So, here it is almost six o’clock in the evening, the house is quiet as hell and I’m up in my room, chillin’—kicked back in my boxers, blazin’ a blunt and burnin’ incense ’round the room—watchin’ the flick The Kinsley Report when there’s a knock on the door. Thinkin’ it’s Pops, I put out the blunt and get up to open the door. Although Pops has never cared ’bout me blazin’ in the house, outta respect I don’t do the shit ’round ’im. I swing the door open, and almost pass the fuck out. To my surprise—and muthafuckin’ dismay—Sherria is standin’ on the other side of the door, scowlin’.
Fuck! First of all, how the hell she know where to find me? And, second, how the hell she get in? I’m the only one up in this piece, so I know Pops couldna let her in. Or did he? Nah, dude wouldna let her come upstairs like that. I start buggin’ and thinkin’ this crazy-ass trick done broke in. That’s the last thing I fuckin’ need, word up. “What the fuck?”
“Oh, what, you thought it was one of ya other bitches? Well, surprise, surprise, nigga. It ain’t.”
“Yo, how the fuck you know where to find me?”
“Don’t worry ’bout that,” she snaps, foldin’ her arms ’cross her juicy double-D’s. Images of my dick in between ’em pop in my head, and I feel my dick startin’ to awaken. I quickly shake the thought before I forget the reason I’m not fuckin’ wit’ her ass anymore. She’s one of those controllin’, miserable bitches who got wrapped up wit’ a few muhfuckas that cheated on her, lied to her, and pushed her biscuit in one time too many in her life. So she’s angry wit’ e’ery livin’, breathin’ muhfucka on earth. “I told you I knew where you stayed. A bitch like me did her homework. I asked around and followed you. Now are you gonna let me in, or what?”
I clench my jaw, keepin’ my body between her and the door. “I wanna know how you got in here, first.” Please tell me this nutty, stalkin’-ass bitch didn’ break in.
She rolls her eyes, suckin’ her teeth. “No, I didn’t break in,” she says, readin’ my mind. “I’m not that fuckin’ crazy.” I give her an “oh really” look. She glares at me. “Your father was on his way out and let me in. Nice-lookin’ man, too, I might add. I hope he isn’t as fucked up as you are.”
I frown. Why the fuck would he do some dumb shit like that? Man, Pops is really slippin’, I think, eyein’ her. I make a mental note to check him on it. I feel myself gettin’ agitated. “Yo, what the fuck you want?”
“First of all, don’t come at me like that…”
“Yo, check this shit out. I’ll come at you however I want when you standin’ up in my muthafuckin’ grill uninvited, unexpected, and unwanted. So, again, what the fuck do you want?”
She glares at me. Nostrils flare. “You’ve been fucking avoiding my calls for the last two months, and I wanna fucking know why. I opened myself up to you, let you into my heart and this is how you fuckin’ treat me.”
I sigh, starin’ at her. I already know there’s no fuckin’ way I’ma let her up in this bedroom. I’ll never get her outta here unless I fuck her to death, and that ain’t ’bout to happen. Pops done let this nutcase in. Now I gotta be the one to try ’n figure out how I’ma get her ass the fuck up outta here wit’out her bustin’ up shit, or tryna claw me up. Some bitches can’t handle rejection, and she’s definitely one of ’em. The last thing I need is to be hemmed up on some domestic violence-type shit, feel me?
Fuck what ya heard. You can pop all the shit you want. But don’t get up in my space, talkin’ wit’ ya hands. And do not put ya muthafuckin’ hands on me. And this Looney Tune has already proven the last time I was wit’ her that she likes to get it in when shit ain’t goin’ her way—like when she threw an ashtray at my head for tellin’ her not to fuckin’ question me ’bout where I’ve been.
“Hol’ up, let me get some clothes on,” I tell her, shuttin’ the door in her face, then lockin’ it. She bangs on it.
“I’m not fucking goin’ anywhere, so you might as well open up this door, Alley Cat. Otherwise, I’ma keep fucking banging until you do. I wanna talk to you.”
I need a fuckin’ blunt. I snatch up the half-smoked blunt in the ashtray, and spark up. I yell at her through the door. “I said I’ll be out in a minute. So stop bangin’ on my muthafuckin’ door.”
“Well, hurry up.”
I finish gettin’ my smoke on. Then when I’m done, I open the door—ten minutes later—and this pigeon is still standin’ in the same spot wit’ her arms folded. I lock the door, closin’ it behind me. “Aiight, let’s talk,” I say to her, brushin’ past her goin’ toward the stairs. She follows behind me. Now, had I been thinkin’, I woulda had her go down the stairs—first, just in case she had a weapon and tried to stab or shoot me in the back, feel me? The bitch is one screw from crazy so anything is possible wit’ her. But I’m so pressed to get this ho outta the house in case she goes off and starts bustin’ up shit that I jump dead in front of her and race down the stairs.
I open the front door. “Let’s sit outside and talk.”
“Why can’t we talk in here?” she questions, stoppin’ in the middle of the livin’ room and puttin’ her hand up on her hip.
’Cause I wanna talk to ya unstable ass outside on the muthafuckin’ porch in front of witnesses, that’s why. “’Cause I need some fresh air,” I tell her, double-checkin’ my front pocket to make sure I have my cell on me. I stand wit’ the door open, waitin’ for her ass to walk out. I’m relieved when she does.
I step down from offa the porch, then take a seat. She decides to stand in front of me wit’ her arms folded tight ’round her chest, like she’s scared to let sumthin’ go.
“Okay, so talk,” I say, ice-grillin’ her.
“I wanna know why you stopped calling and returning my calls?”
Umm, you dizzy-ass ding bat that should be obvious: ’Cause ya ass is muthafuckin’ craaaaazy! I sigh. “It wasn’t workin’ out.”
“Oh really, since when?”
What the fuck?! Uh, duh, since I stopped callin’ ya dumb, lazy, dick-suckin’ ass. “Look, like I said, it wasn’t workin’ out.”
“Humph. Mighty funny it was workin’ out when I was lettin’ you ride around in my car and come in and outta my apartment, but the minute I check you on something, it’s not ‘working out.’”
“No, the minute you tried to get at me on some rah-rah type shit, throwin’ ashtrays ’n shit. That’s when it was no longer workin’. I ain’t wit’ all that extra ghetto bullshit.”
“So, you just stop fucking with me, instead of talking it out.”
I tilt my head. Stare at this fuckin’ broad long and hard. “Are you serious? Talk what out? A muhfucka who’s tryna build wit’ ya ass is talkin’ it out, not a nigga who is straight smashin’ you.”
I feel my cell vibratin’ and pull it outta my pocket. Lahney texts me: Cum through and ram that big, black cock up in me.
“I let you into my heart and this is how you fucking treat me…”
I text back: LOL, you don’t really want it. This dick’ll have ya ass cryin’ again.
She sucks her teeth. “I can’t believe you’d pull out your fucking phone and start texting while I’m standing here trying to talk to you. How fucked up is that?”
Lahney texts: Whateva, punk! U cumming to beat this pussy up or what.
I shrug. “You tell me. You the one actin’ like a desperate housewife, huntin’ a nigga down ’n shit.”
She tsks me. “Desperate? Nigga, puhleeeze. I’m coming to you like a grown woman, trying to resolve whatever has gone wrong between us.”
I text Lahney back: Yeah, I got ya punk, aiight. 11.5-inches worth. What time u want it?
I look at Sherria. “Yo, check this out. There’s nuthin’ to resolve. How many times I gotta tell you, there was no us. We was fuckin’, that’s it. You wasn’t my girl. I wasn’t ya man. And I never promised you a future wit’ a rose garden. It was straight dickin’ you down. If you allowed ya’self to catch feelin’s, then that shit’s on you. So don’t come at me wit’ all the extras. If you wanna come at me like a woman, then take it for what it was, a fuck. And…step.”
Lahney texts: NOW!
“I know all that. But still, I thought you were different.”
I look out into the street, let what she’s said linger in the air, while she’s standin’ in front of me lookin’ all pathetic ’n shit. I thought you were different. I almost wanna laugh at her ass. Hell yeah, I’m muthafuckin’ different! Let’s see. I ain’t ever spit on her, smack her up, or use her face and body as an ashtray, puttin’ cigarettes ’n shit out on her. I ain’t ever fuck her sister—not that I would ’cause the bitch looks handicapped to me. I know, I know, you think a muhfucka like me will fuck anything. Well, news-flash: A nigga got standards. I might fuck a buncha hoes, but a bitch who looks like she belongs in the Special Olympics ain’t my flava, feel me?
So what if I took her whip and dipped off to get my dick piped out? The first time I did the shit and didn’t come back ’til two hours later, she shoulda made it her business to not give me her keys again. And that goes for the three other times. But she didn’t. And so what if I ran her wallet? She bought what she wanted to buy. I never pressed her for shit. She tried to buy my attention and she wanted to have this dick at whatever costs. No chick wit’ an ounce of common sense is gonna keep lettin’ a muhfucka keep takin’ from her. But she did, so it is what it is.
I text back: Give me an hour. Then bring my attention back to Sherria. I can tell she’s strugglin’ to keep herself from blowin’ her top. And, on some real shit, I’m glad as hell that I got her ass outside in broad daylight wit’ neighbors ’n shit ’round to be witness to anything she might try ’n do. Don’t get shit twisted. I’m not scared of her, but I am scared of what the fuck I’ma do if she does try to set it off.
Lahney texts: See u then. Oh, and bring da Magnums. I’m all out.
This trick-ass, I think, placin’ my phone back in my pocket. I’m not fuckin’ wit’ her today.
I look her dead in her eyes, then finally say, “Well, I’m not.”
She looks hurt, shiftin’ from one foot to the other. “I hope you know you’re real fucked up.”
I stand up. Brush the back of my sweats off. “Okay, so now that you know that, there’s no need to keep wastin’ my time or yours.” I reach into my pants pocket, pull out my keys, remove her house-key from ’round my key ring, then hand it to her. She stares at my hand before snatchin’ it from my hand. I frown. “Is there sumthin’ else?”
She glares at me. Starts breathin’ heavy, fightin’ back what looks to be tears in her eyes. Or a rageful fit. “Yeah, motherfucker,” she snarls through clenched teeth, “You ain’t shit, you arrogant bastard!”
Before I can catch myself, I snap, “Bitch, you snore, and you leave your muthafuckin’ raggedy-ass panties in the middle of the fuckin’ floor, but you tryna come at my neck. Fuck outta here.”
“Fuck you! I hate your ass!”
I shrug, walkin’ back inside the house. “You don’t hate me, baby. You hate yourself,” I say, shuttin’ the door behind me, leavin’ her standin’ there lookin’ wounded and lost.
Two hours later, I get back from smashin’ Lahney out. Yeah, I know I said I wasn’t fuckin’ wit’ her today, but a hard-ass dick will change a muhfucka’s mind in a heartbeat. So I went over and served her up some dick, then dipped. Fuck all that layin’ ’round, cuddlin’ up shit wit’ her ass. She wasn’t hittin’ a nigga wit’ no paper, so there was definitely no need for any extended stays. Feel me? But, as I was leavin’, she caught me off guard when she slid me a key to her spot.
“What’s this for?” I asked her as she handed them to me.
“It’s for here. I want you to be able to come through anytime you want.”
“Oh, word? Why?”
“Because I’m hoping one day I walk through the door and you’ll be standing here in the middle of the living room butt naked, holding your hard dick in your hand waiting for me.”
I grinned, unzippin’ my jeans and slippin’ my hand down in my underwear. “Is that so?”—I pull out my dick and stroke it—“Well, how ’bout we get started now.” Needless to say, she dropped down low and let it do what it do, milkin’ my dick wit’ her mouth, then finally gulpin’ down a rich, creamy nut.
Anyway, I’m up in my room loungin’ in a pair of black boxer briefs and a black wife beater, gettin’ ready to watch Alphabet Killer when my cell rings. I think to ignore the shit, but decide to grab it off the nightstand and check to see who’s tryna get at me.
“Oh, shit!” I snap, peepin’ the caller ID, “I ain’t heard from this cat in a minute.” It’s my boy, Red. Yo, this nigga right here’s been my muthafuckin’ dude since eighth grade, word up. Dude is one of the coolest cats I know. And the nigga bags almost as much pussy as me. That’s ’cause he’s one of them light, pretty-boy muhfuckas wit’ all that wavy hair them bitches be fallin’ over. And the nigga be pimpin’ the shit outta ’em. He got bitches takin’ numbers, and standin’ in line, to get at his dick. Well, he used to. I’m not sure how the nigga’s movin’ now that he’s all hugged up wit’ his shorty.
Growin’ up we’d blaze trees, and I’d watch him get bent offa forties ’n shit while we puffed L’s. We’d call up a few hot-in-the-ass hoes and sneak ’em down into his basement, then fuck ’em all night. He’d be diggin’ one bitch’s back out on the plaid sofa, and I’d be on the other side of the room dickin’ down the other on the twin mattress he’d pull out and put down on the floor. Then we’d switch hoes and start rockin’ ’em all over again. Or we’d bang the same bitch after she sucked both our dicks. And the wild shit is, we’d go up in them hoes straight raw. Man, listen… we was like fourteen and was some wild, reckless, horny-ass muhfuckas back then. But, after we both got burned and crabbed out by this dirty bitch, LaTonya, we started strappin’ up. And bein’ more selective. That ho had the whole block on fire. Good pussy or not, that syphilis and crab scare was all we needed to fuck more responsibly, feel me? Fuck what ya heard. A drippin’, itchy-ass dick ain’t a good look!
“Yo, what’s good wit’ ya punk ass?”
“This dick in ya mom’s throat, nigga,” he says, laughin’. “What’s poppin’ wit’ you?”
“My nut in ya aunt’s eye, muhfucka,” I joke back.
“Yo,” he says, laughin’. “You stupid-as-hell nigga, word up. So, what’s good? How you?”
“Chillin’, chillin’. You know how I do. What’s good wit’ you? You still kickin’ it wit’ that honey down in Maryland?”
“Yeah, man. We still doin’ the damn thang. Ole girl done got a nigga hangin’ up his pimp shoes ’n shit.”
“Get the fuck outta here. She got you on lock like that?”
“Word is bond. I tossed out my booty-call book and the bat phone for this one.”
I almost drop my cell. I can’t believe what the fuck I’m hearin’. Like me, this nigga has never been a one pussy-type of nigga. “Get the fuck outta here! Say word.”
“On e’erything I love,” he tells me.
“Awwww, damn,” I say, pausin’. I’m still tryna absorb what he’s said. “Nigga, you serious?”
“You heard me. I had my other phone line disconnected, shut down my BlackPlanet and Myspace pages, and closed all my porn site accounts.”
“Damn, dude. Sounds like she put that cock clamper down on ya.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I can’t front. My baby shut shit down, son. Gotta nigga thinkin’ ’bout the future ’n shit, something I never did before. Real talk, it’s a wrap, son. A nigga’s done fuckin’ wit’ all that pussy chasin’.”
“Yo, son, you talkin’ ’bout givin’ up a smorgasbord of hot pussy at ya disposal. You sure you wanna walk away from it?”
“Yo, most def. On some real shit, man. I’d be thrashin’ that ass and bustin’ shit down and after I finished nuttin’, I’d still want something more.”
I laugh. “Like what, nigga, more pussy?”
“Nah, my dude,” he says, pausin’. “Well, at first, yeah. I thought that’s what it was. But, once a muhfucka took a hard look at himself and got honest, I realized it wasn’t the pussy I wanted more of. It was more of someone; maybe not that particular someone. But definitely someone I could vibe with, and one day build with, feel me?”
Keepin’ shit real, I couldn’t relate to shit he was sayin’. Not that I didn’t want to, I just wasn’t able to. Wantin’ sumthin’ other than pussy, head and a ho’s paper wasn’t ever anything I gave thought to. Nor has it ever been sumthin’ that consumed me. Fuckin’ a broad, yeah; buildin’ wit’ her ass, nope!
I say, “I hear you. But, yo, man…I’m shocked as hell hearin’ this shit come from outta ya mouth, for real, yo.”
He chuckles. “Man, listen…I’m shocked my damn self. On some real shit, I never thought I’d ever feel this way ’bout a chick. But, Coletta’s different. She holds a nigga down. She’s loyal, and the best part is, I know she loves a nigga.”
The way he talks, he sounds happy as hell. And on some real shit, I find myself smilin’—happy for my nigga, too. “That’s wassup,” I tell him. “I’m happy for you, man.”
“’Preciate that, playa. Don’t worry, your turns comin’, dawg.”
“Not if I can help it,” I tell ’im. “I like my freedom too much.”
“Yeah, aiight, muhfucka. Talk that shit now. You just haven’t run up on the right one, yet.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, nigga. So what’s next?” I ask, changin’ the subject.
“Actually, that’s the reason I was callin’ you. I’ma ask my girl to marry me on Christmas Eve. And I want you as my best man when we tie the knot.”
My mouth drops open. “Say word, nigga!”
“Word on e’erything I love.”
“Damm,” I say. “You go ghost ’n shit for months, then pop up outta nowhere full of surprises.”
He laughs. ”Whatever, muhfucka. You wit’ me on this or what?”
“No doubt, dawg. I got you.”
“That’s what it is. I knew I could count on you.”
“No doubt. You know how we do.”
“Mos def. Listen, I gotta dip. I’ma hit you up in a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say jokin’ly. “Muhfucka, the last time you said that shit, I ain’t hear from ya pussy-whipped ass for almost six months.”
“Don’t be jealous, baby,” he says, laughin’. “You know you still my number one nigga. But I rather be pussy whipped than havta be stuck fuckin’ with ya ugly, black ass.”
“Fuck outta here wit’ that bullshit,” I say, crackin’ up. “Let me borrow ya grandmother for a few days, then let’s see how ugly and black she thinks this dick is.”
“Yeah, muhfucka, right after you let me borrow yours.” We laugh and bullshit a few more minutes, then hang up. I lay back ’cross my bed, dazin’ up at the ceilin’ wonderin’ how the hell Red’s girl got him to give up all his hoes. I mean, she’s bad as hell… but, damn. She got that nigga talkin’ ’bout marriage ’n shit. She must got some good-ass pussy, I think, shakin’ my head, smilin’. Or her muthafuckin’ head game must be off the damn chain. I think about it a few more minutes, wonderin’ if a cat like me had it in him to be on some exclusive shit wit’ a chick. Nah, fuck that! Good pussy or not. A muhfucka like me ain’t goin’ out like that. I’ma always be long strokin’ more than one ho. I roll over onto my side, and before I know it, I’m knocked the fuck out.