by Cairo
I give myself a once-over in the mirror, then hit the lights off and swing outta the room toward the livin’ room. I stop dead in my tracks when I see Clitina’s ass sittin’ on the sofa in a leopard print catsuit and a pair of black hightop Converses. Her hair is dyed cotton candy pink and she has pink lipstick slathered up over her dingaling coolers.
I frown.
“Ummm, Clitina, what the hell is you doin’ here?”
“Hi, Auntie Cass.”
“Don’t ‘hi, Auntie Cass’ me. I asked you why you here?”
She looks over at Day’Asia. “Ma, I was gonna ask you if Tina could spend the night.”
I blink. “Ummm, noooooo, she may not. I’m ’bout to go out and I’m not gonna have her hot-pussy self up in here while I’m out. So c’mon, boo. Get ya shit. You comin’ with me.”
“Puhleeeeze, Ma, can she stay?”
“Please, Aunt Cass. I’m locked outta my house. I promise you won’t have any problems outta me.”
“Where’s ya mother at?” She tells me she’s out with Knutz. I roll my eyes. “And where’s Candy?” She shrugs. Says she’s not answerin’ her cell. That she hasn’t seen her all day. I huff, pullin’ out my cell. I scroll through my numbers, then press Dickalina’s. “Ho, where you at?”
“I’m out wit’ my boo.”
“Bitch, I ain’t ask you who you with. I wanna know where you at so I can drop Clitina there.”
“What? Oh, no. You ain’t about to fuck my night up. Me and my man is havin’ a nice romantic dinner down at Joe’s Crab Shack. Why she ain’t home?”
“Bitch, she ain’t home ’cause she’s here at my house and I’m gettin’ ready to go out.”
“Well, why can’t she stay there?”
“Ho, I told you I’m gettin’ ready to go out. What the hell I look like leavin’ two hot pussy hookers up in here? There’ll be in here tryna fuck all through my house. Oh, no, sugah boo. Day’Asia’s hot ass is enough to have to keep up with. I’m not about to be stressin’ over what the hell Clitina’s doin’ too while I’m out.”
“Well, she ain’t got no key. And me and Knutz aint’ gonna be home ’til late.” I tell her not to worry, then disconnect. I make Clitina get her shit, load her ass up in the car, then speed off in my truck toward the Garden State Parkway northbound toward Clifton.
When I get almost to our destination, I lower the radio, turn on the interior lights, then ask, “Clitina, you fuckin’, boo?”
She looks at me. “Ewwww, Aunt Cass, nooo.”
“Girl, don’t ewwww me. Are you ridin’ or suckin’ down on the dingaling?” She says no. But I know the lil’ ho’s lyin’ through her crooked-ass teeth. “Listen. You ain’t gotta lie to me. If you ho-in’ that’s you. But I’ma keep it real with you, sugah-boo. You ain’t movin’ right. The niggahs you toppin’ off and throwin’ the pussy to ain’t respectin’ ya ho, boo. The word on the street is, you, Candy, and Day’Asia are faster than Amtrak. Y’all lettin’ niggahs ride all through ya asses. Now you ain’t gotta say if it’s true or not. Just know, I know you a whore, boo. I can smell ya hot pussy a mile away, but that ain’t my business. Day’Asia’s stank pussy is. But I’ma say this, sugah. You need to cool ya jets and let the smoke settle out ya ass ’cause you sizzlin’ boo. And it ain’t cute. You understand me?”
She nods. “I do. But we ain’t really havin’ sex like that. I mean, we be chillin wit’ dudes, but we ain’t havin’ sex wit’ all of them.” I ask her what they be doin’. She says they drink and smoke with ’em.
“Clitina, boo. I know you half-retarded, but you much smarter than Candy ’cause she’s a full-blown retard. But there’s hope for you, boo. All you gotta do is shut ya legs, keep the dingalings outta ya throat, and get ya goddamn mind right. Instead of bein’ the bitch on fries, or askin’ to take a ho’s order, you can be the bitch givin’ orders. But you gotta wanna do better, boo. Otherwise you ain’t gonna be shit. You ain’t gonna be nothin’ but a ran down, broke-ass ho with dried up cum stains on ya pussy ’n face. Is that what you want for ya’self?” She shrugs. And I feel like smackin’ the shit outta her. “Bitch, what the fuck you shruggin’ for? You ’posed to know, boo. You ’posed to have a damn plan. Fuck for a purpose, not for a wet ass! Geesh. You young bitches got shit backwards.”
I pull into the parkin’ lot of the Crab Shack and feel like tellin’ this dumb bitch to get the fuck outta my truck, but I don’t. I keep it classy and walk her inside. I wait ’til I know she’s found Dickalina, then bounce. I don’t give a fuck about Dickalina screamin’ out my name, cussin’ and yellin’ about fuckin’ up her night and not havin’ room on Knutz’s bike to ride Clitina home. Not my motherfuckin’ problem.
I slip back behind the wheel of my truck, then press the CALL button on the steerin’ wheel. I wait for the voice to come through the speakers. “Wassup, ma?”
“I’m on my way to the club now.”
“Aiight, bet. I’ll be there.”
“Good. And then we gonna go somewhere and fuck real good, boo. My asshole wants another round of that long dingaling.”
He laughs. “I got you, ma.”
“Niggah, you better.”
Thirty-One
Thirty minutes later, I’m finally pullin’ up into the parkin’ lot of The Crack House. I freshen my lips with a coat of peach gloss, then step outta my truck. I’m hot like fire and about to shut the spot down. Can’t tell me shit, sugah-boo.
I see Slick up in the DJ booth, spinnin’ the beats. He winks at me when he sees me walkin’ through the club. I toss a hand up at him. “Amen” by Meeek Mill is playin’. I lightly bounce my way over to the bar ’cause I ain’t tryna sweat up my drawers just yet.
“Bad bitches in the buildin’ . . . Preach, godddammit . . . ” I finger pop it, hoistin’ my hips up on a barstool. “Big Mike,” I yell over the music, wavin’ him over to me. He smiles at me.
“Wassup, Cass, baby?”
“Wet my throat, niggah. What’s on the menu?” He tells me the drink specials are Blue Balls and I’ll Take Ya Man. I ask him what’s in the Blue Balls. He tells me Bombay Sapphire Gin, Blue Curacao and Grenadine. “Let me try that.”
“Yo, her drinks on me,” I hear over my shoulder. I look the niggah up and down. I can’t lie on the lil’ niggah. He’s lookin’ real tasty in his baggy jeans and white Polo pullover. A thick 18kt white gold chain hangs from his neck. I glance at the diamond encrusted dog tags, then up at him. “I ain’t think you were gonna show up.”
“Niggah, I’m real with mine. I told you I was gonna drink ya wallet up.”
He laughs. “Yo, I got us a booth. C’mon.”
I toot my lips. “Well, all right now. Do me right, goddammit.” He tells Big Mike to bring my drink over to the table, then leads the way. I finger pop, then drop it one time when Jadakiss’s “Respect It” starts playin’. “Yesssss, goddammit! Oooh, they shittin’ on this! Owwww!”
He waits for me to finish my booty pop, then steps back for me to slide in the booth. I let the niggah know I ain’t interested in bein’ blocked in. I tell him to slide in, let me sit on the end. He does. There’s already two bottles of Veuve Cliquot already on the table. “Yo, you sexy as hell.”
“I know I am, boo. Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”
He laughs as the cocktail ho—some big titty boo with a cute face and small waist—brings me my drink. He eyes her as walks off, then says, “Yo, why you ain’t bagged up?”
I raise a brow. “Niggah, the only thing baggin’ me up is Gucci, Louie, Prada, and my damn kids.”
He pours himself a drink “I heard that. So, what was all that good shit you was talkin’ last night?”
I lift my drink to my lips, eyein’ him over the rim. “I already told you what it is, niggah. Pull ya dick out. If I like what I see and feel in my hand, then I might top you off. But that’s it ’cause you ain’t gettin’ no pussy unless you comin’ at me with that paper.”
He laughs. “Yo, I ain’t worried about t
hat.” He says this, but the niggah don’t budge with unzippin’ his pants and pullin’ out the dingaling. So I take it as a red flag that the motherfucka is only talk. But I’ma keep it classy and keep the shit to myself.
He tosses back his drink, then pours himself another round. I toss mine back as well, then tell him to top my glass off with some of the bubbly. We bug out ’n bullshit and toss back four rounds of drinks, and now I’ma feelin’ extra frisky. But not enough to wanna toss this niggah some free pussy. I run my hand up in his lap, and start feelin’ for his dingaling.
He pours himself another drink, then leans back and spreads his legs. He tries to reach for my titties, but I slap his hand away. Tell the niggah that unless my pussy gets wet and starts poppin’ while I’m playin’ with his dingaling, then he ain’t touchin’ up on me unless he’s payin’ for it.
“Yo, fuck all that, baby,” he says. “I wanna fuck.”
I unbuckle his belt, unfasten and upzip his jeans, then snake my hand down in his pants and massage his dick over his boxers. He closes his eyes. So far I ain’t impressed with what I’m feelin’. But I’m thinkin’ maybe he’s a grower so I keep workin’ him in my soft hand. It finally starts to thicken and stretch. And now I wanna see it.
“Yo, I wanna fuck.”
“Yeah, and you like this dick sucked, too. Don’t you, boo?” I squeeze it. Run my fingertips over the head, smearin’ the precum into his skin.
“Hell yeah. You gonna let me fuck you?”
I pull my hand outta his jeans, then place my fingers to his lips. “Lick my fingers, niggah.” He frowns. Tells me he ain’t into tastin’ his own dingdong. I’m done. “Then you can zip that shit right on up. And while you’re at it, why don’t you go back and find the rest of ya dick.” He gives me a confused look. “Ummm, apparently you done lost about three inches off ya dick somewhere.”
He starts laughin’. “Yo, get da fuck outta here. What you mean, I done lost about three inches?”
I eye him as I lift my glass to my lips, then sip. I hate a niggah who lies on his goddamn dick. I mean, really. Niggah, boom! Don’t give me no imagined shit, or tell me shit you fantasize about havin’. Give it to me real. If you gotta small dick, then say it, shit.
I set my glass down, then lean into him. “Listen. I hate to bust ya bubble, and I don’t mean no harm, niggah-boo. But . . . this just in: ya dingaling ain’t nine-inches, boo. So whatever instrument you used to measure ya shit was defective.” I reach for it, again, and start rubbin’ it. It’s still extra hard and very thick . . . beer can thick. The kinda thick that can rip the seams down the middle, but won’t gut the floors. “It’s real fat, niggah. But nine inches it definitely ain’t.”
I know most niggahs get real sensitive when a bitch starts goin’ in about their dick strokes and sizes can but, oh well. Niggahs gotta know. And I can tell I done bruised the niggah’s ego, and now he’s feelin’ some kinda way. Whatever. Truth is, I don’t give a fuck. He ain’t my man. And we ain’t fuckin’. Shit, the niggah ain’t even pulled out no paper.
He frowns. Then tosses back his drink.
“So how big you think my shit is?” he asks, soundin’ all fucked about the news.
“I’ve handled a lotta dicks over the years, boo. So if I had to guess, I’d give you six-and-a-half tops. And that’s what you need to be proud of. Embrace ya fat-ass dingaling, niggah. And stop with the lies.”
He reaches for the bottle, puts it to his lips, and tosses it back. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands. I can tell the niggah’s feelin’ right. “So, you sayin’ I gotta lil’ ass dick; is that what you sayin’? Shit, I ain’t ever have no complaints.”
I shrug. “I ain’t complainin’ either, boo. Like I said, it’s real fat. I just don’t like it when niggahs lie on their shit, that’s all. But, anyway, niggah . . . I figured out where I seen you before.”
He raises his brow. “Oh, word? Where?”
I lean in and nip at his ear. “You were the niggah who walked up in Nappy No More and put the owner on blast. You called her out about suckin’ ya man’s dick.”
He grins. “Oh, daaayum. Right, right. Yeah, I did go up in that spot. Yo, that was a minute ago. Yeah, my man said that bitch was a real live cock and cum freak. What, you cool wit’ her or sumthin’?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I mean, she does my hair.” I tell him I was sittin’ in her chair when he came up in there and tossed filth on her. I tell him how it made my pussy pop. “Oooh, you was so bold and sexy comin’ up in there grabbin’ ya dick, askin’ her if you could get ya dick sucked.”
He laughs. “Nah, I asked for one of her deep throat specials. Damn, I can’t believe you’d remember some shit like that.”
“Boo, who wouldn’t? I remember that like it was yesterday. You turned the salon out that day, niggah. Oooh, that was messy, boo. I knew that bitch was a whore. Tryna act all uppity ’n shit. But you did her in real good that day, boo.”
He keeps laughin’. The niggah’s eyes are all glassy so I know he’s liquored up real good. “Yeah, that bitch is a real cum whore. She was toppin’ off mad niggahs on da low, too. She called herself Deep Throat Diva or some shit like that.”
“What? No, she didn’t call herself some shit like that.” I repeat the name. “Mmmph. Ooooh, that’s a real dirty bitch. Deep Throat Diva, mmmph!” I pour him another drink, then pour myself one, too. We click glasses, then toss ’em back. “Mmmph. That messy bitch shoulda had her ass whipped for that.” I reach for his dingdong. Stroke it.
He laughs. “Real shit, she did. She got fucked up real good.”
“Oooh, noooo, boo,” I coo, reachin’ for his dick. I stroke it. “What happened? How she get it?”
He glances over his shoulder. Then back at me. He’s liquored up real good. “Yo, I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this shit, yo.”
“Niggah-boo, puhleeze, you safe with me, Daddy. I ain’t messy like that. Besides, who I’ma tell? I don’t even like that bitch like that. So fuck her. I’m glad she got served.”
He pours another drink.
I lean in and whisper in his ear, “I wanna fuck you, boo. All this talk done got my pussy real juicy. Let’s go somewhere and fuck. I wanna give you some pussy, boo.”
He grins. “Yeah, yeah . . . that’s what the fuck I wanna hear, ma. Let’s get the fuck up outta here. I’ma take you back to my man L’s spot and shove all this muhtafuckin’ fat-ass dick in you.”
L? Where I hear that name before? I think, slidin’ outta the booth. He slides out, then stumbles a bit. Yeah, this niggah’s tanked up real good. “I’ma stretch the fuck outta that pussy, ma. Fuck it real good. I’ma hit the bathroom, then meet you outside.”
“Don’t keep me waitin’,” I say, shakin’ my hips through the club. It’s packed as shit in here. When I get around the club, I spot Knutz at the bar all up in some brown-skinned bitch’s face. I can’t tell who it is since her back is to me. And it really doesn’t matter since that shit ain’t my business. I shift my eyes and catch Buddha lookin’ at me. He smirks, givin’ me a head nod. I flick my tongue at him, walkin’ outta the club. As bad as I wanna fuck him, again, tonight’s not the night. AJ’s the only niggah I got on my mind.
I disarm my alarm, then slide behind the wheel of my truck, lockin’ the doors. It’s almost one in the mornin’. I crank the engine, then drive off just as AJ is comin’ outta the club. Niggah, we ain’t fuckin’ tonight. But I promise you, I am goin’ to fuck you.
And when I’m done with his ass, he’s gonna know he’s been fucked real good.
Thirty-Two
Day’Asia’s rude ass comes bargin’ into my room while I’m in the middle of a juicy conversation with Miss Pasha. Oooh, Miss Pasha is my boo, even if she is a messy cum whore. But I can’t even get into it right now ’cause Day’Asia’s ass done disrupted my goddamn groove.
“Ma, you have some money? Me and Tina wanna go to the mall.”
“Excuse me one minute, Miss Pasha, girl,” I say as I
stare Day’Asia down. I blink. This lil’ ho must think I’m some kinda special or some shit. “And how you gettin’ there Asia? And who else is goin’?”
“Samara gonna drive me, Tina and Weena.”
I frown. “Weiner? What the hell kinda name is that? What kinda bitch names her child after a goddamn hot dog?”
She sucks her teeth. “It’s Roweena, but we call her Weena for short. And it’s with an a at the end, not er.” She spells it out for me.
I tilt my head, takin’ in the ho-wear she has on. She’s standin’ in my room wearin’ some kinda black and white pinstriped shirt dress that’s barely coverin’ her ass with a wide red belt and a pair of red and black peep-toe “fuck me” pumps on. Shit I know I didn’t buy. She looks a hot damn mess!
“What circus you tryna go to today, Day’Asia? Steppin’ up in here lookin’ like a goddamn clown with that shit on.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m goin’ to the mall.”
I bunch my brows together. “Mall, my ass. Not dressed like that. You must think I’m some kinda stupid, Day’Asia, don’t you?”
She sucks her teeth. “No. I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Oh yes, you do, lil’ girl. You ain’t goin’ to no goddamn mall in that getup. Ya ass wanna be out trickin’ for dick with that damn Clitina. Not today you won’t. Now go take that shit off and clean your goddamn nasty-ass room ’cause I know it’s filthy.”
“Ma, please. I already told them to come get me.”
“Well, that’s too damn bad.”
She stomps her feet. “Ma, please. I promise I’ll clean my room this weekend. And I’ll do Isaiah and Elijah’s chores for a week, too. I wanna go to the mall. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Day’Asia, I said no.”
“Ma, puhleeeeeze, can I go?”
I take a deep breath. “Asia, no.”
“Why?”
“One, because I said so; two, because you’re dressed like you tryna slut the night away; and, three, because you not ridin’ in no car with some girl named after a damn hotdog. Now get the fuck outta my goddamn room before you see ya self on the floor!”
