Page 113 of Big Booty

Fuquan comes ridin’ back up on his scooter, lookin’ into Cash’s car. “Mister Gorilla, you rich?”

“Fuquan!” I yell, snatchin’ him by the arm. I whack him on his ass. “See, now you tryna be messy. Don’t have me sling you down on this ground. Get ya black ass in the house.”

He throws his skateboard, then stomps off screamin’ up the driveway. “I don’t like you,” he says, swingin’ open the door.

“And I don’t like you either. Now get the fuck in the house.” He walks in and slams the door. I shake my head. “Ooh, he’s terrible.”

He laughs, openin’ the door to his Benz. “Yo, it def looks like you got ya hands full.” He slides behind the wheel, lookin’ and smellin’ like fresh cake. He shuts the door, rollin’ the window down. Oooh, I wanna fuck this niggah in the back seat. His eyes lock on my hard nipples. “Yo, c’mere.” He gestures with his head.

I lean into his window. “Yessss?”

He lowers his voice. “Yo, you got on panties?”

I smirk. “Yeah, niggah, why?”

“Let me get them shits to go, ma.”

He starts peelin’ money off’a a thick roll of hundreds. And you already know it doesn’t take long for the cash register in my head to start ringin’. And you know I ain’t one to ever turn down a few dollars. “Niggah, you real nasty with it. Mmmph. But I’ma run inside and get you a pair of my sweet scented drawers. I gotta pair in the dirty clothes from last night.”

“Nah, baby. I ain’t into smellin’ no stale drawers. I likes my shit fresh. Get in the back seat and take them shits you got on off.”

I blink. Oh this niggah is definitely some kinda extra freak. But I get in, shut the door, then lift up and roll my pink mesh thong down over my hips. “So what’s up with you smellin’ bitches’ drawers?”

“No mystery, ma. I like the smell of pussy. I like lickin’ ’n sniffin’ them panties when I’m strokin’ this big-ass dick, ma.”

There’s somethin’ about the way he says this in that deep, rugged voice of his that makes me wanna slip my fingers into my pussy and ass. “Well, do you like anything else about pussy?”

“Yeah, ma. I dig eatin’ it. And fuckin’ it. Now let me get them panties so I can roll out and handle this hard dick.”

I grin, foldin’ my panties, then handin’ ’em to him. He hands me the money. And I step outta the car, shuttin’ the door. “So what you gonna do, keep payin’ to sniff my drawers?”

He licks his lips. “Yeah, until I’m ready to get up in the hips.”

I place a hand up on my hip. “Niggah, who said I wanna let you get up in all this?”

He cranks the engine. And it purrs along with my pussy. “You got my card, ma. Hit me up when you ready for a muhfucka who knows how to treat a bad bitch like you. In the meantime, I’ma be back in a few days for another pair of them panties, so be ready for me.”

“Niggah, you better call first,” I snap, eyein’ him as he backs outta the driveway. He winks at me, tappin’ his horn, then rollin’ out. Nasty, freak-ass motherfucka! I strut back into the house, grippin’ the knot of money I just collected, grinnin’. Shit, if all I gotta do is slide th

at niggah my drawers on demand, I’ma definitely be callin’ his ass. A niggah who likes spendin’ money is just the kinda sponsor I need.

And if I get this niggah to finance me, then I can cut that crazy-ass niggah JT’s black ass off!

“Isaiah! Fuquan!” I yell as I walk down the hall toward my bedroom. “Get ya asses washed and dressed. We goin’ shoppin’.” They all hyped and whatnot, jumpin’ up and down, tellin’ me what they want when I ain’t ask them shit. “Fuquan, I shouldn’t buy ya black ass a goddamn thing for you tryna do me, lil’ niggah. You need to learn when to keep ya goddamn mouth shut!”

Thirty-Eight

“Yo, why da fuck you ain’t been answerin’ ya shit?”

Instead of goin’ off on this niggah-bitch, I decide to keep it light ’n friendly. “Look, boo. This shit ain’t workin’.”

“What? What da fuck is you talkin’ about?”

“I’m talkin’ about you, me . . . it ain’t workin’ for me. Ya black ass ain’t stickin’ to the program.”

“Yo, fuck outta here. You already know what it is. We gotta deal. You fuck me, and I keep breakin’ you off. I lace ya ass wit’ mad paper so you ’posed to have ya ass on call for me.”

“Coon-niggah, boom! I ain’t no motherfuckin’ call girl. I told you I don’t answer to you, or no other . . . ” My cell beeps. I glance at the screen. I have another call comin’ in. It’s Day’Asia. I keep on talkin’. “ . . . keep tellin’ ya black ass that I don’t answer to you.”