The Kat Trap (8 page)

Goin’ to school was one thing, but the minute that bell rang, I was tryna do me. And my moms didn’t say shit. She let me do whatever I wanted and stay out as late as I wanted as long as my ass went to school. She didn’t give a fuck if I got As or Ds, as long as I passed, and graduated, which I did.

Tamia’s and Iris’s dumb asses were too busy gettin’ smoked out and fuckin’ to be bothered with school. Not tryna dis them bitches and whatnot, but I understand why they fucked every nigga that came at ’em. A chick with low self-esteem will let a nigga do anything he wanna do to ’em ’cause he already knows she’s all fucked up in the head. By the time they were fourteen, they had been through half the niggas from around the way, and had already been down to the clinic at least three times for some shit that some dirty nigga passed off. After a while, niggas knew to double-wrap ’cause they pussies stayed burnin’. Humph. Maybe that shit ’bout her havin’ herpes was really true, who knows.

Anyway, Chanel was fuckin’, too, but she had only one nigga she was lettin’ smash. So she was straight. But them other two, forget it, they were straight hood rats with theirs; suckin’ and fuckin’ wherever and whenever they could get it in. But I’ll keep
it real—hoes or not, let some beef pop off and they were down for whatever. Like the time these bitches from Fort Greene tried to come through to get at Chanel and me over these two rusty niggas two of them bitches thought we was fuckin’. They came like six deep to fight us. Now, how the fuck you gonna try ’n come to someone else’s hood and bring it? That’s a no-no. I straight tic-tac-toed two of them hoes in the face with my razor. And Chanel stabbed two more with an ice pick. And when Tamia and Iris heard we were out there fightin’ they ran ’round with hammers and put work in. We fucked them bitches up real good, then went back up to Tamia’s buildin’ and sparked up, laughin’ all night at how we wrecked shop on they asses.

A lot of times, we’d rotate goin’ to each other’s spots, and sit up in each other’s rooms gettin’ blazed and gossipin’ ’bout all the goings-on in the hood. Or we’d parlay with these niggas over in Bushwick. Other times, we’d get it poppin’ over in Red Hook. Or we’d sneak uptown and chill with these older cats from Harlem and smoke and drink with them. But most of the time we’d squat over Tamia’s ’cause her moms didn’t give a fuck, and half the time she wasn’t never there anyway.

Chanel and I would sit around and listen to Tamia and Iris swap stories about who they had fucked, how little or big the nigga’s dick was, how they sucked dick, and what little trinket they had gotten for fuckin’. Although Iris was messy, fuckin’ her mother’s boyfriend and his son, Tamia was the real dirty type to fuck a nigga in the stairwell of his building if they couldn’t get it in at his or her mother’s spots. Or she’d sneak some young nigga up in her room and fuck him on her twin bed, then not change her cum-stained sheets for a week or two. I would sit ’n listen, like I do now. And a few times Tamia’s nasty-assed sister, Tameka,
would leave her bedroom door cracked and a light on so we could watch her fuck. They were straight nasty like that.

Chanel and I were always the hottest bitches out of the clique. And we still are. But, back then, a few times I would catch Tamia or Iris clockin’ one of us outta the corner of her eye. Hate and envy seemed to always be wrapped up in their smiles. But I never checked ’em on it. Busted or not, they were still our girls, and they always had our backs. And we had theirs.

I’ma keep shit real and say Tamia and Iris really went from ugly-ass moths growin’ up to some real live butterfly bitches. It’s like them hoes transformed overnight. Too bad they could change everythin’ else except their reps. A ho is always gonna be known as a ho. Real talk. That’s one thing my moms made sure I knew. She’d beat me in the head nonstop ’bout keepin’ my legs shut and not fuckin’ none of them nasty no-count niggas, or not bringin’ her no babies to take care of. Little did she know, fuckin’ was the last thing on my mind. I was too busy lookin’ for ways to make paper. Anyway, I don’t really think me fuckin’ was her issue—ending up like her was.

Shit. I didn’t have my first boyfriend until I was sixteen. Yeah, that’s right. Naheem. Oooh, my pussy used to get real wet thinkin’ ’bout how good he used to dick me down. He stamped his name all up in this pussy, real talk. That fine black muhfucka was my heart. And I know I was his, which is why I didn’t feel the need to let him know that I wasn’t a virgin, that another nigga had already inched his dick up in me. See, in my head, since the young nigga had nutted in like ten minutes that shit didn’t really count. So I didn’t think it was necessary to bust Naheem’s bubble. Besides, my pussy was still tighter than a muhfucka, and the fact that he had one of them long, thick, juicy dicks that stretched
and pulled my pussy open made it that much easier to fake the funk with him. That nigga served me the dick Brooklyn-style, just how I liked it—rough, rugged, and real gully.

So as far as I was concerned, Naheem was my first. He was the first nigga who ate my pussy, the first nigga who fucked me in my ass, the first nigga who made me nut, the first nigga who splashed his dick milk down my throat, the first nigga I ever cried over, and the first—and
only
—nigga to ever get me pregnant. Yeah, a bitch got knocked when I was seventeen and a senior in high school. I had missed three periods so I already knew what time it was. I kept that shit on the low for real for real. My moms would have snapped. There was no way I was gonna be able to tell her without catchin’ a real beat down. So Tamia got her cousin, Natalie, to take me to a clinic over in Queens where she and Tamia had gone and I got that shit sucked out with a quickness. And I never said anything ’bout it to Naheem. Please. The last thing I needed, or wanted, was a cryin’-ass baby holdin’ me down, and I already know if I woulda told him that a bitch was pregnant, he woulda been tryna get me to keep it. And then my ass woulda been stuck raisin’ it by my damn self, and luggin’ it up and down the interstate to see a nigga in prison. Thanks, but no thanks. A bitch ain’t beat for none of that shit.

Anyway, at nineteen Naheem was a grown-ass man to me. His swagger was so fuckin’ official that every bitch on the scene wanted to fuck with him. The nigga’s body was sick. His dick game was ridiculous. His knuckle game was tight. And he had the streets on lock. What I loved most about him was the respect he got. He wasn’t some hand-to-hand nigga huggin’ a block ’round the clock. He was the cat who made shit move. And when that nigga came through it was strictly to collect his paper; nothin’ more,
nothin’ less. Muhfuckas knew what time it was when he rolled up. He either had niggas shook, or ridin’ his nuts.

And I bagged him. That’s right. The hottest bitch in the hood had his nose wide open. The nigga only had eyes for
me
. Yeah, muhfuckas, the chick with the fat ass, smooth, pretty brown thighs, and sexy-ass eyes. We’d chill, get blazed, pop a few bottles and fuck like two rabbits every damn day. I fucked with that nigga for almost two years until he got caught up in some dumb shit and got sent upstate. When that nigga caught a case for drug and weapons possession and got sentenced, I almost passed out. I ain’t gonna front. E’erything in my fuckin’ body went numb. It was like the air around me stopped movin’. I damn near suffocated.

On some real shit, I tried to hold the nigga down. But, hell…what was a fly bitch like me gonna do for ten years? Seal up my pussy, sit by the phone and wait for collect calls, chase the mailman down for letters, cry and have my stomach in knots after every visit ’cause it hurt leavin’ him, spend my life bein’ a prisoner’s wife?

Well, I tried that. I really wanted to keep shit real and ride it out with him. What I felt for Naheem was probably the closest thing to love, ’cause everything in me ached without him. But the streets were callin’ me. Time was testin’ me. And almost two years into his bid, I told him I had to bounce. I was too young to have to put my life on hold for him. I didn’t have it in me to hold my breath waitin’ on appeals ’n shit. I couldn’t hang on to empty promises that shit was gonna be right between us. I wanted to. I tried to. But shit was hectic.

So instead of goin’ out like some crab-ass bitch, I told him face-to-face. The way his jaws tightened and his thick lips clenched, I thought he was gonna try ’n flex on my ass up in there. But he kept it cute and told me to do me. But the nigga was hurt. I heard
that shit in his voice, seen it in his eyes. Still, there wasn’t nothin’ I could do ’bout it, I had to go. I told him I’d always have love for him. And I knew I was gonna miss that pretty dick, but…fuck that! With him on lock, I knew it’d be a long time before I got to ride up on it any damn way. Niggas don’t realize that when they do time, the bitches holdin’ them down is doin’ time, too. It takes a real special kinda bitch to stay true to a nigga on lock. I wasn’t the one. A bitch had a life. And sittin’ up on a hot, funky bus for two or more hours next to a bunch of stankin’ ass hoes bein’ herded like cattle to see a man in prison wasn’t a good look. Not for a butter bitch like me.

I
had just turned onto Chanel’s street when my cell phone started ringin’. I picked up. “I’m a minute away,” I said, then hung up. After speakin’ to Naheem last night I wasn’t really beat for bein’ ’round Iris ’n them. But Chanel was beatin’ me in my head ’bout chillin’ so I gave in. Girls or not, I knew I was gonna have a hard time keepin’ my mouth shut and not screamin’ on them hoes. I had decided on my way over that I was gonna sit back ’n peep how they moved. However, I knew me, and a bitch like me ain’t gonna keep her mouth shut too long. I’d like to think that a real bitch is gonna keep shit real, but I know every bitch ain’t gonna be real so sometimes ya gotta watch how she plays her hand. Truth or not, if a nigga in prison is hearin’ some
shit ’bout ya ass, nine times out of ten, there’s some fuckin’ truth somewhere in the middle of all the bullshit. And truth be told, a bitch needed to know what type of hoes she was fuckin’ with.

When I walked up to Chanel’s apartment door, I could hear the music playin’. Lil’ Kim’s “The Jump Off” was bangin’. I rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, Tamia opened the door with a blunt hangin’ outta her mouth and a drink in hand. I could tell by the glazed look in her eyes that her ass was already lifted. “What’s good?” I asked, steppin’ in and shuttin’ the door behind me.

She took a pull from her blunt, then handed it to me. “Here, bitch,” she said. “You already two blunts and three drinks behind the rest of us.”

I looked at the blunt in her hand, shakin’ my head. I wish the fuck I would put my lips on that shit after what I heard. Whether the shit is true or not, that bitch is nasty as far as I’m concerned. Uh, correction…the bitch has
always
been nasty. She’s just nastier now.

“Nah, I’m good,” I said.

“More for me, then,” she said, puttin’ it back up to her lips and takin’ a deep pull.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, removin’ my jacket.

The smoke filled her nostrils as she blew it out of her mouth and through her nose. “In the kitchen,” she answered. “Where else?”

I heard Chanel’s loud-ass mouth comin’ from down the hallway. I hung my jacket up in the closet, then headed toward the kitchen. When I got to the doorway, a cloud of weed smoke hit me in the face. Chanel and Iris were sittin’ at the table eatin’ shrimp and gettin’ their drink and smoke on. There was Rémy, Hennessy, Alizé, Absolut, Patrón, and weed for days all on the table.

“Bitch,” Chanel started. “It’s ’bout time you got here. I called ya ass three times.”

“Well, I’m here now,” I said, goin’ to the sink to wash my hands. “What you bitches drinkin’?”

“Pick ya poison,” Tamia said, handin’ me a glass, “’cause we’s ’bout to get lit the fuck up.” She started dancin’ in the middle of the floor when Cassidy’s “I’m a Hustla” came on.

Iris handed Chanel the blunt. She took two pulls, then passed it to Tamia. I raised my eyebrow. When Tamia tried to hand it to me, I shook my head, wavin’ it away. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Oh, you ain’t smokin’ with ya bitches tonight?” Iris said.

Yeah, I’m smokin’,
I thought.
I just ain’t smokin’ that.
“I ain’t fuckin’ with you fiends like that right now.”

“This bitch always on some extra shit,” Chanel said, laughin’.

“So what’s good with you, Iris?” I asked, pourin’ myself some Rémy, then sittin’ at the table next to her with my back toward the wall. I made sure I sat facin’ everyone since I knew it was a matter of time before I started flippin’ the script. Just in case shit popped off, I needed to be on point. These my girls ’n all, but after a few drinks and a couple of blunts, a bitch’ll be ready to jump when shit gets heated. And since I’d changed my mind when I walked through the door and decided I was gonna bring it to these hoes, I knew it might get messy, especially since some bitches can’t handle the truth.

“Shit,” she said. “Just chillin’.”

“Really?” I asked, reachin’ for a plate and pickin’ up four jumbo shrimp. “I hear ya pushin’ shit for some nigga on Long Island, what’s good with that?” I pulled a napkin outta my bag and discreetly spit my razor out. Yes, a bitch keeps a razor in her mouth at all times, and can spit it out and put it to a bitch’s throat with a quickness. Fuck what ya heard. I never leave home without it.

“What?” she asked.

“Bitch, I ain’t stutter,” I said, dippin’ my shrimp in some cock
tail sauce, then poppin’ it in my mouth. I shot her ass a look. “You heard what the fuck I said. So, is the shit true or not?”

Tamia and Chanel looked at each other, then at Iris, waitin’ for her to answer.

“Yeah,” she said, takin’ a pull from the blunt. “I’m doin’ a little sumthin’. Why?”

“Bitch, is you fuckin’ crazy?!” I snapped. “What the fuck is you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinkin’ a bitch got bills, and a bitch tryna make some paper. What, you gotta problem with that?”

“No, ho,” I replied. “I gotta problem with how you makin’ it. Outta all the muhfuckin’ hustles out here you gotta be transportin’ shit for some nigga. That shit is crazy to me.”

“Well, that’s you,” she said. “I’ma do what I gotta do.”

I shook my head, poppin’ another shrimp in my mouth. “Does Justice know?” I asked, wipin’ my mouth.

“Nah, that nigga don’t know. And he ain’t gonna know. Anyway, he ain’t my muhfuckin’ man. He’s just somebody I’m fuckin’. I’m ’bout to give him his papers, anyway.”

“You’se a real dumb bitch, for real,” I said, rollin’ my eyes. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you. We used to laugh at them bitches, and now you one of ’em.”

“Whatever.”

“So what’s good with you and that other nigga you were fuckin’?” I asked.

“Please,” she said as she reached for the Patrón, “he’s just some side dick. Ain’t nothin’ poppin’ with him and me.” She filled her shot glass, then tossed it back. She set the glass back down on the table and continued. “As long as I can get into the clubs for free with my girls, then the nigga serves his purpose.”

“Girl, you know I understand a bitch tryna do her,” Chanel said, “but I’m with Kat. That shit’s crazy. If shit gets hot, you know that nigga will hang ya ass to dry.”

“It ain’t even like that,” she stated, gettin’ all defensive ’n shit.

I sucked my teeth. “Why, because you fuckin’ him?”

“Yeah, we fuckin’ ’n all. But he ain’t even on it like that. On some real shit, the nigga asked me to do him this solid. He’s diggin’ me, and I’m diggin’ him. Real talk.”

If that wasn’t the dumbest shit I ever heard this bitch say. No nigga who is
really
feelin’ you, or tryna wife ya, is gonna get ya ass caught up in some shit like pickin’ up and movin’ his packages. Fuck that. He’s gonna try to keep ya ass outta that shit. Get his muhfuckin’ niggas or some trick to handle that shit. I don’t give a fuck what ya say. Now I might carry a nigga’s gun into a club or some shit like that, like I used to do when I was fuckin’ with Naheem, but that extra shit…you can kiss my beautiful round ass!

“Bitch, please,” I said. “Like he’s diggin’ the other six bitches he got runnin’ shit for his ass. Girl, the only thing that muhfucka is
diggin’
is ya back out. That nigga don’t give a fuck ’bout you ’cause if he did, he wouldn’t’ve asked ya ass to do no shit like that in the first place. So fuck what ya heard.”

“You don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout.”

“Yeah okay…if you say so. But I know all that nigga is doin’ is usin’ ya silly ass. And you too stuck on stupid to see it.”

Tamia chimed in. “Kat, you always comin’ outta the side of ya neck with shit. Iris is a grown-ass woman, so let her do her. If the nigga is tryna play her, she’ll peep it, and in the end his ass’ll get played ’cause that’s how we do ours.” She lifted her drink toward Iris. “Girl, I’m with you. Get that paper. Just know when to dip out.”

“Exactly,” Iris said, clickin’ her glass with Tamia’s.

“Bitch, fuck that. If we ’posed to be girls, then girls check each other when shit ain’t right. And this shit don’t sit right with me, so, I’m sayin’ somethin’. But at the end of the day, I know the bitch is gonna do what she wants. But that still don’t mean I ain’t gonna call her on it.”

“And you know I appreciate it, but I know what I’m doin’.”

I stared at her ass like she had six heads and a dick hangin’ outta each one of her mouths. “Humph. Yeah, okay. Who is this nigga, anyway?” I asked.

“Don’t worry ’bout that,” Iris replied, suckin’ her teeth. “You don’t need to know all that right now.”

“Aww, shit,” Chanel said. “So now we keepin’ secrets from each other?”

“I’m not keepin’ secrets. I need to keep this on the low for now. But, this bitch here,” she said, flickin’ her thumb in my direction, “tryna put me on blast ’n shit.”

“Because I care ’bout what happens to ya dumb ass.”

“Don’t worry. I got this.”

“Well, I tell ya what, Miss I Got This. When the nigga turns his back on ya ass, you make sure you got enough bail money to get ya dumb ass outta Rikers, and enough money for a lawyer to keep ya ass from bein’ sent up the way, ’cause Tamia’s broke ass ain’t got it to help ya ass since she wanna be on ya team ’n shit.”

“Whatever,” Iris said. “I know you ain’t talkin’, bitch. You the biggest secret keeper up in this piece and ain’t none of us ridin’ ya clit tryna find out how you makin’ ya paper.”

“I ain’t bein’ no nigga’s mule,” I said, frownin’. “That’s what the fuck I’m not doin’.”

“Well, answer me this,” Iris said, takin’ another blunt from
Tamia. She took three pulls and passed it to Chanel. When Chanel tried to pull me into the rotation, I told her ass,
again,
I was good. “Is how you makin’ ya ends legal?”

“Ho, what I do or don’t do has nothin’ to do with ya dumb ass runnin’ drugs for some nigga. Don’t try ’n flip this shit on me.”

“Bitch, pass me the blunt,” Iris ordered Chanel, who’d held on to it three tokes too long for Iris’s likin’. “Your trick ass holdin’ onto that shit like it’s a dick or some shit.”

Chanel took another toke, then exhaled. “Ho, bite me,” she said, laughin’, “with ya fiend ass.”

I had had ’bout enough of this back ’n forth bullshit. Fuckin’ with these hoes was startin’ to give me a headache. A bitch needed a blunt! I reached into my Gucci bag and pulled out my stash. “Hand me a light,” I said, lettin’ out a deep disgusted sigh.

“Oh, bitch, what…you too good to smoke with us?” Tamia asked.

Chanel tossed me her lighter.

“Basically,” I said, sparkin’ up.

“Since when?” she asked with ’tude.

I eagerly took two pulls, then held the smoke in my lungs before lettin’ it swirl up into my nose, and out of my mouth. Okay, this was startin’ to remind me of that game Truth or Dare. See, a bitch who ain’t ready to face the truth would rather be dared to do some off-the-wall shit, instead of facin’ shit dead-on. But a real live bitch is gonna give ya ass the truth and even take the dare as a bonus. Tamia’s raggedy-ass ain’t gonna do either ’cause the ho ain’t real with hers.

“Since I don’t know where ya nasty-ass mouth’s been, that’s when,” I answered, blowin’ smoke up into the air.

“Bitch, and I don’t know where yours been either,” Tamia stated, cuttin’ me the evil eye. “But that ain’t never stop us from blazin’
together before. And now you wanna be on some new shit. Fuck ya snotty ass, then.”

“Ya right. You don’t know where my mouth’s been. But you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me either. You, on the other hand—”

“Wait a minute, bitch!” she cut me off. “What the fuck is you tryna say? You ain’t heard shit ’bout me.”

“Humph. We mighty defensive, aren’t we?”

“I ain’t defensive ’bout shit,” she snapped.

“Ain’t that special. Word on the streets is you got herpes,” I said, takin’ a long pull from my blunt. Everyone in the room almost chocked on their drinks and smoke.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Chanel said, coughin’ and wavin’ the thick smoke outta her face. “Where’d you hear that bullshit?”

“Naheem called me last night and said some nigga up there got peoples on the bricks sayin’ she gave it to ’em.”

“Fuck that lyin’-ass nigga,” Tamia said defensively. She poured herself another drink. “He don’t know what the fuck I got.”

I eyed her. “Well, what
do
you have?”

“The same shit you got, bitch. Fuck is you talkin’ ’bout, tryna come at me on some bullshit. I’m real with mine, bitch.”

“I seriously doubt it, ho!” I yelled at her. “You can say whatever the fuck ya want. But like I said before, you ain’t never heard no shit ’bout me from no niggas or bitches. Believe that. But you, bitch, ya name has always been all up ’n down the streets. Ya name was floatin’ all through the projects, ho. And you know it. So, please! You the one who had to start fuckin’ with them Queens and uptown niggas ’cause most of Brooklyn had already ran up in you. Then when ya name started floatin’ outta them niggas’ circles, you crossed over the water and started fuckin’ Jersey niggas. So, bitch, don’t even clown. If the Centers for Disease Control ever got word on how much dick mileage ya
pussy got on it, and the number of nuts dumped up in it, they’d have ya ass up on the Most Wanted Hoes list, so you can front if ya want.”

“Fuck you, Kat!” She slammed her drink down onto the table. “You act like ya ass is so fuckin’ on point. You got dirt under ya nails and rug burns on ya back, too, bitch.”

I laughed. “Uh-huh, I sure do. But I don’t have blisters on my pussy, bitch. See, the difference between you and a bitch like me is I know how to move. And, you, you real sloppy with your shit. Because you rockin’ a few labels now don’t mean shit ain’t still poppin’ off ’bout ya nasty ass. But I tell ya what. Since you so real with yours, ho, how many niggas used ya fuckin’ throat to plant their nuts in, huh, you dirty bitch?”

“That’s none of ya muhthafuckin’ business.”

“Oh, really?” I asked. “Since when? It never stopped ya ass in the past. Now all of a sudden who ya fuckin’ ain’t nobody’s business.” I started laughin’. “Trick, please. You always been a walkin’ billboard for sex on the go. You been poppin’ dicks in ya mouth like Tic Tacs since the sixth grade. And now you tryna be brand-new. And the funny shit is that after all the dicks ya ass done sucked and swallowed, you still on the bottom.”