bout to work the hell outta this spot.”

“I don’t know ’bout the rest of ya’ll, but I’m tryna run deep in a nigga’s pockets tonight. Drinks all night on his ass,” Iris replied, applyin’ a fresh coat of lip liner to her neatly painted lips.

“I heard that,” Tamia said, chucklin’. “And not that cheap shit either.”

I rolled my eyes. “I have my own paper,” I said, tossin’ my hair to the side. Bitches hated the fact that I didn’t need a weave or extensions or a perm. My shit was all natural, and I shitted on these chicks every time I let ’em know that with the toss of my head.

“And?” Iris asked, tiltin’ her head as if I’d said somethin’ foreign to her.

“And,” I said with much ’tude, “I can buy my own drinks. I’m not one of you hard- pressed bitches, lookin’ for a nigga to buy me drinks ’cause your asses are pinchin’ pennies.”

“Fuck you, trick,” Chanel said, takin’ another deep toke from the blunt, then passin’ it to Iris. She exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. Iris took two pulls, then offered it to Tamia.

“Nah, bitch, I’m good,” Tamia said. Iris handed it back to Chanel who took another hard pull, holdin’ the smoke in her lungs.

“No, tramp,” I said, closin’ my sunroof, then openin’ the door. “I’ma fuck you if you burn my seats back there, trick-ass hoes. Now, let’s roll.” Tamia and Chanel started laughin’ and chokin’, but I was serious as hell. That’s my girl and all, but I’d ram a blade in her ass real quick if need be.

There were three lines to get into the club, and each one was practically wrapped around the damn building. Around the back there was some sort of tent that led into another entrance, and that was overflowin’ and packed with niggas and bitches. Ain’t no way a bitch like me was standin’ in some busted-ass line.

“I hope one of you bitches is fuckin’ one of the bouncers ’cause I ain’t beat to be standin’ out here all night,” I said, scannin’ the area. I spotted a few thugged cuties, but nothin’ to write home ’bout. I peeped a group of low- budget bitches cuttin’ their eyes over at us, tryna take in our wears. Humph.

“No,” Iris said, grinnin’. “But I am fuckin’ one of the deejays.”

The rest of us looked at her, dumbfounded. “Bitch, then why is we standin’ out in this crab-ass line?” Chanel snapped, suckin’ her teeth.

“You know this ho gets brain-dead after she smokes a few trees,” I said, rollin’ my eyes at her simple ass. Iris had already found her first prey of the night and was standin’ to the side of us, spittin’ game to this nigga who was gazin’ into her eyes like a star-struck junkie. Hell, why wouldn’t he? On the outside lookin’ in, we were four fly bitches laced in the hottest shit, and didn’t fuck with no broke niggas, so it is what it is. I knew if his paper was long and he was spendin’, she would probably fuck him after the club, unless someone else came along with deeper pockets or a bigger dick.

Say what ya want. But, personally, I ain’t fuckin’ no nigga on the first or second night. Well, not a nigga who’s gonna live to tell about it. Let’s be clear. Yeah, I gets it in like the next bitch, but the niggas I waste don’t count ’cause ain’t none of ’em alive to kiss ’n tell shit about fuckin’ me. So I can fuck and suck and do whatever I want with ’em and never have to worry ’bout some chump-ass muhfucka tryna play me close. But if I’m straight fuckin’ a nigga on the bricks, it damn sure ain’t gonna be on the first night. I don’t care how wet my pussy gets, or how thick his dick gets. It ain’t gonna happen.

I glanced back over at Iris, then rolled my eyes. If a bitch wanna play herself, then…oh well.

“Fuck ya’ll,” Iris said, catchin’ the eye of one of the bouncers, a tall, caramel-coated nigga with a bald head and thick arms, lips, and what looked like big hands. He smiled over at her. “Hey, Len,” she said, wavin’. “Is my name on the guest list?”

“You already know,” he said, wavin’ us to come up to the front of the line. We followed Iris up the ramp, and heard teeth suckin’ and agitated grumblin’s. I looked back and smirked at the common bitches, then stepped inside the club where the beats were rockin’.

All night long, niggas were tryna get at us. Tamia and Chanel took a few numbers, but none of them niggas appealed to me. I wasn’t beat. Iris was up in the deejay’s booth with her new man toy. “I’m going over to the bar,” I yelled over the music. “You want anything?” I asked Chanel.

“Yeah, a shot of Ketel One and an apple martini,” she said. Tamia was on the dance floor, shakin’ her ass up on some buffed nigga rockin’ shoulder-length locks. The music was tight. Fabolous’s “Make Me Better” was pulsin’ through the huge speakers. I smiled at my girl slayin’ her dance partner on the floor as I made my way to the bar. I knew she wouldn’t be wantin’ any more drinks since she already sucked down her six-drink max. And I knew the bitch was lit the way she was bouncin’ and grindin’ her ass all up on dude’s dick.

While I waited for my order, I felt someone towerin’ over me, but paid it no mind. “Yo, ma, what you drinkin’?” a voice asked, leanin’ into my ear. His warm breath against my ear and the scent of his expensive cologne made my nipples harden. I slowly turned to face the nigga with the deep, panty-wettin’ voice in back of me, and parted a sly smile. The nigga was fine. He had smooth, cocoa-brown skin, big brown eyes, a thick nose, and nice, full, pussy-eatin’ lips. And when he smiled, he had straight white teeth and a sexy-ass dimple in his left cheek. I peeped the shine around his neck and wrist, and the rocks in his lobes. Yeah, the nigga was blingin’…just how I like ’em.

“Why, you payin’?”

“No doubt,” he said, grinnin’.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I got it, but I’ll buy you a drink,” I said, real sexy-like.

He smiled wider. “Nah, baby, I’m good.”

I licked my lips, roamin’ every inch of his body before lockin’ my eyes on the bulge in his pants. Although there wasn’t much light to really see what was good, there was something ’bout the way he stood that told me he was hangin’ just right. I smiled, stickin’ the tip of my tongue outta the side of my mouth. “I bet you are,” I said, brushin’ past him, leavin’ him with his tongue waggin’ as I headed back over to Chanel. Tamia was now sittin’ at the table, sippin’ on a drink.

“Bitch, where you been all this time?” Tamia asked, smilin’.

“In that long-ass line tryna get these drinks,” I said, handin’ Chanel her order.

“Thanks,” Chanel said, takin’ the shot straight to the head.

“Then this fine-ass nigga was tryna get his rap game on, but I gave him no play.”

Tamia rolled her eyes all dramatic and whatnot. “You are so fuckin’ tired with that bullshit. You’re gonna end up an old-ass maid with a dried-up, dusty-ass pussy if you don’t stop tryna be so stuck the fuck up. How the hell you think you’re gonna get some dick, actin’ all stank anytime a nigga tries to get at you?”

I flipped her the finga. “For your information, ho, I gets dick, trust. I don’t let you vultures know ’bout it.” Well, what I said really wasn’t a lie. I mean, I was fuckin’. I was killin’ the niggas afterward. Still, I was gettin’ dick, and that’s all that mattered.

Chanel giggled. “Yeah, you fuckin’ alright. Fuckin’ the skin off them damn fingas.” Tamia fell out laughin’. Just then, the nigga from the bar was comin’ toward our table, grinnin’.

“Who the fuck is that fine-ass muhfucka right there?” Chanel questioned, tossin’ her head in his direction, then sittin’ up in her seat. “My God, that nigga looks like he’s paid out the ass. I’d fuck him on the spot.”

I smirked. “I know your nasty, trick ass would. He’s the nigga who was at the bar. And I’m—”

He stepped up in our space and locked his gaze on me. “How you ladies doin’?” he asked, lockin’ his gaze on me. Everyone said their hellos, practically ready to suck and fuck him, then zoomed in on me. All eyes on me, bitches, I thought. “So can I at least get a dance since I couldn’t buy you a drink?”

I grinned, eyein’ his ass down. “That depends.” I licked my lips.

“On?”

“Whether or not you can move.”

He rubbed his chin, flashin’ his beautiful teeth again. I was one of the few bitches who hated niggas who had their grill fronts all chromed and iced out. That shit looked so nasty and country to me. And a nigga with a mouth full of teeth that looked like piano keys, or like he’s been gnawin’ on bricks, was a no-no. “I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“Then I guess I will,” I said, gettin’ up from my seat and followin’ him to the dance floor. I looked back at Chanel and Tamia, then stuck my tongue out. We found a spot on the floor and started doin’ the damn thing to Beyonce’s “Get Me Bodied.” Before I knew it, I was poppin’ my hips and droppin’ down real low, lettin’ this nigga know what time it was. It had been so long since I’d been out that I almost forgot how good it felt to be out shakin’