Free The Kat Trap by Cairo Page B

pushin’ weight was one thing, but bein’ his gofer or mule was a whole other thing. We all knew a few chicks on lock for takin’ the weight for some nigga. And while her ass is doin’ his bid, doin’ his time, he’s makin’ moves with the next bitch. We used to laugh at them silly-ass hoes.
    And if that bitch Tamia was out here fuckin’ niggas knowin’ her pussy was rotten, and wasn’t tryna tell them niggas, then that was some real foul shit. What the fuck is these bitches thinkin’, I thought. I needed to call them hoes.
    “Who’s the nigga Iris’s fuckin’ with?” I asked, already knowin’ he wasn’t gonna pass off that kinda info. I didn’t even bother to ask him ’bout the nigga talkin’ that shit ’bout Iris ’cause I wasn’t tryna believe it.
    “Ask ya girl.”
    I sucked my teeth, then took a deep breath. “Uh, why’d you call me again?” I asked.
    He lowered his voice. “I was tryna bust this nut wit’ you.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Nigga, please. Not today you won’t. You betta take that shit somewhere else.”
    “Come on, ma, real quick. Let me hear some of that nasty shit you like.”
    I sighed. “Look, Naheem. I gotta go.”
    “Oh, so you just gonna leave a nigga’s dick stiff.”
    “Well, if ya nasty ass kept ya hand outta ya pants and stopped strokin’ while talkin’ to me, the shit wouldn’t be bricked the fuck up. So that’s on you. Call me one day next week, aiight?”
    “Yeah, baby. I can do that. When?”
    I thought for a minute. “Hmm, like Wednesday or Thursday night.” Those were days I knew I wouldn’t be home. A bitch wasn’t beat to listen to any more of his prison-yard gossip, and I damn sure wouldn’t be phone-fuckin’ him.
    “Bet. You know I love you, right?”
    “Like you love that bird you fuckin’ with?”
    “Oh, here you go. What, you jealous?”
    I laughed. “Nigga, get a grip. That bum bitch ain’t in my league.”
    “Maybe not. But she’s holdin’ a nigga down; more than what I can say ’bout you. You bounced on a nigga, so what was I supposed to do?”
    I decided to ig that shit he was talkin’ ’bout me bouncin’ on his ass. As far as I was concerned he needed to get over it. “Do you,” I said. “I ain’t hatin’. I’m just sayin’…ya girl’s a pigeon, that’s all.”
    “But she’s keepin’ my dick wet, and my commissary up.”
    I knew all too well ’bout them hoes suckin’ dick and a nigga finga-poppin’ her pussy up in the visits whenever they could get it off. Yeah, them some real straight hood rat and rabbit bitches fuckin’ a nigga in a damn visitin’ hall.
    “I bet she is. But she ain’t wettin’ it like I wet it. Ho can’t evenmind fuck ya right. And I know she ain’t slayin’ the dick like I slayed it, ’cause if she was you wouldn’t be tryna phone-bone me. Bitch probably can’t even stretch her neck. Yeah, you got ya’self a real door prize,” I said, laughin’.
    “Fuck so funny?” he snapped, gettin’ agitated. He hated when I reminded him of how good this pussy and head game were. “I’m doin’ what I gotta do to get through this shit, know what I’m sayin’? But a nigga tryna come home to you, real talk.”
    Wrong answer, I thought. For a second, I considered how he used to be dipped and paid, and how he used to have a bitch screamin’ out his name and ready to climb walls every time he slammed that big, black dick in me. Oh, well. That shit was old news! His ass was locked the hell down, dead broke from spendin’ hundreds of thousands of chips on lawyers ’n shit, and havin’ a bunch of fiends and backward niggas on his team who either smoked up or hustled up his ends. He couldn’t do shit for a bitch like me. Ain’t no way in hell I’d give him any rhythm when he got out.
    Keepin’ shit real, I still had feelings for him, so I didn’t have the heart to bust his bubble and remind him that shit was really over for us; that my love for him wasn’t the kinda love a bitch