The Kat Trap (18 page)

After I took down all the information, I asked her crusty ass if she was gonna be there when I got there. I already had it planned out in my head how I was gonna walk up in that piece and go dead in her mouth, and if she wanted to rock after that, then we could get it in. And once Tamia got wind of it, I already knew we’d be at it, too, ’cause that’s how they do. But it was all good. It wasn’t like her ass added any value to my life any damn way. My mind was already made up that I was cuttin’ her off so if she wanted it, she could get it, too. There was definitely more than enough ass-whoop to go around.

“No, I’m outta here at two-thirty on Wednesdays.”

Fuck!
“Oh, that’s too bad. It’s been a minute since I saw you. What time you get off on other days?”

“I’m usually outta this box ’round seven-thirty, why?”

“’Cause we need to plan to hook up for drinks ’n shit. My treat.” I was really gassin’ her ass. Ain’t no way I’d ever be caught dead anywhere with this hoodrat, with her tired and late wears. Now I had to consider how I wanted to get at her. Either bum-rush her ass at the front desk, then drag her through the fuckin’ office, or wait for her slutty ass to come out the door, then straight-rock her grill in. Bottom line, I wasn’t gonna go up in the projects to fight chick; even if it was where we were both from. The difference was she still lived there. I didn’t. No, a bitch needed to get at this ho off grounds, on neutral territory.

“Now you talkin’,” she said, soundin’ all excited ’n shit. I could see the drool runnin’ outta the sides of her raggedy mouth. The bitch was a straight-lush. “That’s wassup.”

“Most def. Oh, one more thing…”

“What’s that?” she asked.

I smiled, flippin’ the script. “Watch ya face.”

“Excuse you?”

I repeated myself. “I
said
, watch ya face.”

“Bitch, you tellin’ me to watch my face for what?”

Now, on some real shit, I coulda just caught the ho on the low, but that’s not how I get down. I’m the type of bitch who’s gonna let you know from gate what it is. I want you to be ready to rock. I want ya ass to be constantly lookin’ over ya shoulder. I wanna keep a bitch on her toes ’cause ya never gonna know when I’m gonna come at ya.

“’Cause I’ma bust you in ya muthafuckin’ mouthpiece when I catch you for flappin’ ya jaws ’bout my moms comin’ through.”

“Oh, fuck that. You got the wrong one, bitch. My name ain’t Tamia. Don’t get it fucked up. This hood bitch will beat ya little ass the fuck down if you even think about tryna bring it. Now try it if you want.”

I laughed at her low-budget ass. “Like I said, watch ya face, bitch. And that’s what it is.”

I pressed the end button on her ass, savin’ her number in my phone, then flippin’ it shut.
Sooner than you think,
I thought, walkin’ into the kitchen. I glanced up at the clock. It was 11:30 a.m. I decided to fix myself breakfast, then lay ’round the house for the rest of the day. I wasn’t gonna get at the bitch today ’cause she’d be expectin’ it. So I was gonna let the ho do her for a minute, then rock her snotbox open the minute I caught her ass slippin’. But knowin’ Tameka’s ass, she was already on the phone with Tamia poppin’ shit, and would be tryna figure out a way to bring it before I did. Funny thing, a bitch like me would be ready—whenever, wherever, however. Believe that!

S
ummertime in New York is always what’s poppin’. Harlem, Brooklyn, the Village, SoHo, you name it. There was somethin’ for e’eryone to get into. The streets were live. And a bitch could get caught up in its heat. There were niggas dipped e’erywhere, straight flossin’. Stereos blastin’ the hot beats from the sickest whips; dick-thirsty hoes on the stroll; packs of bitches stuntin’; homeless pushin’ carts; young cats wildin’ out; street vendors tryna get their hustle on. Anything ya want…whatever ya lookin’ for, find a block, and find ya pleasure. New York was alive!

The energy and excitement was enough to make a bitch forget ’bout bullshit niggas and stress. Today was no different as me and Chanel made our way through mad traffic up the West Side Highway to One Hundred fifty-fifth to see what was poppin’ off at the courts. We were two fly bitches posted up in a slick-ass
whip, rockin’ some of the illest wears. Oh, yes, today Ruckers Park was the hot spot. And we were ’bout to see what was what.

At first I wasn’t really beat for takin’ the ride, but Chanel twisted my arm by tellin’ me she wanted to go to show her support for the Sean Bell All-Star team, which was formed in memory of the young cat Sean from Jamaica, Queens, who was gunned down for no damn reason by the muthafuckin’ cops. Fifty fuckin’ shots fired, ugh! E’ery time I thought ’bout that shit it made a bitch wanna squat up on a rooftop and start pluckin’ muhfuckas off.

Anyway, before I knew it I was scoopin’ her ass up and we were on our way, blazin’ trees and talkin’ mad shit and laughin’. My God, the park was overflowin’ with frontin’-ass and hood-rich niggas! Ballers, brawlers, and shot-callers were all over the place, and the streets were jammed with cars. Music was blarin’ e’erywhere. And niggas and bitches were gettin’ their party and dance on. Even I felt like poppin’ it a bit, but I kept it cute and just bopped my head a few times, and threw a few extra shakes in my ass.

We was lookin’ all fly ’n whatnot in our wears. I had on a pair of denim short-shorts and a cute white sheer pullover blouse with a plungin’ neckline over a white lace bra, and a pair of black fuck-me pumps that made my smooth, pretty-ass legs look more shapely. I snickered at the bitches whose faces cracked as I walked by with my black Hèrmes Lindy bag hangin’ in the crook of my arm. I had them bitches gaggin’ and droolin’. And Chanel kept it cute ’n sexy in a short white halter dress that showed off her thick thighs. She had on a bangin’ pair of tangerine-colored Dolce & Gabbana strappy sandals and rocked a fly-ass tangerine handbag. We both had our hair pulled up off our faces so the sun could hit the ice in our ears just right as we sauntered through the crowd, killin’ ’em.

A bitch’s pussy got real moist when I peeped Nas’s sexy ass,
standin’ on the sidelines. Fat Joe—well, he ain’t so fat anymore—was out on the scene as well. And I spotted a few other hip-hop shakers ’n movers mixin’ and minglin’. Hunc Records was givin’ away prizes for makin’ free throws and different jump shots around the court. Of course, Sean Bell’s name was announced over the loudspeaker several times and folks cheered as his team slayed muhfuckas on the court. There was so much goin’ on ’round the court that a bitch had a hard time stayin’ focused. There was dick and body out for days! And there was also a slew of vultures waitin’ to swoop down on some hard cock. I had to pull out my binoculars so I could scan the sights without missin’ a damn thing.

Ugh! I let out a disgusted grunt when I spotted Cash’s ugly ass standin’ over by the fence talkin’ to a group of flossed-out niggas. I can’t even front, ugly or not, the nigga was dipped in a bunch of ice and had a bangin’-ass pair of black shades on his busted face. Crazy thing, I kept my eye on him longer than I shoulda, watchin’ him grab at his dick while he talked. I swear I thought I seen a big-ass lump danglin’ up in them designer sweats. For a split second, I wondered what the nigga’s dick game was really like since I had heard the muhfucka could fuck like a stallion. Oh, my God, the heat and the blunt I had smoked on the way up had a bitch buggin’ for real. I shook away the thought.

“What’s wrong?” Chanel asked, lookin’ ’round to see what I was lookin’ at.

“Nothin’,” I said, glancin’ at my watch. “What time is this shit over?”

“Why?” she asked, rollin’ her eyes. “You got a date with some dick or somethin’?”

I sucked my teeth. “No,” I shot back, “you my date, you sexy-ass ho.”

She chuckled. “So, then answer me this, smart-ass: why is two fly bitches sittin’ down instead of tryna see what’s good?”

“Because we ain’t thirsty like the rest of these hoes out here.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, bitch.”

“Humph,” she grunted, standin’ up. “Speak for ya’self. A bitch lookin’ for some new dick for the summer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, go on and get ya ho-stroll on, then. I’m keepin’ my ass right here. I ain’t beat.”

“Then I’ll get at ya in a few. I wanna see what’s really poppin’ out here.”

“Whateva,” I said, tryna keep my eye on the niggas runnin’ up and down the court. On some real shit, I couldn’t tell you shit ’bout who was doin’ what ’cause a bitch was really only cock watchin’, tryna see whose dick was doin’ the most bouncin’ ’round in they shorts.

A nigga tryna get at Chanel disrupted my peep show. “Yo, ma,” he yelled from a few seats away, “what’s good wit’ ya fine self? Let me holla at ya.”

I looked over my shades to see what his grill looked like. He was a light-skinned cutie—a bit too bright for me, though—with short, wavy light-brown hair. His wears were aiight, but nothin’ to get a bitch’s pussy moist over.

“Ugh, not,” Chanel said, puttin’ the palm of her hand out to stop him. “I’m checkin’ for heavyweights, so go run along, little one.”

A few peeps laughed, but that didn’t stop the nigga from tryna come back at her. “Yeah, okay. This little boy got ya heavyweight, aiight. I’ll split that ass right down the middle.”

“Nigga, puhleeze. I wouldn’t even let ya busted, crab ass lick the shit outta my ass.” She flicked her fingas at him. “So, poof…be gone!”

Before dude could open his mouth to say somethin’ else, she turned to me and said, “See ya. I’m out. Hit me on the cell when you ready to meet up.”

“Whateva, bitch,” I said. “But when ya ass ends up with nothin’, fuckin’ with these niggas, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” She threw her hand up, wavin’ me off, switchin’ and bouncin’ her way off into the crowd. I looked around and peeped a few niggas with they eyes locked on her big ass.

My cell phone rang. I glanced at the number, then flipped it open. I stuck my finga in my right ear, tryna block out some of the noise. “Hello?”

“I got my eye on you, baby.”

“Say, what?” I asked, lookin’ around. “Where are you?”

“What you lookin’ around for?”

“Oh, what, you spyin’ on me, now?” I said, laughin’.

“Yeah, I got eyes everywhere; thought you knew.”

“Nah, I didn’t. So, did these little eyes of yours see me suckin’ ya dick and ridin’ ya ass down into the mattress last week?”

He laughed. “Nah, but right now they see a bunch of niggas sittin’ around a real dime-piece tryna get what’s mine.”

I rolled my eyes, suckin’ my teeth. “Oh, please. I ain’t thinkin’ ’bout these niggas.”

“Yeah, aiight. What you thinkin’ ’bout then?”

“How ’bout I’ll tell ya when I see ya?”

“Yeah, you can do that,” he said. Some nigga sittin’ next to me tapped me on the shoulder to ask me somethin’. I looked at his ass, then igged him, rollin’ my eyes.

“Aye, yo, don’t have me hurt nobody out here.”

“Grant,” I said, laughin’, “where the hell you at, nigga?”

“Look in back of you.” I craned my neck all the way around, and there his fine ass was, sittin’ five rows in back of me with a
bunch of niggas dipped in jewels. I didn’t remember seein’ his ass sittin’ there. Then again, I wasn’t lookin’ for him. He smiled at me, gettin’ up from his seat and makin’ his way down to me. I was glad I had my shit in the space where Chanel had been sittin’. He sat down beside me. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, kissin’ me on the neck.

I smiled. “Oh, you tryna mark your territory, huh?”

“And you know it,” he stated, wrappin’ his arm ’round me. He kissed me again. “You look good as hell. I peeped your sexy ass when you first came in. Niggas was breakin’ they muhfuckin’ necks tryna see who you and ya peeps were. They were like, ‘Oh, shit, check out shortie in them jean shorts. That sexy bitch is bangin’, word is bond, son…’”

I laughed. “You so damn silly.”

“Real talk, baby. I had to check a few of them cats. But I was diggin’ it on the low, though. I was like, ‘Damn, my baby is fiiiyah.’”

I laughed. “Oh, so I’m ya baby now?”

“Don’t play. You know what it is.”

“Humph,” I stated, twistin’ my lips. “As long as you know I ain’t playin’ the second or third spot to no other bitch, then it’s all good.”

“No doubt,” he said, leanin’ in and tryna kiss me on the lips.

I turned my head, playfully mushin’ him.

“Oh no, nigga, I don’t think so. Until ya ass is my man, I’m still on the market.”

He laughed. “Baby, I’m shuttin’ shit down. So, fuck all that shit you talkin’ ’cause your fine ass is with me.”

Needless to say, we half-watched the game, and talked. This nigga kept his hands on me the whole time, lettin’ the rest of them muhfuckas know who had the real door prize. I really didn’t
mind, though. It was nice to have a strong arm wrapped ’round me. He wasn’t my man, and he may never be, but in the meantime he definitely was gonna be some steady dick.

“So, you ready for me to tell you what I was thinkin’ ’bout?” I asked, grinnin’.

“No doubt, baby, no doubt.”

I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I was thinkin’ ’bout how good that big, juicy dick of yours felt in this tight pussy”—I slipped my hand on the inside of his thigh and lightly rubbed it—“and I’m thinkin’ ’bout how I wanna nut on ya tongue tonight.”

He smiled, fannin’ his legs. The nigga’s dick was brick. I squeezed it on the low, and smiled back at him. “See what you do to me?” he said.

“And I’m gonna do even more when I get up on this long dick,” I whispered, flickin’ my tongue in his ear.

“That’s wassup, baby…no doubt.” And for rest of the game, I kept my hand on his dick and watched the Sean Bell team house muhfuckas on the court.