by Cairo
“Humph,” I grunt. “That’s a shame. I haven’t talked to you in months. Now all of a sudden, you got me renting space in your head.”
“Yeah, something like that,” he says. “I still don’t dig how shit went down with us. You dissed a brotha, setting egg timers ’n shit, talkin’ ’bout my time expired. What kinda shit was that? You was on some real foul shit, for real, for real. But just like this big-ass dick, it’s all good.”
I chuckle to myself, remembering the ding of the egg timer alerting me that his fifteen minutes of tongue-fucking me was up. I had already told him prior to his coming over that he was only getting fifteen minutes of pussy because I had already recruited someone else to take his spot. The nigga thought I was bullshitting. Had he been smart, he would have licked my cat for five minutes, then used the other ten to stroke it with his dick, but he didn’t. And when the bell went off, I politely pushed his head and face from outta the center of my crotch and told him to get out. Poor thing looked at me with his eyes popped wide open and my creamy pussy juice smeared all over his face and lips, looking like a damn glazed fool.
“Whaaat?!?!” he had snapped. “You buggin’, right?”
“Does it look like I’m bugging?” I asked, slipping on my robe and turning off the stereo. The party was over.
He grabbed his erect dick and wildly shook it. “Yo, you see how hard this shit is? You need to stop poppin’ all that ying yang and get up on this dick.”
I laughed, flipping open my cell. I had my finger on the speed dial button for my brother, who would have come through with his boys in blue and locked Vince’s pathetic ass up.
“Nigga,” I warned, “you got five minutes to get your shit on and get out.”
“I ain’t going no-fuckin’-where until we fuck, or I get this dick sucked or something.”
“You can leave willingly, or you can leave in handcuffs. Either way, you’re getting the hell up outta here.”
I swung open the bedroom door and stood defiantly, waiting for him to get the hell out of my bedroom. He huffed and puffed and mumbled inaudible shit under his breath, but it didn’t matter to me. I had other plans that didn’t include him.
When he finally got the hint that there wasn’t going to be shit else popping off between us, he got up and got dressed, then stomped down the stairs. I followed behind, graciously opening the front door for his ass.
He stared at me, clenching his jaw muscles. “Yo, that’s real fucked up. You on some ole other shit, for real, for real. But it’s all good. I ain’t beat. You’ll be blowing up my shit”—he grabbed at his crotch area—“tryna get at this dick again.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I firmly stated, holding the door open for him. “The one thing I never do, boo, is go back to dick I’ve dismissed.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he snapped, brushing past me. “Fucking bitch! I don’t know why I fucked with your ho ass any damn way.”
I laughed at his ass. “But I’m a damn good one, remember that. Got your silly ass feenin’ for this tight pussy, don’t I? Had you tryna suck the nut outta this ho pussy, didn’t I? How many times you had your tongue buried up in this ho’s ass, huh, nigga? Let’s talk about how many times you begged me to let you slide your dick up in this sweet, juicy ho box raw. Nigga, you fucked with my ho ass ’cause I rode your tongue and dick down into the mattress, and had your dumb ass stuttering.”
He glared at me, but said nothing.
“Unh-huh, just what I thought. Yeah, I’m a ho, baby. But you can best believe it’ll be a long, cold day in hell before you ever sniff this pussy again.”
I slammed the door on him, then peered out the window and watched him get into his burgundy Acura coupe and peel out of the driveway, burning rubber in the process. That was months ago. And now he has the nerve to ring my line like everything’s sweet. My, my, my…how the chickens come home to roost.
“Mmm-hmm,” I finally say, flicking imaginary dirt from under my fingernail. “So, why are you really calling?”
“I wanna swing through on my way to work to see you. I wanna lay in bed with you and hold you in my arms.”
“Wait a minute. You mean to tell me you want to lay up in a ho’s bed and hold her in your arms. Now, ain’t this some shit?”
“Oh, here you go; you still on that bullshit?”
“Actually, I’m not,” I state flatly. “I’m merely making a statement.”
“Damn, baby. Listen. I was only talking out the side of my neck. You had me real heated, so I was saying shit to hurt you.”
This nigga can’t be the brightest star if he thinks calling me a ho was supposed to hurt my feelings. The word ho holds no power over me, so calling me one can’t hurt me. I embrace my ho-ism wholeheartedly, with pride and grace.
I laugh. “OhmyGod, you are so fucking hilarious.”
“Why I gotta be hilarious? I’m being dead ass.”
“I’m a ho, remember?”
“Why can’t I only wanna see you?” he asked, igging my remark. “Why I gotta be on some extra shit?”
“’Cause you are,” I answer, still laughing. “Vinnie, baby, do you really think I’m buying that ‘I only wanna see you’ mess? No, nigga,” I say. “You calling ’cause you tryna come through and get that dick wet. You don’t miss me. It’s this sweet, tight pussy being wrapped around your dick you miss.”
He laughs. “So what’s wrong with a brotha missing some good-ass pussy?”
“Nothing,” I state.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“There is no problem. Not for me, that is. But, as for you, this pussy is no longer on the menu, boo-boo. So you shit outta luck.”
“Damn, so it’s like that? I remember a time when you couldn’t get enough of this long, black dick. Let me come through and remind you of how good this dick used to feel up in you.”
Despite myself, I smile—allowing my mind to travel down memory lane, remembering the first time we fucked. Baby, let me tell you. This man did me right. I had gone to Atlantic City—by myself, of course—to chill. I had rented a suite, grabbed something to eat, then went down to the casino to do a little gambling. When I tell you it was heads everywhere, Bally’s was jumping!
Anyway, I didn’t win shit on the slots, but I damn sure hit the jackpot when I brought back up to my room a six-foot-two, one-hundred-and-eighty pound, half-black and half-Italian nigga from Brooklyn. And, yes, I fucked him on the damn spot. And… oh my Gawd! That’s all I can say. Dude tried to dig another hole into this pussy, you hear me? And when he ate me out, he ate this pussy like it was about to be his last night on earth. I’m telling you, the way he darted his tongue in and out of my slit, licking and kissing, and blowing all over my clit, then burying his thick tongue deep inside of me, I thought my walls were going to collapse, the way he made my insides shake. The man had a wicked head game, and almost had me screaming out his name—something I had no intentions of doing. But I damn sure begged him for some of that thick, ten-inch dick. He had my pussy so overheated that I needed it stoked, needed it stroked, needed it fucked deep, and hard, and fast, and all damn night long. His dick sliced into my pussy like a hot knife, causing my walls to melt around his meaty cock. By the time we finished fucking, the sun was coming up and my pussy was beat up real good and well served.
Oh, yes, Vince slayed this pussy something fierce. But he also got on my last damn nerve with his negative-ass, paranoid thinking ’bout the white man trying to bring him down and keep him down. If he lost a job, it was because they were racists. Had nothing to do with the fact that he was still on his ninety-day probation period and was late more than nine times in one month and had been warned another lateness would result in termination. Had nothing to do with him coming to work hung over, or sexually harassing some of the chicks at the job.
In his head, someone was always conspiring against his nutty ass. The man never took any responsibility for any of his choices. Everything that ever happened to him was somebody else’s fault
. When his girl put him out and changed the locks on the door, it was because she was fucking someone else. Not because she got tired of his ass coming and going and doing what the hell he wanted. Not because his ass wanted to lie around and be taken care of, and she got sick of it. Oh, no…he had nothing to do with it. OhmyGod, every time I was with his ass, he had one complaint after another. I mean, damn! Whenever he opened his mouth, I would start to hear violins playing. It got to the point I couldn’t even fuck his ass in peace. So you know the mofo had to go. When your bullshit starts disrupting my nut, it’s a wrap.
“So, dig…you letting me come through or what?” he asks, snapping me back to the present, and the reason why I dismissed his ass in the first place.
Instead of hanging up on him, I decide to toy with him. “So, what you saying, big daddy?” I coo. “You wanna bang up this pussy like old times. You wanna make my pussy nut, hunh, big daddy?”
He dips his voice another octave; speaks in a low, seductive whisper. “Yeah, baby. You know that’s what I’m tryna do. Let daddy come get up in that fat pussy, baby.”
I lie back in bed and decide to seize the moment. A girl like me believes she should never pass up an opportunity to pleasure herself at an unknowing man’s expense. I spread open my legs and place my left hand over my pussy, massaging my neatly trimmed mound. I glide my hand to my clit, lightly brush it with my fingertips, then slip a finger inside my hole.
“You wanna slide your long dick down in my deep, wet throat and face-fuck me like old times, hunh, daddy?”
“Damn, girl, why you fucking with me? You got my dick hard as hell, baby.”
“Mmmm. You want me to drop down low and suck that hard dick balls-deep, don’t you, daddy? Edge it. Lick your balls…stick my tongue in your ass. Give you a long, hot, slow cock-sucking until your nut explodes in my mouth and down my throat. Is that what you want?”
“Oh, shit yeah,” he says. “You gonna let me get some pussy or what?”
I slip another finger inside my pussy and massage the opening of my walls, rotating and twisting and pumping until my fingers become warm, creamy-coated sticks of pleasure. My voice catches in the back of my throat as I feel an orgasm swirling. “Tell me…what…you wanna do…to this…pussy…if I let you come through?” I say, moaning as I pull my fingers out of my slippery slit and suck the sweet, sticky elixir, then plunge each finger back in.
“I’ma ram this fat dick up in you, and fuck you nice and slow and deep. Then I’ma flip you over onto your stomach and hit that pussy from the back, spreading ya ass checks open so I can watch ya fat juicy cunt lips wrap around my dick as I stick my finger in that pretty brown asshole…”
Not with them fingernails, I think, remembering the fact that he had nails a bit too long for my liking. They weren’t homo long, but they were long enough to scratch up the inside of my walls, or to see dirt up underneath them, and for me, that is a no-no.
I frown, but say nothing.
“…Then I’ma pull out, and slap ya ass with my dick, before I eat that sweet, wet pussy from the back. Damn, baby…I wanna fuck,” he says, practically panting.
For some reason, I find myself recalling the time I got my first glimpse of two naked bodies. I was seven. I remember sneaking down to our basement and watching my oldest brother, Tyrell, lying on top of his girlfriend, humping and grinding into her, and her moaning. I stood there crouched down low, watching them in amazement. Every day after school, I’d sneak downstairs to watch, listen, and learn. And every day, they did something new that excited me, like him putting his face between her legs and licking her pussy, and her moaning; or him moaning while she had her mouth on his dick. I watched them in delight for almost the whole school year until one day my brother Terrance caught me and spanked my ass for “spying” as he called it.
He threatened to beat me again if I told our parents what I saw. Little did he know, I’d been spying and keeping it to myself for months. Keeping secrets was a game to me. Although I didn’t quite understand what they were doing, I knew it was something that shouldn’t have been done, and I knew enough not to repeat what I saw.
Every time I watched, I took mental snapshots of everything he did to her, and she to him, tucking it all in the back of my mind. And every now and then, I’d close my eyes and replay the images and sounds in my head. It was then that my imagination began to grow wings and take flight. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted someone to hump on me, and make me moan too. And that’s where it all began.
I purse my lips, contemplate. Do I really feel like fucking him? I remind myself of how good the dick was. Hell, it was better than good…it was great! But truth be told, when we were fucking, I could only ride his dick with him on his back, or take the dick doggie-style, because he had a back full of pimples and blackheads that I couldn’t stand to feel or see. Running your hands along his lumpy-ass back was like trying to read Braille.
To fuck or not to fuck…that is the question.
I dip my two fingers back into my sugar well, then pull them out and suck my juices off. Mmmm-hmm, delicious! I smack my lips then say, “Vince, sweetie…”
“Yeah. What’s good, baby?”
“Thanks for the nut.”
“Say what?”
“I said, thanks for getting me off.”
“Wait a minute. You’re telling me you were playing with yourself this whole time, and came?”
“I sure was,” I say, moaning. “Had my fingers all up in my hot pussy, and all over my slippery clit. And, yes, I came all over myself.” I stick my fingers back into my mouth, and start making loud sucking sounds. “Mmmm Mmmm…finger licking good,” I tease.
“Damn, that’s wassup, baby. I always loved it when you got that pussy nice and wet for me. Mmmph, fuck! I can’t wait to slide this dick up in that fat, juicy—”
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, boo,” I say.
“I ain’t laughing,” he replies, sounding annoyed.
“Well, I am. You gotta lot of nerve to think you can call me out the blue, and I’m supposed to welcome you with open legs and a wet pussy. Nigga, make no mistake. You won’t be sliding a damn thing up in this sweet snatch. Not tonight; not ever again.”
“So, what you saying…I can’t come through?”
I pull the cell from my ear, turning my lips up at his dumb ass. What the fuck?! It baffles me how some men really think because they’re packing dick and tapped a chick’s ass up and dug her back out a few times that he can hit it anytime he wants it ’cause he’s that nigga. That may be the case for some chicks, but it definitely doesn’t apply to me.
“Uh, basically,” I say, placing the phone back up against my ear.
“Damn, that’s fucked up. You got me over here with my shit all bricked up.”
“Oh, well. You’ll be alright.”
“So, it’s like that, huh? You really gonna do me like that. Leave a nigga hangin’?”
“Yep.”
“You real fucked up.”
“And so is your crusty-ass back,” I snidely reply.
“Oh, you got jokes, right?”
“You don’t hear me laughing,” I say. “I’ve already had your dick, and if you recall correctly, I done fucked it every which way imaginable. So there really is nothing else you can do for me.”
“You can be a real bitch, you know that, right?”
“Yes, I know. And don’t forget to add ho to your list.”
“Check this—”
“Good night, Vinnie,” I say, cutting him off. “And while you’re at it, do us both a favor—lose my number. Oh, and by the way, thanks again for the nut.”
Before he can open his mouth to say anything else, I end the call. I turn off the light, then turn over on my side—sticky and exhausted—and drift back to sleep, chasing the remainder of my dream.
CHAPTER FOUR
You know, I’m sitting here thinking that I’d better make a few things clear so that we’re al
l on the same page before you start passing judgment on me or trying to label me as some wounded trollop. See, the reason I fuck the way I do has nothing to do with some deeply rooted, unresolved psychological and emotional bullshit. Please don’t get caught up in that textbook hype. My upbringing doesn’t have a damn thing to do with my hunger for dick. This is who I am, and this is who I choose to be. I refuse to live my life in a box constructed (and confined) by the thoughts, beliefs, or feelings of others. So if I choose to suck or fuck a dick every hour on the damn hour, that’s my business. Honestly, in the grand scheme of things, with the recession, the collapse of the stock and housing markets, and all the killings and crooked shit going on in the world, is my fucking really that big of a deal?
I mean, really. I don’t want or need anyone trying to psycho-analyze me. No, I was never sexually, physically, or emotionally abused by anyone. I was never neglected or deprived. Nor am I the product of a dysfunctional family. So there are no wounds to heal. My father didn’t beat up on my mother, run out on her, abuse substances, or abandon me. I come from a very loving, two-parent household. Both of my parents were hard workers who now live in San Diego. My mother is a retired elementary school teacher, and my father is a retired police officer. I am the youngest of seven, and the only girl. And none of us ever wanted for anything, especially me. So let’s be clear. There’s nothing wrong with my self-esteem, and I’m not scarred from some traumatic experience.
I fuck because it’s something that I enjoy doing. Some people find pleasure in reading a good book. Some people gamble. Some people shop. Some people drink and use drugs. Well, I take pleasure in the feel of a stiff dick. And ain’t a damn thing wrong with it. We all have our vices, and fucking is mine.
See, the difference between me and most chicks who randomly fuck and suck niggas: I know what I am. I don’t try to hide it, or make any excuses for it. I am what I am. I am a grown-ass woman. I am adventurous, uninhibited, spontaneous, and unrepressed. Hello. I am a nymph. I love dick! And I do what I wanna do because I can.