Man Swappers

by Cairo

  Girl, you better slow this down before it spins out of control. And you find your ass in something you can’t get out of. I shrug. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Every so often I find myself stealing glances at him. I can’t lie. He’s piqued my curiosity. A series of questions are racing through my head. What kind of work does he do? Does he have any children? How many baby mommas does he have? Did he go to college? Does he own his own place? Does he live alone? Is his credit all fucked up?

  I ask the questions and learn that he’s thirty-one, has no children, and has never been married. That his family’s from New Haven, Connecticut, where he still lives; but has an apartment in Jersey that he shares with one of his cousins. That he has three brothers and two sisters; that he’s the middle child. He tells me his parents, along with a few other family members, live in Jersey, which is why he’s here so much. That he’s very family oriented, and spends a lot of time chilling with them.

  “Speakin’ of which, one of my cousins is gettin’ married in a couple of months,” he says, taking a swig of his sake. “I’m actually his best man.”

  I smile. “Nice. I bet you clean up really well, too.”

  He rubs his chin, grinning. “Yeah, no doubt. I can definitely do a lil sumthin-sumthin.”

  “I bet you can. You’ll have to take pictures so I can see for myself.”

  “No doubt. I got you. On some real shit, wish I woulda met you sooner. I woulda had you on my arm so you could see firsthand how I get down.”

  I laugh. “And what makes you think I’d want to be on your arm?”

  He grins. “Don’t front. I know you diggin’ me. And you’d be on my arm, ’cause that’s where I’d want you to be. That’s real talk, baby.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’m sure that cockiness has gotten you real far.”

  “Don’t confuse confidence with cockiness, baby. I get what I want.”

  I eye him over the rim of my drink. “So, what kind of work do you do?”

  He takes another sip of his drink. “Is that really important?”

  I shrug; slowly shake my head. “No, actually it’s not. Forgive me for asking.” I mean, it’s not like you tryna marry the nigga.

  “Nah, you good. I don’t usually like discussin’ what I do for a livin’. Some chicks be on some gold-diggin’ type shit, feel me?”

  I nod. “I understand. Trust me. I’m far from a gold digger. If you haven’t noticed, I do very well for myself.”

  He takes in the two-carat diamond studs in my earlobes, the tennis bracelet and diamond-encrusted Rolex on my wrist, the two-thousand-dollar handbag. “Yeah, I see how you grind. You’d have a cat goin’ broke real quick, tryna get at you. He’ll have’ta dig real deep in them pockets.”

  “That’s so not true,” I say, feigning insult as I take a slow sip from my drink. “I make my own money and buy whatever I want. Trust me. I don’t need a man to buy me anything. And I’m definitely not a gold digger.”

  “Nah, baby, I wasn’t callin’ you a gold digger. I’m sayin’ if I were your man, I’d want to buy you shit. You the type of woman I’d wanna spoil.”

  I smile. “That’s so sweet of you.”

  The rest of the night we eat our meal, laughing and talking and finishing up the bottle of sake. I glance down at my watch. It’s already nine-thirty. Desmond pays the check, then grabs my hand and leads the way out the restaurant. We walk around the casino for a while until he decides he wants to gamble. He wants to play The Amazing Race game, which is situated next to the Sex and The City slot machines. I’m impressed with the graphics. And see why every seat for the game is filled. He takes a seat at the last Amazing Race slot machine that’s next to the last Sex and the City machine. Surprisingly, the woman playing the machine decides to get up. I grab the seat, digging in my purse for my wallet.

  “Yo, take this,” he says, pulling out a stack of bills and handing me two one-hundred-dollar bills. I tell him no, but he insists. I take the money, thanking him. He reaches over and kisses me on the lips. I’m shocked at his public display of affection, and even more shocked that I allow it. And like it.

  “What was that for?”

  “For good luck. And for bein’ so damn sexy.”

  “How sweet,” I say, sliding the bills into the machine. There are four grids and I have no idea how to play the game so I read the printed instructions. Once I think I have the gist of it down, I decide to play all four grids. After about seven or eight tries, I win a few spins and about forty dollars; nothing to write home about. Thirty minutes later, I’m down to forty-two dollars. “I should cash this out before I lose it all.”

  He laughs. “Play that shit, baby. It’s only money. You win some, you gonna lose some. We’re here to have fun.”

  I shrug. “Say no more,” I tell him, accidentally hitting the MAXIMUM BET button. “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Don’t sweat it, baby. Like I said, you lose some, you win some.”

  Next thing I know, bells are going off. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!” I scream, jumping up out of my seat. “I hit the jackpot!”

  Persia

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Well, well, well,” I say as Paris sashays her way into our media room, wearing a wide I’m-happy-as-a-clam-rolled-in-shit smile on her face. “Look who’s finally decided to come home”—I glance down at my watch—“almost twenty-nine hours later. Mmmph, must’ve been some night.”

  She flops down on the sofa next to me. “Girl, it was. I won almost fourteen hundred dollars playing a slot machine called Sex and the City.”

  “Oh, wow. Congrats, sis. Who’d you go down there with?”

  “I went by myself; why?”

  I eye her. “Girl, you don’t even gamble. Sooooo, what would possess you to drive way down to Atlantic City?” She shrugs. Tells me it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. That she felt like doing something different. “Well, why didn’t you ask if Porsha or I wanted to ride down with you to get our gamble on, too?” She blinks. Tells me she wanted to go alone. I purse my lips. “Hmmm. Well, it definitely seems like it was well worth it.”

  “Oh, trust me, it was. What’s the name of this movie you’re watching?” she asks, quickly changing the subject. I tell her it’s The Holiday with Cameron Diaz and Jude Law, a comedy about two dizzy chicks, depressed and miserable, across the globe with man drama. One’s in love with a man who is getting ready to marry another woman. And the other finds out the man she’s living with is cheating on her, so they swap homes in each other’s countries. “Oh, I heard this is a really good movie.”

  “So far, it’s a cute movie,” I say, eyeing her as she pretends to be all caught up in the movie. Truth is the movie isn’t that damn comedic in my opinion, although it does have its moments. Still in all, it’s like I said: a cute chick flick. She laughs, keeping her eyes glued to the screen. I stare at her.

  After about two minutes of me burning a hole through her, she decides to peel her eyes from the TV, glancing over at me. “Umm, why are you giving me the eye like that?”

  “Hooker, don’t sit here and try to act like you’re all into this silly movie,” I say, snatching a pillow from off the sofa and playfully hitting her with it. “I wanna know who you took your hot ass down to AC with. And don’t give me that I went alone shit. I know when you’re hiding something.”

  She laughs. “Ohmygod, Persia. Your ass is too damn funny. There’s nothing to hide.”

  I squint at her. “So, you’re telling me you decided to hop in your car and drive waaaaay down to Atlantic City all by yourself?”

  “Yes,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Why is that so hard to believe? And for the record, it’s not that far of a drive.”

  “Whatever. I know you,” I tell her. “And your ass didn’t go there alone. But if that’s your story, then stick to it, boo.”

  She waves me on. “Sssh, I wanna watch the movie.”

  I won’t lie. I’m a little disappointed with her for
not sharing with me who she went down there with. But at some point, she’ll tell me. Still, the question remains. Why does she even feel it necessary to keep it from me now? I can’t recall a time when she’s ever not shared everything with me the moment it happened. So why now?

  I roll my eyes. “Fine, keep your little secret.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her, heading out the room. “It’s a secret.”

  She laughs. “Whatever, smart-ass.”

  While I’m upstairs in the kitchen fixing myself a salmon salad, I decide to call Porsha. Her phone goes directly into voicemail. I disconnect, try her office number. There’s no answer. Hmm, that’s odd.

  A few minutes later, the house phone rings. I walk over to the counter and pick up the portable phone, glancing at the caller ID. I sigh. “Hello, Mother,” I say, going into the refrigerator. I pull out a green pepper, then the sweet relish, spicy mustard and mayo. “Which one of your daughters would you like to speak to? Paris or Porsha?” There’s a tinge of sarcasm in my tone. One I’m sure she’s picked up on. I grab a red onion out of the pantry closet.

  She huffs. “I’ve called to speak to you.”

  I blink. “About what?”

  “I would like to have lunch one day next week with all three of my daughters.”

  “Ohhhhhhhkay, so why do you need to speak to me about it first?”

  “Because it’s you who seems to have the most problems with me. And it’s you who seems to have a big influence on your sisters. It’s like they seek your approval or permission to have a relationship with me.”

  I roll my eyes up in my head, opening a can of red salmon. “Mother, I don’t have any control over anything Porsha or Paris do. They’re both grown women, as I am. If they choose to have a relationship with you, that’s on them. I have nothing to do with that.”

  “Persia, what have I ever done to you for you to be so cold and callous?”

  “Mother…” My cell phone rings. I grab it from off the kitchen table. Glance at the screen. It’s Royce. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But, look, I have another call that I need to take.”

  “Need or want to take?” she asks, sounding offended.

  “It’s a call I want to take…”—I answer my cell—“hold on one minute,” I tell him, then continue my conversation with her as I mix my ingredients together.

  “So you’d rather take another call than talk to me?”

  “Yes. Just plan the day you want to do your little lunch thingy and let Porsha or Paris know. I’ll be sure to be there. I gotta go.” I hang up, placing my cell up to my ear. “Hey.”

  “How you, ma?”

  I smile. The way he says ma tickles me. And I’m going to be honest with you. I find the hint of his Caribbean accent sexy. My pussy twitches. “Reeeeeeeal horny,” I tell him, lowering my voice into a sexy purr. “I want some dick.”

  I almost see him grinning. “Oh, word? So what you wanna get into tonight?”

  “Your boxers.”

  “That’s wasssup. Me and you, or are your sisters gonna get it in, too?”

  “I’m not sure what they plan on doing. I can ask. But if not, it’ll be you and me. You okay with that, little daddy?”

  “No doubt, ma.”

  “You know I shouldn’t be fucking with you, right?”

  He laughs. “Why you say that?”

  “’Cause you young as hell,” I tell him, pulling out a box of Triscuits from one of the cabinets.

  “And how old are you, ma?”

  “Ummm, excuse you. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a woman her age?”

  “Oh, word? Nah, I ain’t get that memo.” He laughs. “But, uh, I’ma grown-ass man, ma. You already know what it is. Let’s see how young you think I am when I put this big-ass dick up in you tonight.”

  My pussy purrs.

  “Mmmmm, I like the sound of that.” I glance up at the wall clock. “What time can you be here?”

  “It’s whatever. You tell me.”

  “My pussy wants you now,” I tell him, scooping salmon onto a plate with eight crackers, then walking over to the kitchen table. My hunger for Royce’s thick West Indian dick has spoiled my mood for salmon. I grab my plate, getting up from the table to wrap it up for later. Right now, I want to be fed a long, hard dick. I tell him this. Tell him tonight I’m going to be his horny little bitch. That I’m going to drink his cum. Telling him all this makes my cunt juices seep. I go into the refrigerator and pull out a thick cucumber, washing it at the sink.

  “Daaaaaamn, word? I like that shit, ma.” His voice dips to husky whisper. “What else you gonna do?”

  “I’m gonna suck on daddy’s balls…you wanna be my little daddy, baby?”

  He grunts. “Yeah, ma. You got my dick hard as hell. Shit. You know I’m on my way, right?”

  “That’s exactly what I wanna hear,” I say, hopping up on the counter. I prop one leg up on the counter, spread my legs. “I want you to fuck me good.” I rub my pussy over my boy shorts; pat it a few times. I moan in his ear.

  “Damn, ma. What you doin’?”

  “Playing in my pussy until you get here. I can’t wait to get up on that dick.”

  “Damn, ma. You got my dick ready to bust outta my drawz.”

  I pull open the leg of my shorts, then rub the chilled cucumber over my clit. I gasp. “Aaah…are you in your car yet?”

  “Yeah, just got in.”

  I slide the thick vegetable over my hot slit. “Pull that big dick out and stroke it for me while you drive.”

  “Oh, word?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You tryna get me fucked up on the road, ma.”

  “What, you’ve never jerked off and drove before?” He tells me no. Tells me he’s never had anyone ask him to. Tells me he’s never even had his dick sucked while driving. “Aww, poor baby,” I tease, pushing the cold tip of the cucumber into my pussy. I gasp as it enters me. “Uhh…mmmmm…you don’t know what you’ve been missing. Uh…my pussy’s soooo wet…pull your dick out.”

  “Aiight…” I hear him fumbling around. “Damn, I can’t believe I’m about to really do this.” I instruct him to keep his eyes open and to keep one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his long, fat cock.

  I slow fuck myself with the cucumber until my hot juices warm it. “Mmmm…you got that dick out?”

  “Yeah, ma. Now what you gonna do to it?”

  “I’ma lick up and down your shaft before I take your sweet, black dick into my hot, wet mouth…spitting and slurping and sucking down your dick, making popping sounds with my juicy mouth…. Mmmm…just talking about it has my pussy tingling…” I remove the cucumber, stick it in my mouth and suck all over it. Make a bunch of gushy sounds. “You hear that?”

  “Yeah, ma…”

  “This is how I’m gonna suck your dick, little daddy.” I lift up my hips, slide my shorts over my ass, then kick them off. I lean back and spread my wet, sticky lips, pulling open my juicy hole. “I wish you could see how wet you got my pussy.” I slide the cucumber back in. Fuck myself deeper, faster. “Uhhh…ooooh…”

  “You fuckin’ that pussy, ma?”

  “Oooooh, yeah…”

  “What you fuckin’ it wit’?”

  “A long, fat cucumber…oooh, I wish it was your dick in me instead.”

  “Damn, ma. Aaaah, fuck…me, too.”

  “You stroking that dick for me?”

  “Aaah…shit, yeah. I wish you could see how hard you got my shit. Finish tellin’ me what you gonna do it when I get there.”

  I grin. Then tell him how I want him to smack my lips with his cock. Tell me to stick my tongue out, then slap his dick on it. How I want him to slide it into my mouth. Then grab the sides of my head and slow grind his dick down into my throat. I tell him I want him to make my pussy cream as his balls hit my chin. Tell him I want him to yank my hair while I titty fuck him, flicking my tongue over the head of his dick.

 
He moans. “Aah, shit, ma…ohhh, fuck…”

  “You wanna slap my titties, nigga? Then reach up under me and play with my pussy, hmm? You gonna let your little bitch eat daddy’s ass? Can I run my tongue across your asshole, hunh, daddy?”

  “Aaah, shiiiit…I ain’t never had my ass licked before, ma.”

  “You stroking that big-ass dick?”

  “Yeah, ma.”

  “You gonna let me taste your ass, hmm? Licking a man’s ass makes my pussy real wet. You want my pussy to get real wet, then you can fuck me deep in it?”

  “Damn, ma…I’m gettin’ ready to nut…uhhhh, shit…” He tells me he’s never had a chick lick his ass before. I tell him all the nasty little things my tongue is going to do to his hole. “Oh, shit…”

  “Mmmm, your ass tastes so good, little daddy. You wanna suck on my tongue? You wanna taste your ass while you slide your long, black dick in my pussy?”

  I pull the cucumber out, lick off my juices, then slide it back in. Hearing Royce moan and breathing heavy into the phone excites me. I tell him I’m going to fuck him like he’s never been fucked before. That he’ll never want another young bitch again. That I am going to dominate him, then let him dominate me. Tell him I’m going to chain lock his cock. That he must lick my pussy while I tease his caged cock with a vibrator and if he can prove himself a good pussy licker I will release his dick and allow it to roam freely into the dampness of my deep, steamy pussy. I tell him that I’m going to turn his ass out.

  “Aaaaah, shiiiiiiiit…aaaaah, shiiiiiiiiit…you got me nuttin’ all over my car…”

  I moan. Come, too. Ask him how much longer before he gets here. He tells me he’s five minutes away. Tells me he can’t wait to fuck me. I smile as we end our call.

  “Ohmygod,” Paris says, leaning up against the doorframe. “You’re one nasty-ass hooker.” I hop off the counter, leaving a puddle of my pussy juice.

  I shrug. “What?”

  “What? Hooker, I watched you fuck yourself up on our kitchen counter, that’s what?”

  I laugh. “How much did you see?” She tells me most of it. “Well, why in the hell did you stand there and watch? Mmmph. And you call me nasty.”