Daddy Long Stroke

by Cairo

  “Hmmm, you are so full of shit. Too hectic for you to at least pick up the phone and hit a bitch up? Hell, text or something. You sure you were in Atlanta with your grandmother and not some other bitch?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” she snaps.

  “Yo, hol’ up,” I say, gettin’ defensive, “since when you start tryna check for a muhfucka?”

  “I’m not checkin’ for you. I’m askin’ you a question.”

  “Well, why’d you ask me some shit like that?”

  “’Cause I know you better than you think, Alley Cat.” I sigh. “You sneaky as hell. And I’m hopin’ you didn’t have me foot the bill for you to be runnin’ ya dick up in some other bitch. ’Cause if you did I’ma be pissed the fuck off.”

  “Yo, hol’ the fuck up. I can’t believe you comin’ at me wit’ that bullshit. What the fuck I gotta be sneaky about? You ain’t my muthafuckin’ girl ’n shit.”

  “That’s already been established, nigga,” she says, suckin’ her teeth. “So you don’t have to keep sayin’ the shit. Nigga, you do you. But don’t play me, either. You get pussy and throat anytime you want it; just keep shit real with me. Were you in Atlanta fucking some other bitch on my dime?”

  “What kinda muhfucka would lie ’bout some shit like that?”

  “A muthafucka who doesn’t give a fuck about no one else but himself would. So answer the question. Were you out there fuckin’ some bitch at my expense?”

  I get silent. I’m thinkin’, this bitch is muthafuckin’ crazy tryna check for me.

  “Oh, why you getting all quiet ’n shit on a bitch? You got something on ya mind?”

  “Nah, yo. But you know what; it’s all good. I’ma get ya money to you next week.”

  She sucks her teeth. I smile, knowin’ that’s not what she wants. As usual, I flip the script. “You’re missing the point, Alex. I don’t want the money. If you need something, I told you, I got you. I just don’t want you lying to me, or taking money from me to sponsor any of ya excursions to fuck some other bitch, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…I hear you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, nothing, nigga. I’m dead-ass.”

  “Listen, I’m not tryna hear all that, right now. I want some pussy.”

  “Then come get it, muhfucka.”

  I grin. “I’m on my way.”

  An hour later, I’m at Akina’s spot. I have her on her back wit’ her legs bent and spread open, and my face is buried between her silky, caramel-colored legs. I’m suckin’ and lickin’ and slurpin’ the fuck outta her fat, juicy-ass pussy. On some real shit, if I was into bustin’ down a bitch raw, I would paint my nut all up in her suga walls. When I tell you this ho gotta pretty pussy…man, listen, she got that goody-good-thang-thang, word up. She got the kinda pussy that should be molded and sold to muhfuckas. It’s a perfect heart-shaped pussy wit’ full, pouty outer lips. And her inner pussy lips don’t droop or hang, like a buncha flappin’ skin. I hate nuthin’ more than lookin’ at an ugly-ass pussy. All stretched and weathered and worn the fuck out, lookin’ like it’s been beat up and fisted by King Kong. That shit’s disgustin’, feel me?

  She moans.

  I rapidly wiggle my tongue from side to side, then flap it up and down against her clit before slidin’ it into her juicy pussy. She arches her back, clutches the sheets. “Oh, yes…aaah… oooh…Alex, baby…mmmm…”

  She squirms, thrusts her hips. “Oooh…ooooooh…Oh, God… uh…mmmmph…oh, yes…oooh. Damn, this bitch got some good-ass pussy. I stick my tongue in between the crevices of her lips and pussy, leavin’ no part of its fleshiness untouched. Her breath quickens. She thrashes her head from side to side. “Oh, God…stop teasin’ me…put your tongue in me.…Eat my pussy, baby…”

  I change the pressure my tongue delivers to her clit. Go from light, feathery tongue strokes to heavy, deep tongue strokes. I alternate from short tongue strokes to long, fast licks. I use the front of my tongue, then the backside of it. I slurp her, swallow her, then suck her. Allow her fountain to overflow into my mouth. I bring her different sensations by strokin’ her wit’ my tongue pointed out and curled at the tip to focus on one spot, then flatten it to stroke more area. I zig-zag my tongue, lickin’ back ’n forth, then swirl it all ’round her pussy. My left hand wanders over her body, squeezin’ and kneadin’ her titties and nipples. Wit’ my right hand, I slip two fingers into her bubblin’ pussy, search for her hot spot. When I find it, I massage it, stokin’ her fire. I take another finger, and slowly push it into her ass.

  I continue suckin’, lickin, slurpin’ her ’til she nuts again. When her body finally stops shakin’, I come up for air. Her eyes are closed, her hair tossed all over her head. She slowly opens her eyes, looks ’round the room as if she’s dazed, then blinks. She blinks again. Lifts her head and looks down at me.

  I grin, lickin’ my pussy-stained lips. “You liked that shit, didn’t you?”

  She moans, spreadin’ her legs wide as I roll on a Magnum, then climb up over her. I take her right titty in my mouth and suck; then her left, swirlin’ my tongue over and ’round her nipples. I place soft kisses up and down her neck. “Well, baby,” I tell her. “That was only the appetizer.”

  “Oh yeah,” she says, grinnin’. “Then what’s the main course?”

  I lift her legs up over my shoulders. “This big-ass dick,” I whisper into her ear while pushin’ the head of it into her slippery slit, stretchin’ the mouth of her pussy. She gasps, then lets out a series of moans as I pump this dick up in her. I slow-fuck her ’til her eyes roll up in the back of her head, her lips quiver, and the tears start to fall.

  18

  Yo, check this shit out. By now, it shouldn’t be no muthafuckin’ surprise to anyone, and it damn sure ain’t no big secret—but for me, sex is what it is: sweaty, animalistic, no-strings fuckin’. There are no emotions, no expectations, and no muthafuckin’ promises. My only mission is to give a broad exactly what she’s been cravin’: A nigga wit’ good dick; a muhfucka who knows howta heat the pussy up, and beat the pussy up. And nine-times-outta-ten, when I’m done deliverin’, she’s gonna be checkin’ for a muhfucka like me to come through and rock her box all over again. But if her ass is silly enough to start dreamin’ of some kinda happy-ever-after, where a muhfucka like me is gonna fall for her ass or make her wifey, then she’s in for a damn nightmare full of heartache and disappointment. It ain’t gonna happen.

  And the only person any of these hoes can really be mad at is themselves, ’specially when a muhfucka tells ’em from the dip what it is. Hell, I let these chicks know that this thick, black dick comes wit’ no money-back guarantees. So don’t come scratchin’ and kickin’at my door tryna get ya retarded ass a refund. So be clear. If I fuck you once, there’s no assurance that you gonna get a second round. There’s no declaration of some undyin’-love for ya ass, no commitment to be in ya life. Most of these tricks seem to get it—or at least act like they do. But e’ery so often there’s a ho or two, or three, who fail to read the memo and try to get on some extra shit. Like Ramona’s dizzy ass. Sumthin’ told me to ignore the call, but me bein’ the type of cat I am, I decide to officially let her know she’s been dismissed from her dick-wettin’ duties.

  As soon as I answer, she whines into the phone. “Why haven’t I heard from you? Didn’t you get the messages I left?” I frown. There’s nuthin’ more annoyin’ than a whinin’, complainin’, needy-ass bitch, which is what this trick is to me. I try to figure out why I even fucked wit’ her ass for as long as I did—four damn months of nuttiness, to be exact. I mean, aside from lovin’ to fuck all night and havin’ a fat-ass, this ho really didn’t come to the table wit’ much ’cept a shitload of insecurities. And a muhfucka like me ain’t beat for tryna reassure some emotionally bankrupt ho ’bout shit she should already know.

  “Yeah, I got them shits. And?”

  “And?” she repeats, soundin’ heated. “And I called you mad times, and texted you.
So obviously I needed to talk to you.”

  No, obviously ya ass is muthafuckin’ obsessed. I sigh. “You needed to talk to me ’bout what, Ramona?”

  “First, I need to know why you haven’t returned any of my calls. I mean, damn. Common courtesy doesn’t cost anything. Even if you didn’t feel like talking, you could have at least replied to my texts.”

  Now, maybe it’s me; but if you constantly hittin’ a muhfucka up and the nigga don’t get back at ya…uh, duh, the muhfucka ain’t interested. Meep, meep! This bitch musta fell off the short bus, for real. “You want the truth?” I ask, knowin’ most broads can’t handle it, even when it’s starin’ them dead in the muthafuckin’ eye. Like, the truth that he doesn’t want you; that he’s a liar and a cheater; that he’s gonna keep beatin’ your ass; that he’s gonna keep fuckin’ you over; that he doesn’t respect you or your lil’ fucked-up relationship; that he’s smokin’ crack, snortin’ dope and stealin’ all ya shit; that he’s got ya moms suckin’ his dick and ya sister’s knocked up; that ya dumb ass is smotherin’ him; that ya retarded ass is too damn unstable and too muthafuckin’ needy. And the list goes on. Humph…man, listen. All I can do is shake my damn head. But the bitch says she wants it, so I smack her wit’ it. “One, ’cause I ain’t ya man,” I tell her. “Two, you can’t suck dick for shit; and three, you too muthafuckin’ clingy. A nigga like me ain’t beat for that shit. And you ain’t worth the aggravation.”

  “Whaat?! Are you fucking serious? So fuck me, right? You got what you wanted, and now you just dip on a bitch. No phone call, no nothin’. That’s real fucked up, Alley Cat.”

  “Hol’ the fuck up. What is it you think I got from you?”

  “Me!” she screams into my ear.

  I laugh. “Baby, I didn’t ask for you. And I didn’t take nuthin’ you didn’t wanna give. You gave me you.”

  “And you took advantage of me! You took my pussy, my money and my heart with no fuckin’ regard for me, or my feelings.”

  I laugh again.

  “What the fuck is so funny?”

  “You,” I tell her, pausin’. See, a delusional ho needs to be hit wit’ a dose of reality—hard. “Listen. I ran this dick up in ya raggedyass pussy ’cause you wanted me to. I ran ya wallet ’cause you wanted me to. I didn’t take shit from you, boo. So don’t get it twisted. You gave it ’cause that’s what da fuck you wanted to do. And, as far as ya heart goes, I didn’t ask for it, nor did I want it. I told you, ‘Fuck wit’ a nigga like me at ya own risk.’ I told ya ass don’t come at me lookin’ for love ’cause I ain’t givin’ none of the shit out. But you still dropped ya mutherfuckin’ drawers, snapped open ya wallet, and invited me in. So don’t come at me sideways wit’ no dumb-ass shit.”

  “Who the fuck you calling a dumb-ass trick?”

  I don’t bother correctin’ her. ’Cause in all truth, her simple ass tricked up whatever common sense she mighta had the day she swallowed my nut.

  “Boo, you a bona-fide fool, for real.”

  “Motherfucker, the only fool is you,” she snaps, raisin’ her voice. “And I don’t appreciate you trying to dismiss me the way you did. I deserve more than you ignoring my goddamn calls.”

  I laugh. Listenin’ to her belligerent ass makes me think of that flick A Beautiful Mind. Just like dude in that flick, this bitch is hearin’ and seein’ shit that ain’t there. “You need meds, for real— for real ’cause you gotta real vivid imagination, baby. And the last thing I’ma do is keep goin’ back ’n forth wit’ a nutcase—”

  “Who the fuck you calling a nutcase?!” she screams into the phone.

  You, bitch! “Listen, boo-boo, it’s obvious you have a buncha invisible friends tellin’ you shit that only you believe. So let me spell this out for all of ya’ll to comprehend. The only thing that was ever between us was F-U-C-K-I-N-G. Be clear. There are no attachments to you, your pussy, or any of ya muthafuckin’ split personalities. You got me confused wit’ some other nigga, real talk.”

  “No, I don’t have you confused with anyone. I know who the hell I’m talking to. And I know what I’m talking about. I’m so fucking pissed…”

  I frown. “Well, the only one you should be pissed at is ya’self.”

  “You fucking used me! Anytime you wanted, needed something, I gave it to you. Anything you asked for, I made sure you got it. Money, clothes, jewelry, whatever. I never said no to you. I’ve been fucking good to you, nigga. And this is the thanks I get! If you didn’t wanna keep seeing me, you shoulda just said that, instead of leading me on. You didn’t have to keep coming over here fucking me.”

  “And you didn’t haveta keep openin’ up ya ashy-ass legs lettin’ me. But ya did. So, whose fault is that?”

  “Yours,” she states.

  I shake my head, convinced this ho needs to invest in a bottle of self-esteem ’cause she’s all out. “Yo, you got issues for real, yo.”

  Silence.

  I get up from the counter, walk over to the pantry and pull out a tin canister. I open the lid, then pull out a large Ziploc bag of Purple Haze. I open the baggie, then smell. Yeah, this that good shit right here, I think, goin’ into the laundry room for my pack of Phillies.

  I go back over to the counter, pullin’ open a drawer lookin’ for my razor. Where the fuck is that shit?

  “How can you be so fucking mean and selfish?”

  “Easy. Whatever heartache you feel, you brought on ya’self.”

  “I…I can’t believe you…” Fuck what ya heard. I am not moved by all that cryin’ ’n shit. A nigga like me has no muthafuckin’ sympathy for a ho who can’t stick to the script. She starts wheezin’ ’n shit, like she’s havin’ an asthma attack. “I’m…so …fucking… sick…and…tired of…niggas…using me…and fucking me over…”

  “Look,” I say, splittin’ the blunt down the middle wit’ my razor. “I’m sorry you feelin’ some kinda way, but”—I pack it wit’ weed, then roll it tight—“you got what you got ’cause that’s what you allowed.”

  “You’re a fuckin’ liar!” she screams. I light the blunt, then take a deep, long pull.

  I blow smoke outta the side of my mouth. “Yo, listen, the only muthafuckin’ liar is you.”

  “I never fucking lied to you, you black motherfucker!”

  I don’t know if the ho’s ever lied to me or not. And I don’t care if she ever did. But the one thing I do know is the bitch has been lyin’ to herself from gate. E’ery muthafuckin’ day this ho wakes up and looks in the muthafuckin’ mirror—tellin’ herself she’s gonna have me to herself, tellin’ herself she’s gonna keep fuckin’ ’n suckin’ this dick ’til she bags me—she’s straight lyin’. So I’m not the one the bitch shoulda been keepin’ shit real wit’. Her dumb ass shoulda been keepin’ it one hunnid wit’ herself ’cause if she had, we wouldn’t be havin’ this whack-ass conversation.

  “You know what?” she snaps. “I don’t need you, and I definitely don’t need your no-good, lying ass to take care of my baby. I can do the shit on my own.”

  I drop the blunt, pullin’ the cell from my ear, then starin’ at it. What the fuck did this ho just say? Baby? I return it to my ear. “Yo, run that shit by me again.”

  “You heard me, nigga. I said, baby. I’m pregnant.”

  Now I might be many things, but a sucka ain’t one of ’em. This ho is reachin’ for sure if she thinks I’ma let her pin that shit on me. “Okay, so you pregnant, and?”

  “It’s yours.”

  I bust out laughin’. “Yo, you funny as hell, word up. Nice try, baby, but you’se a real clown. Unless you can get pregnant from swallowin’ a nut, you had better go back to the lab and find the real donor, ’cause it ain’t me. And on that note, don’t call my muthafuckin’ phone wit’ no more of ya nutty-ass bullshit.”

  I disconnect the call, then light another blunt. I inhale, hold the smoke in my lungs ’til it starts to burn, then blow it up into the air. “Bitch talkin’ ’bout she pregnant. Fuck outta here,” I say to myself,
shakin’ my head. “These thirsty-ass broads will do and say any-muthafuckin’-thing to get a muhfucka to stay wit’ ’em.” My cell rings, again. I look at the screen, then press IGNORE.

  Twenty minutes later, my cell rings again. I grin. This time it’s Moms. “Hey, beautiful, what it do?”

  “It calls its mother, that’s what the hell it do,” she says, pretendin’ to be annoyed. “But obviously, you done forgot who gave birth to it.”

  I chuckle, blowin’ smoke outta my mouth. “You right, my bad. Didn’t I tell you I was gonna be outta town?”

  “Yeah, you told me all that. I’m just tryna figure out why you didn’t return my call.”

  “You called? When?”

  “I don’t remember which day it was; maybe a week or so ago.”

  “Oh. Well, I don’t remember seein’ a call from you. Did you leave a message?”

  “No, fool,” she huffs, “I figured you’d see my number and have sense to call back.”

  “Is e’erything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she says, softenin’ her tone. “The question is, is everything alright with you?”

  “Oh, no doubt,” I tell her.

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. I’m good, Ma, real talk.”

  She responds, “I’m cooking tomorrow. Dinner will be ready at six.”

  I shake my head and smile. Anytime she calls me and says she’s ‘cookin’,’ she wants to see me. And, more than likely to beat me in the head ’bout sumthin’ she’s heard, seen, or thought I’ve done. She’s never been one to confront me over the phone; it’s always face to face. However, no matter the reason, a muhfucka drops e’erything for Mom dukes, no questions asked—whether I want to hear it or not.

  “I’ll be there,” I tell her, puttin’ out my blunt.

  “See you then.”

  19

  “I dreamt of fish last week,” Moms announces at the table as I’m bitin’ into my second piece of her slammin’ cornbread, then scooping up a forkful of her infamous three-cheese baked macaroni and cheese.