Page 1 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

CHAPTER ONE

Fly, exotic bitch wit’ the long lashes and slanted eyes…smooth, buttery thighs…fat ass…soft lips…got niggas ’n they bitches tryna get up in these hips…got ’em turnin’ tricks…beggin’ to lick the clit…while I’m ridin’ down on a nigga’s dick…got muhfuckas lined up to get glazed wit’ my cream…niggas tossin’ ’n turnin’…can’t get me outta they dreams…

’Scuse me, bitches! Can I have ya attention, please? In case some of you hatin’-ass Tricks and Hoes forgot who I am, let me reintroduce myself. I’m that cinnamon-colored beauty with that sexy swagger and straight-up bangin’ body that keeps the bitches rollin’ they eyes—and niggas recklessly eyeballin’ me, undressin’ and tryna mentally fuck me. I’m that chick rockin’ all the fly wears and pushin’ the hot-ass whip that all the other bitches wanna be like. I’m the chick bitches still wanna hate, but love to grin up in her face, always wantin’ to be up in her space ’cause I’m e’erything they’ll never be. Rich, fly and muthafuckin’ F-I-N-E! Not braggin’; just keepin’ shit real. Bitch, whaaaat?

Call me shallow, call me superficial; call me whatever the

fuck floats ya boat, but know this: You’ll never call a bitch broke, busted, or beat down. So keep hatin’. Keep poppin’ shit. Keep pickin’ ya face up. ’Cause a bitch like me feeds you dust. So, poof!

Annnnnnnywho, for my bitches and niggahs who I fucks wit’, I was on hiatus for a hot minute. I had’a step outta the game to get my mind right. ’Cause on some real shit, after how shit went down in Atlantic City, it had a bitch’s dome all jacked. Oh, trust. I heard how some’a them corny-ass broads were tryna come at my neck for puttin’ a bullet in Grant’s bucket. Predictable, they say? Uh, what the fuck them birds thought I was gonna do? Let the nigga walk after he done popped up in the room and saw I done bodied his fam? Bitch, puhleeze. You must be smokin’ that shit if you thought I was gonna let that nigga get a free pass. Yeah, he had that bomb-ass dick. And yeah, the nigga’s head game was sick. He knew how’ta tongue-fuck this pussy ’til a bitch shook. But, fuck what ya heard. Good dick, slammin’ tongue, or not. My number one rule is: No witnesses, no evidence. Period! So say what the hell you want. I’ma paid bitch, not a dumb one.

Still, I’ma keep it raw wit’cha. For a hot minute, my soul ached. It ripped a bitch’s heart to have’ta lay that fine, sexy nigga down. And yeah…I dropped a few tears. But there was no other option. Well, none that was gonna work for me. Prison, not! Him puttin’ lead in me, not! Me stressin’, wonderin’ if the nigga’s gonna be on some revenge-type shit, not! So, he had’a go. And for a bitch like me, it was for the best.

Like I told ya’ll from the dip, I fucked for sport. But I murdered for business. Yes, you heard me. I said fucked and murdered as in past tense. Well, for now, that is. It’s been almost two years since a bitch rode down on sum dick, then took the nigga’s head off. Shit, a bitch ain’t had no dick since…neva mind. I ain’t in the mood to get into it right now.

My cell rings. I grab it off the nightstand, peepin’ the digits.

“Bitch,” Chanel snaps in my ear the minute I answer. “What took ya ass so long to answer?”

“Slut,” I snap back, “the last time I checked I wasn’t suckin’ ya clit, so pump ya raggedy brakes ’fore you get ya fronts knocked.”

She laughs. “Trick, puhleeze. Ya ass ’posed to pick up on da first ring. You know what it is, boo. Don’t have ma-ma spank that ass.” She laughs harder. Oh, I see this ho is in rare form this mornin’, I think as I try ’n hold back a yawn.

“Yeah, I know you better fall back wit’ all that boo ’n ma-ma shit. I done warned ya ass ’bout that lesbo shit. It’s too early in the fuckin’ mornin’ for that clit-lickin’ bullshit.”

She continues laughin’. This bitch is my girl ’n all, but I swear sometimes she be on some real extra shit. Not that I give a fuck if she’s poppin’ tits ’n clits in her mouth, ’cause she’s gonna be my girl, regardless. But a bitch like me is only takin’ a dick that’s attached to a real nigga in the back of her throat and deep in her fat pussy. “Hahaha, hell, bitch. I can’t stand nuthin’ yo’ cum-guzzlin’ ass stand for.”

“Yeah, right,” she says, crackin’ up. “That’s what ya mouth says.”

“Whaaat eva. Why the fuck is you callin’ me, tramp?”

“Fuck all that you talkin’,” she says, chucklin’. “Oh, before I forget, guess who I ran into the other night and was askin’ ’bout you?”

“Who?”

“Patrice. And as usual ya aunt was dipped in some ill shit.”

I roll my eyes. Yeah, I’ll give it to her ass, though. The ho definitely knows how’ta throw it on. But, she still ain’t as bad as me. And she damn sure ain’t servin’ me. I bet her ass is still livin’ up in da projects wit’ Nana, triflin’ bitch! “Mmmph, where you see that roach at?” She tells me she ran into her at the Ledisi concert at BB King Blues Club and Grill in Times Square. “Well, I don’t know why the fuck she was tryna check for me.”

“She wanted to know what you were up to, then started talkin’ ’bout how you done got all brand-new on e’eryone, changin’ ya numbers ’n shit.”

“Yup, fuck all’a them hoes. And I hope you didn’t tell that bitch shit, either.”

“Oh, she was tryna fish me, but trust…you already know. I got you. I kept it real cute.”

“Good. They all dead to me.”

“I hear you, girl. But, damn…that’s kinda harsh.”

“Harsh my ass. It is what it is.”

“Kat, you know I usually keep my mouth shut, but this craziness between ya’ll has been goin’ on for too long. That’s still ya family, girl. Don’t you think it’s time ya’ll try ’n peace shit up?”

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