Daddy Long Stroke

by Cairo

  I cough, chokin’. Ramona’s words sting my ears. I’m pregnant. Moms studies me as I continue coughin’. I finally stop, takin’ a sip of my pomegranate and blueberry juice. I swallow, hard.

  “You okay?” she asks, raisin’ her brow.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Hmmm, as soon as I told you I had a dream about fish, you practically choke to death,” she says, givin’ me the eye.

  “Ohhhhkaaay, and?”

  “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

  I frown. “Nah, there’s nuthin’ to tell you.”

  “You sure?”

  It’s yours. “No doubt.”

  “You know everytime I have a dream about fish someone’s pregnant.”

  I don’t know what the hell fish has to do wit’ some ho bein’ knocked up? I shift in my seat. “Well, don’t look at me. I’m not the one pregnant.”

  She doesn’t crack a smile. “Then who is?”

  All of sudden I’ve lost my appetite. I get up from my seat, takin’ my half-eaten plate of food over to the counter. You heard me, nigga…I’m pregnant. I shake the thought. Ain’t no way that bitch pregnant by me. “The hell if I know.” I gulp down the rest of my drink, placin’ the empty glass into the sink.

  Moms remains seated, watchin’ me. “Alex, you need to come back over here and have a seat.” I sigh, knowin’ she’s ’bout to beat me in the head. I walk back over to the table and take a seat. She folds her hands. “When I was married to your father, I could always tell when he was lying, or keeping something from me. And the last time I dreamt of fish I confronted him and he looked me dead in my face and”—she catches herself, foldin’ her arms ’cross her chest, realizin’ she’s ’bout to say sumthin’ I’m not supposed to know. She shakes her head, swipin’ hair outta her face— “Is one of them hot-in-the-ass girls you fucking pregnant?”

  I shake my head. “Not by me.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she says, raisin’ her brow. “The left side of your jaw twitches like your father’s when you’re lying,” she calmly states.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Well, then, you must be keeping shit out ’cause you’re definitely not telling me something.”

  “There’s nuthin’ to tell,” I tell her again, feelin’ a headache comin’ on.

  She tilts her head, stares at me. “Are you protecting yourself?”

  “Ma, on some real shit, I’m many things, but reckless ain’t one of ’em. I keep my pipe wrapped at all times. Well,”—I grin— “unless I’m gettin’ topped.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Please, you better be wrappin’ that dick of yours up for that, too. The last thing you need is a baby, or catching some shit you can’t get rid of. Then again…maybe having a child might slow your ass down and make you more responsible. You know, force you to get a job, knowing you’d have someone depending on you.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll pass. The only thing havin’ a baby would do is make me miserable, especially knowin’ I’ma be stuck wit’ its mother in my ear for eighteen or more years. No thanks, boo. I’d rather kill myself.”

  She sucks her teeth. “‘Boo,’ my ass. You’re a damn mess.”

  I get up and kiss her on her forehead, then say, “Well, I’m your mess, beautiful woman.” I decide to tell her ’bout my fucked-up convo wit’ Ramona’s nutty ass. She takes it all in, then wants to know why I didn’t tell her from the rip. And I tell her ’cause I really didn’t wanna get into it wit’ her. She nods, asks me if there’s any truth to what she’s sayin’.

  “Hell if I know. I mean, she could be pregnant. But it ain’t mine. That much I know for sure. I put my life on that. Ma, that bit…I mean, broad is crazy.”

  She sighs. “I’m sure she’s no crazier than she already was when you decided to stick your dick in her.”

  “Yeah, you gotta point,” I admit, chucklin’. “But, actually, I think she got worse once she climbed up on this Maplewood.”

  She rolls her eyes, suckin’ her teeth. “Hmmph. I’m telling you, you and that dick of yours”—she shakes her head—“You really need to cut out all this ho-ing around you do. Nothing good is gonna come out of it. It’s only a matter of time before you find yourself lying up in a hospital bed, bandaged from feet to head.” —she snaps her fingers—“Just that much…from being dead…”

  I burst out laughin’, peepin’ how she hit me wit’ a verse from that joint “A Thin Line between Love and Hate.” “You funny as hell, Ma, word up.”

  “You can laugh if you want, but I’m being serious.”

  “Ma, stop worryin’ ’bout me. I got this.”

  “Okay, Mr. I Got This. You’ve been warned.” She sighs. “I wish you’d find yourself one, even two, nice girls to date. What the hell you need with a dozen or more women anyway?” I give her a blank look. “Besides for the obvious, you fool.”

  “Other than for variety, nuthin’.”

  She shakes her head. “You know what,”—she raises her hand, pausing—“I’m gonna leave it alone.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, right, Ma. That’s what you always say.”

  “I know. And as your mother, smart ass, I’m allowed to change my mind. But, this time I’m serious. You’re a grown man.”

  My cell phone chirps, lettin’ me know someone sent me a text. “I’m glad you finally realize that,” I tease, smilin’ at her.

  “Obviously, I realize a whole lot more than you do.”

  “Ma, whatever happens, happens. I’m doin’ me. Now, tell me. Why’d you ask Pops ’bout fish?” My phone chirps again. I ignore it, keepin’ my eyes on her.

  “Ask him yourself,” she answers, gettin’ up from the table. She walks over to the sink and starts washin’ dishes.

  I raise my brow. “Wait a minute, are you tryna say Pops got some other chick knocked up while ya’ll were together?” She doesn’t respond. I walk over to her, lean up against the counter.

  “Let him be the one to tell you.” I stare at her. Watch as she washes and rinses the dishes, then move about the kitchen puttin’ away food.

  “So you just gonna leave me hangin’?”

  She stops what she’s doin’ and looks at me, movin’ a strand of hair from her face. “Let me say this: Some women can be some real crafty bitches.” I keep from smilin’, surprised she’s referrin’ to women as bitches since she’s always comin’ at my neck for usin’ the word. “Yes, I said it: bitches. And a desperate bitch will stop at nothing to get her claws in what she can’t have, including…” she pauses, narrowin’ her left eye and raisin’ a brow, “…another woman’s husband.”

  I blink, take in what she’s said, then it becomes clear. “Wow,” is the only thing I say.

  “Yeah, ‘wow’ is right.” The doorbell rings. I glance up at the wooden wall clock: 7:43 P.M. “Speaking of which, that’s him now,” she announces, wipin’ the table. “Go open the door.”

  “Aiight.” My cell chirps, again, as I’m goin’ toward the front door. I finally pull it from off my waist. It’s Tamera’s ass. You still on ya bullshit?

  The doorbell rings again as I text back. Nah. What’s good? I open the door. “What’s good, playboy?” I tease, givin’ Pops a pound. Although I wanna feel some kinda way ’bout what Moms insinuated, I don’t. That shit was between him and her. But I ain’t gonna front. A muhfucka still wants the rundown on shit.

  “Hey, son,” he says, steppin’ into the house, then shuttin’ the door. “Where’s ya mom?”

  Tamera texts: When am I gonna see you, nigga?

  “In the kitchen,” I tell him as I’m textin back. Why, U cravin’ for some of this cock and cum? Pops walks toward the kitchen.

  What u think, she responds. My cell rings. It’s my nigga Mike. “Yo?” I answer, takin’ a seat on the sofa.

  “What’s poppin’, nigga?”

  “Chillin’, dawg. What’s good wit’ you?”

  “Shit. Sittin’ here wit’ Gee’s punk ass,” he says, laughin’. Gee’s another
one of my boys from back in the day. We actually played ball together in high school and fucked some of the same bitches.

  “Ya’ll niggas smokin’?”

  “Yeah, a lil’ sumthin’.”

  “I shoulda known ya fiend asses would be blazin’.”

  “Fuck outta here, muhfucka,” he says, laughin’. “You burn more trees than a wildfire, nigga.”

  “Damn, straight,” I agree, glancin’ at my watch. It’s almost eight. “So what ya’ll niggas ’bout to get into tonight?”

  “We were thinkin’ ’bout hittin’ up that titty spot Mr. Cheeks down in Mount Holly. They got some bad-ass bitches up in that piece, son.”

  “Nigga, you’se a real clown if you think I’ma trick my money up on a bunch of ass-shakin’, pole-ridin’ hoes. Not the kid, muhfucka.”

  Tamera sends another text. So, what’s good wit’ u, nigga?

  This nut in ya throat, I reply.

  He laughs. “Man, listen, them hoes is fiyah, nigga. I’m tryna get this dick wet, feel me.”

  I frown. What the fuck! A nigga like me might get into a lotta things, but payin’ to get my dick wet ain’t one of ’em. I don’t give a fuck how horny a muhfucka gets. I’ll beat my shit first, real talk, before I dig in my muthafuckin’ pockets to lace a bitch for some pussy or some muthafuckin’ head. But if that’s a nigga’s shit, then do what ya do. I just ain’t that dude.”

  “Ya’ll niggas go ’head. I’ma sit this one out.”

  “Yo, muhfucka, ya ass is corny as hell.”

  “Whatever, nigga,” I say, gettin’ up and walkin’ back into the kitchen. “I’ll be corny, but I bet you I won’t be trickin’ my paper up on no ass. I’ll leave that shit for you whack-ass cats who don’t know howta game a bitch up offa her ends.”

  He laughs. “Yo, you’se a funny nigga, word up.”

  Moms and Pops are sittin’ at the table. She’s drinkin’ a can of ginger ale watchin’ him shove a forkful of food into his mouth. “Funny, hell. I’m keepin’ shit real. Yo’ dawg, hol’ up…”

  “Aiight,” he says.

  “Aiight, ya’ll I’m out.” I walk over to the table, then lean down and kiss Moms on the forehead.

  She smiles. “You remember what I said.”

  “I got you, Ma.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she says, smirkin’. “Whatchu got is a hard-ass head.”

  I laugh at her. “And you love me to death, too.”

  She waves me on, rollin’ her eyes. “Get on up outta here with that.”

  I look over at Pops. “Aiight, playboy, don’t be out all night.”

  “Stay outta grown folk business,” he says, wipin’ his mouth wit’ a napkin.

  I laugh. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mom shakes her head, chucklin’. I give Pops a pound, then bounce. On my way out the door, I continue my convo wit’ my boy. “Yo, sorry ’bout that, man.”

  “Nah, don’t sweat it. So, what’s good wit’ ya peoples? They gettin’ back together?”

  “Man, listen…the hell if I know. Right now they just breakin’ each other off, feel me?” I hop in my whip, then head toward the parkway.

  He laughs. “I hear you. Oh, check it. I got the rooms for All-Star Weekend.”

  “Aiight, that’s wassup. Where?”

  “The W in Scottsdale. Looks like most of the shit’s gonna be poppin’ off ’round that area.”

  “Yo, how many muhfuckas you packin’ in a room? ’Cause you know I ain’t beat to be in a room wit’ a buncha niggas.”

  He laughs. “Nigga, shut ya ass up. If you listen, I said rooms, plural as in more than one. So obviously, I got ya stinkin’ ass ya own shit. Gee and Ron are the only two muhfuckas sharin’ a room. Them some cheap-ass niggas, word up.”

  “That shit’s on them,” I say, sparkin’ the blunt in my ashtray. I take a pull. “All I know is I’m tryna snap a few spines while I’m out there, and I ain’t tryna have shit block a nigga’s flow. You smell me?”

  “No doubt, son. I’m tryna get up into sumthin’ my damn self. Awww, shit, sounds like you blazin’?”

  “You know me,” I say, blowin’ smoke out. “I’m tryna catch up to you, muhfucka.” He laughs. I take another hit. “I just hope them bitches look good. ’Cause, on some real shit, the ones we saw down in New Orleans last year looked like pure cow shit. I think I mighta saw two, maybe three fly bitches that were on point from head to toe the whole time we were there—and that’s stretchin’ it. The rest of them fake-ass, wannabe divas were weave-wearin’ dragons in cheap-ass skirts ’n heels.”

  He laughs. I blow out more smoke. “Yeah, but a lotta them hoes had some fat asses.”

  “Fuck a fat ass. Them raggedy-ass booga bears looked broke as hell. If I’ma fuck a dog-faced ho, then the bitch gonna haveta look like she’s holdin’ some paper, feel me? You saw some of that outdated shit they were rockin’.”

  “Yo, son. You gotta remember where we were. Most of them heads were from Florida, Mississippi, Texas and other parts of the Dirty South. They gotta different flava than us. And you know they kinda late on some shit.”

  “Whatever, man. All I know is, oh-nine’s All-Star better have some dimepieces there. I don’t mind givin’ a pretty bitch some free dick. But…man, listen, I’m sorry. My dick don’t get hard for a broke and ugly ho…she’s gonna need to pay to ride up and down on this pole.”

  He starts laughin’ hard. “Yo, nigga, I swear. You crack me the fuck up. Yo, but on some real shit, you can’t front. The All-Star out in Vegas was fiyah.”

  “Oh, no doubt…Vegas was on point. Now that’s how a muthafuckin’ All-Star’s ’posed to be like, packed wit’ a buncha fly-ass, ballin’ bitches. Shit, even some of them white hoes were gettin’ it in. I shoulda fucked the shit outta that white chick from Cali just for the hell of it while I was out there. That ho was cravin’ for some of this chocolate dick. I woulda had her ass pawnin’ her ice, and that shiny Benz she was pushin’.”

  “Man, that broad was finer than a muhfucka, too. I still can’t believe you’ve never fucked some white pussy. A lotta them are some real freaky bitches for some black dick. They’ll let you do almost anything to ’em.”

  “Nah, son, never had the urge. I don’t give a fuck if she chews shit and eats cum for snack. My dick only responds to two colors, muhfucka: green money and black pussy.”

  He laughs. “Nigga, you a fool.”

  Speakin’ of good, black pussy, I want some tonight. I decide to go to Pops’ spot instead. If I’m tryna get this nut off, then it makes no sense to drive all the way down to the shore when e’eryone I fuck wit’ is up this way. “Yo, you can laugh if you want, nigga, but I’m dead-ass.”

  “Yeah, I know you are, muhfucka. That’s why the shit’s so damn funny.”

  “Whatever. Aiight, listen…I’m done fuckin’ wit’ you for one night. I’m prowlin’ tonight, so hit me up when you niggas are tryna get into sumthin’ other than trickin’ ya paper up.”

  He laughs. “Then bounce, muhfucka.”

  “I’m out.”

  “Aiight, then…one.” We disconnect. I scroll through my address book, then press the call button.

  “Hello?”

  “Yo, what’s good, baby? You want this nut tonight?”

  “What time you coming?”

  “Now.”

  “See you when you get here.”

  “Aye, yo…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ma need to hold a few dollars, baby. You got me?”

  She sucks her teeth.

  Damn, this buck-tooth beaver suckin’ her muthafuckin’ gums like a muhfucka’s always hittin’ her up for her paper. “Yo, if it’s a problem, boo, let me know. ’Cause I can keep it movin’.”

  “Did I say it was?”

  “Nah, but you came off like it is, suckin’ ya teeth ’n shit.”

  She huffs. “How much you need?”

  “Three hunnid,” I tell her. “So you got me?”

  She sighs. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You
guess? Whatchu mean? Either you do or you don’t.”

  “Yeah, nigga. I got you. But this is the last time.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s what ya ass said the last time. I grin. “That’s what it is, baby. Have that pussy wet and ready for me.” And ya money in ya hand. I hang up, then spark another blunt. Yeah, big pimpin’ ain’t always easy, but someone’s gotta do it. And it might as well be a muhfucka like me.

  20

  Man, listen, I’m tired as hell. Last night I ended up pullin’ an all-nighter wit’ Crystal’s fat ass. This cute brown-skinned chick from Union I fuck on the low from time to time. She’s a bit chunky, though, wit’ a head like a Chow’s—big. But she got some good pussy. And she swallows and hits a nigga up wit’ paper—even when the ho don’t want to, so you already know what time it was. I didn’t leave up from outta her spot ’til almost four in the mornin’.

  I close my eyes, replayin’ the night in my head. I licked and kissed her skin startin’ from her thick neck to her wide collar bone to her itty-bitty piggy tits, twirlin’ my tongue ’round each nipple before nibblin’ on ’em. She moaned. Then I planted a trail of kisses in the center of her chest down to her overflowin’ gut and over her wide hips. The whole time I’m wit’ this rhino I gotta remind myself that big girls need love, too; that big girls like to fuck, too; that big girls can suck a mean dick, too. And, they love spendin’ money on a muhfucka like me, too.

  “Yeah, baby. Let daddy make you feel good. You want daddy to long stroke this tight pussy?”

  “Mmm-hmm…”

  I continued explorin’ her body. I raised her ham hocks and placed kisses on the inside of each thigh. My lips traveled to her cankles. But I stopped when I got to her biscuit heels. You know a nigga ain’t fuckin’ wit’ no busted-ass feet. And that ho has fluffy-ass buttermilk biscuits on the back of her heels. You know what I’m talkin’ about; them big, white puffy heels that look like they’ve been soaked in yeast. What the fuck?!

  The last time I was wit’ her ass I told her she needed to go to a foot surgeon to get them shits handled. I don’t give a fuck how good the pussy is, or what kinda muthafuckin’ gifts I’m bein’ laced wit’, or how much paper I’m tryna fuck outta her ass. Some things are off limits. And fuckin’ wit’ her raggedy feet is one of ’em. She even had the muthafuckin’ nerve to be openin’ and closin’ her toes like I was ’bout to suck on them gorilla claws. Not tonight, boo. Not to-muthafuckin’-night, I thought, spreadin’ her legs open, then puttin’ my head between ’em. I sniffed the silky patch of hair coverin’ her thick pussy, flickin’ her clit wit’ my tongue. She moaned. I continued dartin’ my tongue in and outta her, slurpin’ her pussy. Then I pressed a finger on her asshole, and put my whole mouth over her clit and sucked, then licked. Then I stuck two fingers into her hot slit. The bitch started shakin’. I used more force, suckin’ her clit, finger-poppin’ her hole, and pressin’ on her asshole.