by Cairo
Then there was Edwin, my first—and last, blind date. Dude wasn’t bad looking, and I was contemplating making a move on his ass so I could taste the goods. But his damn breath stunk so bad, I thought I would throw up everything I had eaten right in his damn face. It was more than simply bacteria around his teeth and gums that caused his bad breath. I am convinced the smell of sewage wafted relentlessly from the back of his throat, and clung to the grooves of his tonsils because he was a shit eater. There was no other logical explanation for it. He even had the nerve to be all up in my face, crowding my space and burning the hairs in my nose, trying to get his rap on. The whole time he spoke, I held my breath. I was getting lightheaded, trying to be cordial and keep a straight face. But this man was literally making me sick. I tried to back away just enough to suck in some fresh air before I passed out. Finally, I had had enough. Without being too nasty, I got up, and said, “Don’t call me; I’ll call you.”
Then there was Dexter. Damn him! And damn me! That’s what the hell I got for going out on the prowl. I never, ever, bring a man home without running my hands across the front of his pants first. And this particular night was no different. I grabbed a handful of his crotch area and thought I felt (and saw) a lump in his pants, which is why he got through my damn front door. But obviously, the nigga stuffed a pair of sweat socks, or something, down in his shorts. Because when he got here, what I felt, is not what the fuck I saw. When I measured him with my ruler, I had to do it again to make sure that the measurements and my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
Here he was six-six, two hundred forty pounds; chiseled from head to damn toe, with big hands, a big nose, size fourteen feet, and a teenie-weenie Oscar Meyer Weiner. What kind of shit is that? All I can say is that another thick, strapping nigga dispelled the myth. And, yes. I was more than disappointed. I was downright disgusted to say the least. Humph.
The minute he stepped out of his boxers, my overheated pussy immediately began to lose its steam. The fool was trying his damnedest to seduce me. And as fine as he was, I didn’t have the heart to throw his ass out. So, I did what any decent ho would do. I gave him a pity-fuck. I let the nigga crawl up on me, stick what felt like his thumb in me, then, after about six pumps, he had the fucking audacity to ask me if it felt good. He had the gall to be pumping me like Humpty Dumpty, then wanted to know if it felt good.
I wanted to ask, “Does what feel good?” But, instead, I humored him, and screamed and moaned like he was ripping my insides out. And every chance I got, I silently rolled my eyes up in my head, chuckling to myself. He was sweating and grunting, working overtime. I grabbed and pulled at his dick. Yet, no matter how hard he stroked, the nigga couldn’t even fill my basket.
Anyway, he pulled out of me, then climbed up over my chest, slid his dicklet (my term for his little assed dick) between my titties, pressed them together, then pumped and pumped as if he was really doing something spectacular. He was panting, and huffing away. Just a choo-chooing his little heart out. I engaged him in some dirty talk. Lied about how good he made my pussy feel. Gassed him up to no end about him being the best fuck I’d had in months. I “oooh-baby-babied,” “yes-big daddy-daddied” him until he cracked a nut as thick as oatmeal. And the crazy thing is, that little assed dick shot like a damn cannon. He blasted his nut all over the place. I’m certain the nigga tried to bust in my face. It’s a good thing I turned my head when I did; otherwise, the shit would have hit me in my damn eye, instead of hitting the headboard. You can rest assured, he never saw the inside of these walls again!
Forty minutes pass and I am still up, sifting through my “miserable fucks” list. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, then concentrate on my breathing. In that moment, a thought comes to mind. I jump up and race to my PC. I know exactly where I want to spend the holidays. I wait for my computer to boot, then to go online and book a ten-day trip to Egypt. Yes, the Motherland, that’s where I want to bring in the New Year. I’ve always wanted to see the Pyramids, visit the Valley of the Kings, and go to the museums. I hope I’ll be able to experience all that Egypt has to offer, including some African dick, I think, getting back in bed and finally falling to sleep.
When I awaken at six a.m., I quickly jump in the shower, then rush around the house trying to get dressed. And now it’s nine-fifteen, and I am on my way to my OB-GYN appointment. My stomach is in knots. And I feel the beginnings of a headache emerging. Ho, I know you ain’t getting cold feet. As much as you like to fuck, you don’t need to be thinking about being bogged down with no crying-ass baby. “Hell, no,” I snap, veering off the Garden State Parkway ramp towards South Orange Avenue. “I’m almost eight weeks. The sooner I get this over with, the better off I’ll be. I’ll be able to get on with my life.”
Bitch, please. You shouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Your ho-ass is supposed to always be on point.
“Mistakes happen,” I rationalize.
Yeah, ho, and mistakes kill. Next time, before you let your hot ass get caught up in the moment, make sure you strap the nigga up or you’re gonna end up with something you can’t scrape outta ya ass. A reckless ho is a dangerous ho.
I make a right turn onto Old Short Hills Road, then follow the road until I reach my doctor’s office. I find a parking space, then go toward the posh brick and glass building.
When I enter my doctor’s office, I give the receptionist my name, then take a seat and wait to be called. While I am waiting to see the doctor, I pick up a few brochures off the wooden coffee table and read some information about STD’s, and HIV.
OhmyGod, the statistics are really scary. Every time I read that AIDS is now the leading cause of death for African-American women between the ages of 25 and 34, I get sick to my stomach. And when I read that out of the 166 estimated numbers of babies born with HIV each year, 104 of them are African-American; then to read that non Hispanic blacks between the ages of 19 and 24 were 20 times more likely to be infected than any other racial group, really had my stomach in knots.
Yeah, ho, just like I said, mistakes kill. Sex is glorified and glamorized by the media, in music and books. And your ho-ass don’t make it any better. Morning cum, afternoon cum, evening cum, you need it. Want it. Love it. And you know you could use a hot dose of dick cream down your cum-loving throat to get your day started. All you think about is sex, sex, sex. And no matter how responsible or safe you’ve tried to be, look at your dumb ass now. Knocked up.
Oh, please. There’s nothing wrong with loving, or enjoying, sex. There’s nothing wrong with being uninhibited. The key is (and will always be) to be totally responsible for your choices. And to be completely honest with yourself and your partners about what your needs are. You are always going to need, want and crave sex. I’m sorry, boo, but you love dick!
I sigh. A full-fledge headache is pounding in the center of my forehead as I try to fight off the voices in my head. I pick up another pamphlet. This one provides information on the different stages of an abortion: Manual Aspiration, four or five weeks from last menstrual; Vacuum aspiration, seven to fifteen weeks from last menstrual; Dilation and Evacuation, fifteen to twenty-four weeks from last menstrual. As I continue reading the procedural process of each type, it is clear to me the longer you wait, the more complicated the method. Oh my God, I think, who in the world would deliberately have an abortion at six months of pregnancy? I don’t think I could do it. I take a deep sigh, thankful I am still in the early stages of pregnancy.
So what you gonna do, kill an innocent child now because your ho-ass done fucked up? That’s a life growing inside of you. How can you be so fucking selfish?
Ho, please. Selfish my ass. You doin’ the right thing. Your ass ain’t ready to be no damn mother. You too busy chasing dick to be tied down to a child you don’t want. Hell, you the type of bitch who would probably get all depressed ’n shit, then try to kill the little fucker in its sleep. So, fuck all that dumb shit; get the little crumb-snatching bastard scraped out, sucked out, or whatever! And kee
p it movin’.
Nonsense, you can still get your fuck on, and be the ho-freak you are and still be a decent mother. You’d just have to be able to balance the two. And be very careful who you let in and out of your house, and bed. You’d have to cut back on fucking a bunch of stray niggas. Find one or two steady dicks and stick with fucking them, instead of being so damn greedy.
Please, ho, you know you’d be bored with the same ole dicks; get real. I bet you if a man pulled out his dick right now, you’d drop down and take the head of his cock in your throat while your tongue lapped every inch of his shaft, slipping a finger or two into his ass, working his hole and sucking his dick until he couldn’t take it any longer, until his body shook and he exploded a thick nut over your tongue, down your throat, over your lips and onto your chin. Then you’d continue to suck and lick him until you got every drop of his sweet, sticky dick milk. ’Cause that’s exactly what a messy, cock-sucking ho like you does.
Oh, give me a fucking break. That’s still not a reason to have an abortion.
“I’m going through with it,” I whisper, looking up at the ceiling. “The last thing I want to be is some man’s baby momma.” I close my eyes, pulling in a deep, exasperated breath.
That’s right; good answer. You won’t be able to use your pussy for a while, but come tomorrow, you’ll be back sucking dick and taking it in the ass like the greedy, dick-loving ho you are.
OhmyGod, you selfish bitch! And you don’t think Garrett should have a say in all of this? He is the child’s father. He has a right to know.
Please, you stupid ho, only if you are keeping it. Other than that, you don’t have to tell him shit. It’s your body. You don’t want him or that little thing growing inside of you, anyway, so let it go.
All this back and forth dialogue is starting to make my head spin. “I don’t need this shit right now, so will you please shut the fuck up!” I scream in my head. “I’m getting rid of it and that’s all there is to it.”
“Bianca Rivers,” the nurse calls out. I let out a bittersweet sigh of relief, standing up. She smiles. “Right this way. Doctor Krishna is ready for you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
My pussy aches for some of that fat, black dick,” I bluntly state into the phone, lying across my bed with my hand between my legs, lightly brushing my fingers across my clit. It’s been two weeks since my last dose of dick, and a ho is more than ready to get fucked down.
“Damn, baby. You making my dick hard.”
“Come fuck me, Majestic.”
“When?”
I glance at the clock. 7:49 p.m.
“Nooooooow,” I purr into his ear. “Mmmm…I need your dick deep inside me, now, big daddy!”
“Damn, baby. You want me to come make love to you?”
I frown. “What?!” I snap. “Make love? No, nigga, I said I want you to fuck me! Fuck my pussy ’til it is raw and torn inside out.”
“Awww, shit. That’s what I’m talking ’bout. I’ll be over in a minute to beat that shit up.”
“Good,” I say delighted, disconnecting the call.
I scroll through my address book, then press the call button. “Yo, speak,” the voice says.
“Hello, Nelson,” I say.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Janaye, big daddy.”
“Oh, damn. What’s good, baby?”
“You, and that sweet black dick,” I state. “You feel like getting it wet tonight?”
“Hell yeah,” he says excitedly. “When?”
“Tonight, around eleven-thirty.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Perfect,” I say, disconnecting the call.
Yes, it’s exactly what it looks like. After my little ordeal at the doctor’s office three weeks ago, I am feeling real greedy tonight. And I’m in the mood for a double-dose of dick. And, yes, I’m going to have a two for one fuckfest tonight. The last two days, my libido has been off the damn charts. All I want to do is fuck. It’s like a switch has clicked on, and I am in nonstop fuck mode.
Twenty minutes later, my doorbell rings. I open the door, and let Majestic in. He’s looking good in a beautiful, brown leather bomber with a chocolate brown scully over his head. He removes his coat and hat and hands them to me. He’s wearing Thierry Mugler’s “Angel Men.” It’s one of my favorites on a man, and it smells irresistibly delicious on him.
Unfortunately, once he gets inside and takes off his clothes, I am surprisingly unmoved. When I was on the phone talking to him and before he got here, I wanted to be fucked senseless, wanted to fuck the skin off his dick. Hearing his voice had me moist. But, now that he’s here, standing in front of me, in all of his scrumptious nakedness, I am not the least bit interested in having him sweating all over me, jabbing up my pussy. Just like that. I want him out of my house.
I sigh. I try to focus on how good his dick will feel inside of me. Try to conjure up sweet images of having toe-curling orgasms. But nothing happens. And I know it really has nothing to do with him, per se, ’cause he’s fine as hell, and can fuck his ass off. Oh, how I wanted to be slayed, but I don’t have that tingly feeling I normally get when I see a stiff dick attached to a muscular man.
“I can’t wait to get up in that pussy, again,” he says, pulling in his bottom lip. “My dick felt good as hell in that shit, real talk. You take dick better than my girl.”
I smile. “That’s because I take pride in what I do, baby,” I say, forcing myself to get in the mood. There’s a part of me that really doesn’t want to send him on his way without at least trying to get in the mood. “Dick is my specialty.”
He grins, stroking his dick. “That’s wassup, baby. And I got a whole lot of it for you to put to use tonight.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I’ve changed my mind, that tonight’s not a good night, but the voice in my head gets to me first. Ho, snap out of it. If you let all that dick walk up outta here without fucking it first, I’ma revoke your gotdamn ho card. You know we don’t let nothing that good go to waste. You better represent.
And with that, nothing else needs to be said. I take him by the hand and silently say, “Oh, sweet pussy, please don’t fail me now,” as I am leading him up the stairs.
Once we are inside my bedroom, he starts kissing me softly on my neck. Untying my robe, he places his hands on either side of my hips, then pulls me into him. “You sexy as hell,” he says, gazing into my eyes. “You could really fuck a weak nigga’s head up.” He plants more wet kisses along my neck, and over my shoulders.
“Oh, so you’re not weak,” I ask playfully.
“I’m weak for good pussy,” he says in between his kisses, “but I’m definitely not weak-minded.” His hands find their way to my ass. “You got a nice, big ass.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” I tease, reaching for his dick and stroking it. Although mentally I am still not into it, my body responds to his touch and his kisses. He slips his left hand between my legs and begins playing with my clit while his right hand kneads my breasts. He grabs my left one and twirls his tongue around its nipple before placing it in his mouth. His warm, wet mouth and tongue causes an electric current to shoot through me. My nipples have always been sensitive, but tonight they are on extra high.
Despite myself, a moan escapes me as he lowers himself down onto his knees and begins leaving a trail of wet kisses along my stomach, dipping his tongue into my navel. He has two fingers inside of me, moving them in a nice, steady rhythm, causing my knees to buck. I begin fucking his hand.
“That’s right, wet my fingers up. I want you to cum all over my hand.” When his face reaches the neat triangular patch of hair between my legs, I spread my legs apart and allow him to mount his mouth over my clit. I grab him by the back of the head and fuck his mouth. Before I know it, I toss my right leg up over his shoulder and start grinding my pelvis into his mouth.
“Ah, yes, suck that clit…oh, oh, oh, yes…” An intense orgasm was building up inside o
f me. I can feel it in my stomach, shooting through my back, coursing throughout my body, making its way toward my clit, ready to explode out of my pussy in any minute. “Ah, ah, ah…gobble that pussy up, nigga. Oh, yes…”
“Yeah, you like that shit,” he whispers, glancing up at me while jerking his dick. He places his mouth back on my clit, and continues finger-fucking me. “That’s right, baby, nut for me.” I buck my hips. Moan again, and again, and again until I drench his hand with my sweet cream. He removes his hand, and I watch as cum drips between his fingers. He slips them into his mouth, licking and sucking them clean. “Daaaaaamn, your pussy tastes good. That shit’s nice and wet; now I’m ready to fuck.”
I reach for him as he gets up off his knees. As wet as my pussy is, and as good as he has made me feel, I still don’t feel like being fucked. Truth be told, now that I’ve cum, I feel like putting him out. I try to shake the feeling off.
“It’s my turn,” I say, pushing him back towards the bed. “Lie back on the bed and let me wet your dick nice and slow for you.” I drop down to my knees, and take his dick in my mouth.
“Yeah, that’s what it is,” he moans, leaning back on his forearms, looking down at me as I swirl my tongue over the head of his dick, then slip it back into my mouth. “Ah, shit. That’s right, suck that dick…fuck…”
Then when his cock is nice and slippery from my spit, I lift up and put his dick in the middle of my chest, press my plump breasts together and give him a nice, wet, titty fuck until he nuts all over me, smearing his cum around my nipples. And the crazy shit is: I really want to lick his dick cream off my damn nipples. That is the only time my pussy twitches. Seeing his dick milk spurt out of his dick and onto my titties turns me on.