by Cairo
Twenty minutes later, this crazy smut comes back and starts bustin’ my mom’s front windows out with a baseball bat. Now, you know a nigga was wrecked when I heard glass smashin’ ’n shit. I slipped on my boxers and ran through the house, swingin’ open the door, goin’ outside to see what the fuck was goin’ on. This nutty bitch started chasin’ me around the yard with the bat, tryna swing off on me, word up. She had my dick bouncin’ and swingin’ all ’round the yard tryna keep her ass from smashin’ my lights out. And the Spanish bitch snuck outta the bedroom window, then climbed over our backyard fence, bouncin’ on a nigga. A neighbor called the cops. And Jasmine’s psycho ass got locked the fuck up.
Needless to say, when Moms pulled up and saw her shit all busted out, she went noodles on a nigga, cursin’ and screamin’. She beat my ass so bad I thought she was gonna peel the skin offa me.
“I told your black ass about bringing all them nasty, trampy, hot-in-the-ass bitches up in my motherfucking house, didn’t I?…” Slash! Slash! Slash! She had a nigga runnin’ ’round yellin’ and screamin’ like a lil’ bitch. “…I told your motherfucking ass… No”—Slash—“bitches”—Slash—“in”—Slash—“my”—Slash— “mother”—Slash—“fucking”—Slash—“house…”
“Aaaaaah, Ma…I’m sorry…aaah …owww…”
“You just like your goddamn father, sneaky…” Slash!
“Owwww…I won’t do it again, I promise…ooooow.”
Seems like the more I apologized, and promised to not let it happen again, the angrier she got. She wasn’t tryna hear nothin’ a nigga had to say. For some reason, it felt like Moms was beatin’ my ass on the strength of all her anger toward Pops. She just snapped, it seems like. For e’ery wrong thing he ever did, it felt like she took that shit out on my ass. I know she was hurt. Hell, I would hear her cryin’ in her room sometimes. And that used to fuck me up, for real. Moms had married Pops when she was like eighteen, then had me three years later. They had been fuckin’ all through high school, and thought they were in love. They probably were. But Pops loved fuckin’ other bitches. I guess I got that shit honest. Anyway, moms knew how Pops got down before she married him. But like so many other broads, she thought she could change him, or that maybe he would change on his own. Well, he didn’t. And eventually, she got tired of beggin’, and cryin’ and arguin’ ’bout his cheatin’. She just gave up, and started creepin’ on his ass, too. They woulda probably still been together, fuckin’ behind each other’s backs if one of Pops’ hoes didn’t come to the house tryna get shit poppin’. That’s when Moms flipped the script and lit chick’s ass up, then packed Pops’ shit and put his ass out. I was thirteen.
Slash! “Nigga, ‘don’t oww, Ma’ me. You wanna fuck. You wanna get that black dick of yours sucked; then, nigga, you can’t stay up in this house. Anything your black ass wants, I get. I work two motherfucking jobs to make sure your black ass has a roof over your head, food in your stomach and high-priced clothes on your motherfucking, ungrateful-ass back, and you can’t even follow my rules. Instead, you FUCK in my house. SNEAK bitches through your window. LET one of your dizzy, whorish, hot-in-the-ass little bitches bust out SIX of my motherfucking windows.”
“I’m sorry, Ma. I’ma…”
Man, listen, I don’t know how long she was beatin’ my ass. But what I do know is, when she finally stopped, a nigga’s arms, ass ’n back was on fire, and there was blood e’erywhere. She stood in the middle of the room, heavin’ and sweatin’, and waitin’. But I was scared as fuck to move.
“Get the fuck up,” she said, walkin’ over to my window, then pullin’ it up. She swung it up so hard I thought it was gonna shatter. “And get the fuck out!” I crawled my way over to the bed and pulled myself up. She was starin’ a nigga down so hard I thought she was gonna drop the cord, then pull out a burner, and start blastin’ holes in my ass. I kept my eyes on her, though. “Just like you been sneaking them fast-ass girls in and outta my goddamn window, you gonna climb your sneaky, black ass outta here the same way you let them bitches in. And you ain’t taking shit I paid for. Now, get. OUT!” And then she had the nerve to start beatin’ my ass while I was climbin’ outta the window, word up. I couldn’t believe it. My own moms put me out in my motherfuckin’ drawers all bloody ’n shit. And she wouldn’t let me back up in her spot— not even to visit—until I had paid her for e’ery damn window.
I shake the thought, shiftin’ in my seat. The memory of that ass whoopin’ causes a nigga to wince. I look over at Pops. “Nah, it ain’t goin’ down like that,” I say.
He squints at me, unconvinced, then stands. “You make sure it doesn’t.”
My cell rings. I ignore it, gettin’ up, too. I step in to give him some love. “I got you, Pops.”
“Nigga,” he says, backin’ up and scrunchin’ his nose up, “what you got is a bad case of funk. Go wash your stankin’ ass, and brush your tongue. It smells like you been fuckin’ ’n suckin’ a bushel of rotten crabs.”
I bust out laughin’. “You crazy, Pops. Word up.”
“Crazy my ass.”
“Aiight, Pops,” I say, chucklin’. “I’ll holla atcha lata. I’ma hit the shower, then catch a few zees.”
“Yeah, you do that.” He grabs his keys from off the table. “Listen, I gotta make a run. If I’m not here when you get up, lock up when you leave.”
“Bet.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, openin’ the door.
“What’s that?”
“Invest in a muzzle.”
I tilt my head, givin’ him a confused look. “A muzzle?”
“Yeah, fool. To keep them gals from making so much damn noise when you’re up there stretching their insides out.”
I burst out laughin’. “Oh, shit. Pops, you one funny dude— word up!”
“Funny hell,” he says, walkin’ out and shuttin’ the door behind him.
6
I finish my shower, dry myself off, then walk back into the room I grew up in as a teenager. Although I painted and piped the shit out wit’ a king-size bed, Bose sound system and a Toshiba flat-screen TV, it’s still a lil’-ass room for a grown-ass man. But, it is what it is. ’Cause like I said, ain’t no bitch comin’ up in my spot tryna bring da noise. And I ain’t payin’ for no muthafuckin’ motel room. I reach into my pants pocket and pull out the five hunnid I got from Falani’s ass last night—well, early this mornin’, then the three hunnid Electra laced me wit’, puttin’ it wit’ the paper Akina hit me wit’. Thirteen hunnid tax-free dollas in less than twenty-four hours, I think, ploppin’ ’cross the bed. Not bad for a nigga. “Oh, shit,” I snap, reachin’ over and grabbin’ my cell off the nightstand. “I betta call this bitch and let her know I’ma be comin’ through tomorrow.” I glance at the digital clock: 12:30 P.M. “Her lil’ ass betta pick up.” I dial the number. And after five rings, she answers.
“Hello?” she says in her squeaky-ass voice, soundin’ like she’s been suckin’ on helium or some shit. The shit’s fuckin’ annoyin’ as hell. But based on the flicks she’s been sendin’, she’s finer than a muhfucka; pretty cocoa-brown skin, big brown eyes, thick hips, and a nice phatty. And, yes, a nigga tryna bury his dick all up in that shit, real talk. She claims she used to be a dancer at some titty spot in downtown Atlanta, so I’m expectin’ this bitch to give me more than one front-row viewin’, feel me?
“Yo, what’s good, ma?”
“Who’s this?”
Now I know this dumb ho has caller ID, so why the fuck is she askin’ who it is? Alexander the Great, Bitch! “Alley Cat.”
“Who?”
I suck my teeth. “Daddy Long Stroke from offa Myspace.”
“Oh, heeeeey, baby.” I roll my eyes up in my head. What a fuckin’ reject!
“Did you get my note? I left you one last night, asking you to call me ’cause I lost all the numbers I had in my phone.”
“Nah, I ain’t get that shit. I haven’t been on that piece in a few days.”
“Yeah, I know. I saw when I went to your page.”
Nosey, bitch! She was probably checkin’ to see what other bitches hit my page up ’n shit.
“So, dig, baby, why you wanted a nigga to holla atcha?”
“I don’t know,” she says, tryna act all shy ’n shit. “I was just thinking about you, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right. You thinkin’ ’bout how you can get some of this hard dick. Keep it gully. You wanna fuck. You ain’t gotta front wit’ a nigga like me, baby. You want some of this chocolate stick, don’t ya?”
“Damn, you make it sound like I’ma ho or something.”
’Cause you are. I hear Betty Wright’s old joint, “You’re A Hoe” playin’ in my head. I shake my head, rememberin’ my Moms playin’ the hell outta that shit. Sometimes she’d leave it on one of Pops’ jump-offs’ answerin’ machines. Other times, she’d call one of his chicks up, and start singin’ the shit to ’em, then hang up. I laugh, thinkin’ ’bout some of the other crazy shit Moms used to do to get at some of Pops’ chicks. Like drivin’ ’round lookin’ for his car. Then when she found it, she’d knock on all the doors or ring the doorbells, askin’ to speak to her husband. If she found exactly where he was, which was usually nine outta ten times, she’d leave a message for him to get home before his clothes were packed. Other times, she’d drag the chick outta her house and fight her. Or she’d sit on the hood of Pops’ ride, blastin’ her tape player to songs like, “I’m His Wife, You’re Just a Friend” or “Homewrecker,” waitin’ for him to come out. And she’d always drag my lil’ ass out wit’ her. Yo, real talk, Moms was a certified mess, back then, word up. But, on some real shit, them singers back ’n the day used to get wit’ each other real quick on vinyl like it wasn’t nuthin’, ’specially them chicks Shirley Brown and Barbara Mason. Them broads would go at it.
“Nah, baby,” I say, lowerin’ my voice, tryna get my sexy on. “I ain’t on it like that. I’m just sayin’. After our last phone epp ’n shit, you had a nigga ready to beat sumthin’ up the other night, feel me? You was talkin’ like you really ’bout it. Like you was ready to put some work in. You tryna give me some of that goodie-goodie or what?”
The dumb bitch giggles. “Yeah. I’m about it. I already told you what it is. It’s whatever.”
“That’s what it is, then. I’ma be down there tomorrow afternoon. So I’ma see what’s really good wit’ you.”
“For real?” her squealin’ ass asks, soundin’ all excited ’n shit. “How long you gonna be down here?”
“A few days, maybe a week. It depends.”
“Who you staying with?”
“I gotta room,” I lie. But, if I know her like I think I do, before we hang up, she’ll be beggin’ a nigga to squat at her spot. I always like to let a chick think she’s the one comin’ up wit’ the ideas, when it’s really me pullin’ the strings, manipulatin’ her puppet-ass into givin’ me what I want.
“A room?”
“Yeah, baby. It’s not like I know anyone there. I’m comin’ to chill to see how I’ma like it if I decide to move out there, feel me? Besides it’s my birthday weekend, so I’m tryna get into sumthin’ different, and let it do what it do.”
“Wow. I thought you were only talking when you said you might move out here. What day is your birthday on?”
“It’s Saturday, baby,” I tell her, slippin’ my hand over my dick, then massagin’ my balls. A nigga’s ready for some more pussy, real talk. “Why, you tryna throw me a party, or sumthin’?”
She laughs. “Maybe, you never know. It’ll be a surprise.”
“Well, just so you know, baby. A nigga like me loves surprises. So, you got all weekend to amaze me.”
“OhmyGaaaawd, I really thought you were joking.”
“Nah, baby. A nigga like me keeps shit real. If I say I’ma do sumthin’, then that’s what it is. And I’m hopin’ to dig that back out while I’m out there, you feel me?”
Silence. The dick-hungry bitch’s thinkin’.
“Yo, you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Um, I was just thinking.”
I smirk. “’Bout what, baby?”
“About you staying here instead of a hotel.”
“So, whatchu sayin’?”
“Why don’t you stay here? You don’t need to be up in some hotel all by yourself.”
I grin. “Damn, baby, I’m sayin’. I can’t do you like that. I don’t wanna put you out, feel me?”
“No, it’s cool. I’m off the rest of the week, so we could spend the whole week together, and do something really nice for your birthday. I can even take you sightseeing, or we can just chill or whatever. Besides, I know this really nice restaurant we could go to for your birthday.”
Yeah, the “whatever” bein’ me showin’ ya ass howta spend ya checks. “Well, check this out. The only sights I’m tryna see while I’m there is that big, fluffy ass of yours bent over wit’ this dick goin’ in and outta ya pussy. Then I wanna see you down on ya knees wit’ my balls smackin’ ya chin while you suckin’ on this dick, real talk, ya heard?”
“Ooh, that sounds good to me.”
“Then that’s what it is.”
“What time does your flight get in tomorrow?” I give her the flight details. “Okay, I’m gonna pick you up at the airport, so cancel your rental.”
Hell, I didn’t even have one, but I go along wit’ it anyway. “You sure? ’Cause I can just drive out to you?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I told you I’m off, so it’s not a problem.”
“Aiight, then, bet. I hope you ain’t gonna front on a nigga.”
“Hell no,” she says. I can tell she’s grinnin’ and all happy ’n shit ’cause she’s ’bout to get her ass some thick, juicy Jersey dick. “I been thinking about you every since we started kicking it on Myspace and on the phone. I’ma be there before the plane hits the ground, waiting for you. You just don’t know how you made my day. OhmyGaaaawd. I’m so excited.” Sounds like the chick is salivatin’. Them country-ass, bama niggas down there must not be slingin’ no real dick.
“Aiight, then, baby girl. I’ma see ya fine-ass tomorrow. And when you come through, don’t wear no panties. I wanna play in ya pussy on the way back to ya spot.”
“Okay,” she says. “Can’t wait to finally see you in the flesh.”
“I can dig it. One more day, and it’s fuck city, baby. So, brace ya’self ’cause you ’bout to get the muthafuckin’ ride of ya life. See ya tomorrow.”
“Umm,” she says, clearin’ her throat. “I need to tell you something before you get here.”
“Aiight. I’m listenin’,” I say, rollin’ over on my side, starin’ at the wall.
“Uh…” The bitch pauses. And I start thinkin’, Awwww, shit. This ho is ’bout to tell me she looks like Fiona in Shrek.
“Yo, you still there?”
“Yes.”
“Aiight, then. So what’s good? What you gotta tell me?”
“Well…uh, those pictures I sent…well, they don’t really look like me.”
I frown. I knew it! The bitch gotta face like a groundhog. “So, what you sayin’? Ya ass is ugly or sumthin’? ’Cause the chick in those flicks look good as hell, word up.”
“No, no, I look good.”
“You got that fat ass, right?”
“Yes.
“Okay, then, you still fuckable. So what’s the problem?”
“Well, I’m much shorter, and a bit lighter, in person.”
I let out a sigh, chucklin’. “That’s it? Shit. I thought you was ’bout to hit a nigga wit’ some shit like you was a burn victim wit’ no teeth and legs.”
She laughs. “No, nothing like that. I have all of my teeth. And I’m definitely not a burn victim. I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard when we met.”
“Check this shit out,” I say. “As long as you gotta fat ass, ya pussy is clean, and you tryna eat this nut outta my dick, we cool. You dig what I’m sayin’?”
&nb
sp; “Oh, good. That’s a big relief. Most guys start tripping once they meet me.”
Trippin’ ’bout what? “Yo, you ain’t no muthafuckin’ nigga, are you?”
“Huh?”
“Yo, don’t ‘huh’ me. Do you have a muthafuckin’ dick hangin’ between ya legs? A muhfucka like me ain’t on it like that, real talk. ’Cause you tryna get ya muthafuckin’ biscuit pushed in if so.”
She laughs. “OhmyGod, nooooo. I’m all woman.”
“Oh, aiight then. I was ’bout to say. Fuck ’round and have me catcha case. As long as you were born wit’ a real pussy and some real titties, it’s all good.”
“I promise you, I was born female.”
“Then we cool. Just make sure you got ya fine ass at the airport to pick me up.”
“I will.” We bullshit for a few extra minutes, then hang up. I let out a loud-ass yawn, then close my eyes, thinkin’ ’bout all that juicy Georgia Peach ass I’ma get up in while I’m down there. I think ’bout callin’ Keisha to come through and suck on this dick, but decide to jerk my shit instead. Yeah, I know I just finished fuckin’ a few hours ago. And? Fuck what ya heard. A muhfucka likes to beat his shit, too, which is what I contribute my great dick and nut control to. Some days when I’m jackin’ off I wanna slow-bleed this nut, which is where I’m jerkin’ my dick, then I stop strokin’ it, and just let my nut flow out by itself. Other times, I wanna gusher-type nut where I keep beatin’ my dick ’til I’m ’bout to nut, then stop, let my nut roll back down into my balls, then start beatin’ my dick again. I keep doin’ it over and over again, bringin’ me closer and closer to the edge. Then when I’m finally ready to bust, I pump my dick hard and fast and let my nut fly out all over the place. Whew! That shit be good as hell, word up. Some niggas think jackin’ off when you got a steady flow of pussy is whack, but them dumb-ass muhfuckas got it twisted. Beatin’ ya dick can teach you a lot ’bout ya body.
And ’cause of all my years of beatin’ this dick, a muhfucka can fuck for almost two hours straight before bustin’ a nut if I want. But that usually depends on how good the pussy or head is, and the type of ho servin’ it up. If she’s broke, she could end up gettin’ slayed wit’ three to thirty minutes’ worth of dick. But, if she’s a ho lacin’ a nigga and handlin’ a muhfucka real proper, then I’ma most likely run an all-nighter on her.