by Cairo
I hang up, feeling my nerves starting to unravel. Less than a minute later, another call is being transferred to me. I pick up. “Hello? This is Pasha.”
“Bitch, I’ma keep calling you so don’t fuckin’ hang up on me.”
“And I’ma call the fucking cops,” I warn.
He laughs. “Yeah, right. And tell ’em what, bitch? How you tried to suck the skin off my dick? Go right ahead.”
I take a deep sigh. He’s right. There’s no way I want that to come out. OhmyGod, I’d be the laughingstock of the town. These bitches here would have a field day with that kind of dirt on me. “Look. Why are you calling me?”
“To hear that sexy-ass voice of yours. After you told me you weren’t beat to suck my dick again and blocked my emails, you had me feelin’ some kinda way. I told you my dick needed your tongue, too…” His email flashes in my mind. OhmyFuckingGod, how did this nut find me? He continues speaking as if he read my thoughts.
“…But as luck would have it. I found you without having to look very hard. All this time, you’ve been right under my nose. Nappy No More, I like. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Look, what do you want from me?”
“Don’t play stupid. Why else would I be calling ya smutty ass? I want your lips wrapped around my dick again,” he tells me. “Seeing your pretty face in the paper on Sunday got my dick on brick…”
I frown. Try to figure out what this fool on the other end of the phone is talking about seeing my face in the paper. Then it dawns on me. Oh, shit! I think, gasping. He’s talking about the photo of me in the local news section of The Star Ledger. The one taken of me at Nana’s church’s Community Day a few weeks ago. I was so caught up in the moment, overwhelmed by the number of women who had turned out, that I didn’t have a chance to think about what those photos could potentially do to me. Now I wish I could rewind back to that day. I would have told them no fucking pictures.
“…You got me wanting to bust a few rounds of nut down in that nasty-ass throat of yours. That shit feels just like a wet, gushy pussy.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck raise. “Who the fuck did you say are?”
“I didn’t. But don’t worry ya pretty lil’ head ’bout that. You’ll find out soon enough, trick. All you need to know right now is I’ma ’bout to be your worst fuckin’ nightmare. Check your mail, baby. And if you don’t do what I want, there’ll be more where that came from.”
“Listen…” the line goes dead. I try to star-sixty-nine the call, but it’s from a blocked number. I glance over at the stack of mail sitting on my desk, then start frantically sifting through it. When I come across a manila envelope with my name typed on it without a return address, I immediately know it’s from him. My stomach knots as I reach for my letter opener. I swallow hard, then slice open the back of the envelope. I pull out its contents. Oh…my…fucking…God! I hear myself scream in my head as I gasp, cupping a hand up over my mouth. My heart has dropped into my lap. I can literally feel the color draining from my face. I sit, staring at the sheet of paper, gripping it in my hand—mortified. It’s a color copy of the photo from the newspaper neatly cut out, and taped in the center of white copier paper. The newspaper caption reads: BUSINESS OWNER, PASHA ALLEN, STYLIST AND OWNER OF NAPPY NO MORE HAIR SALON IN ORANGE, NEW JERSEY, GIVES BACK TO THE COMMUNITY. Underneath that, in cutout lettering, glued to the white copier paper. Reads: PASHA ALLEN (AKA DEEP THROAT DIVA) IS THE COMMUNITY DICK WASHER. DICK SUCKING BITCH!
ELEVEN
It’s seven o’clock in the evening. I am wrapped in a chenille throw curled up on my sofa, with a glass of Chardonnay and my leg tucked beneath me, reading—well, trying to read—Stealing Candy by Allison Hobbs about teen girls being forced into prostitution by a malicious pimp. The book doesn’t hit the stores until July, which is another four months from now, but one of my clients at the salon belongs to a book club and was able to get a review copy for it. She raved about it and told me I should read it. So when she brought it into the salon with her the other day, I decided I would. Besides, I love all of Allison’s books. Many of her characters I can relate to on some level. They’re all nasty, uninhibited, and freaky as hell.
But two hours have passed and I am still only on the second page of chapter three. As interesting and disturbing as this book is, I am unable to stay focused tonight. The words are colliding into one big, blurry ball. I put the book down and toss off the throw, downing the last bit of my wine. I reach for the remote to the stereo, press play for the CD player. I wait for Fantasia’s latest single, “Bittersweet,” to start playing. She doesn’t even have an album out yet, but I’m glad to have this song in my collection. Someone came into the shop selling a compilation of songs on CD for five dollars. I don’t normally buy bootleg shit, but there were a few songs on the disc I wanted to hear and I couldn’t wait until the album’s release.
I lean my head back on the sofa, closing my eyes as Fantasia’s voice comes through the speakers and fills the room.
I decide I need something else besides sitting up in this house to occupy me. I have to get up out of here before I drive myself crazy, letting some psycho motherfucker rent space in my head. You always see on TV and on the internet shit about someone being harassed by some kook who has made them the object of their desires. But, geesh…all I did was top the nigga off one time, and he’s coming at me all nutty and whatnot. Shit! And I don’t even remember what the nigga looks like. I can only imagine what he’d do if I had given him some pussy.
Although it’s been two weeks since that disturbing phone call from that nut, I am still trying to block out the echoing in my head. Have you opened your mail today? Bitch, since you won’t suck my dick, I’m gonna make ya life a living hell…
The fact that I haven’t heard from him should make me feel relieved but somehow it doesn’t. Still, it doesn’t keep me from wanting to suck down on some dick tonight. And it doesn’t prevent me from thinking irrationally, knowing damn well I have no business still thinking about cock and cum. But I am!
“I’m not going to let this nigga control me,” I say aloud as I attempt to convince myself that I have nothing more to be concerned about. I get up and make my way upstairs to my laptop. I turn it on, then wait for it to boot up.
As soon as I click into my browser to pull up the Nastyfreaks4u website, my cell rings. I get up and walk over to my nightstand to retrieve it. I glance at the screen. It’s Felecia.
“Hey, girl, what’s up?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. I glance down at my toes, and notice chipped polish on my left pinkie toe. I frown, inspecting all of them. Oh, hell no, I think, getting up to get my nail polisher remover, this is not acceptable.
“Nothing much. You feel like going into the city for drinks later tonight?”
“Where?” I ask, contemplating if I should go onto the NastyFreaks4u website or not. I know, I know. I’m still playing with fire. I try to let this shit go, but something keeps enticing me. “Bitch, don’t,” the voice in my head warns. I take a deep breath, deciding to log onto AOL to check my email messages instead; it’s been a few days since I’ve last checked them.
“The Katra Lounge,” she says.
“Where’s that?” I ask, waiting for the page to open. The place she’s talking about sounds vaguely familiar.
“In SoHo.”
“Oh yeah; that’s right. I heard that was a nice spot.” A slight smile forms my lips when I am alerted that I have new messages.
“It’s a bangin’ spot.”
I laugh. “I already know what that means. They have good drinks.”
She laughs with me. “Yep.”
She goes onto rave about how delicious the mojitos with champagne in them are and how great the martinis are; how delicious the appetizers are. “Girl, it has a real sexy atmosphere. Only problem it gets extremely crowded. Oh, and the drinks are sooooo overpriced. Other than that, it’s a cute setup.” Overpriced drinks; extremely crowded. Tho
se two things are enough to turn me off from going.
“Well, let me sleep on it,” I say, stopping her before she goes into a full review of the place. “Call me in an hour or so and I’ll let you know. I need to take a quick nap.”
“Alright. Talk to you later.” We hang up. Needless to say, a nap is the last thing on my mind. I open my first email. Hey there. Are u still looking to suck dick? 6’1, black hair, dark brown eyes, African American male with a really big and thick dick that loves to be sucked. I’m 185 pounds all cut and toned muscle. Located in New Brunswick. Can travel to you, or meet up somewhere. I reply back: Hello. Let me be the judge. Send me a pic of that really big dick. Let’s see if it’s fact or fiction.
27 6ft 190 brown hair blue eyes 6.5” cut gfs out for 2 hrs looking to travel close to Clark
Hey baby. 6’4” 215 lbs Buzzed Short Hair Goatee Hazel Eyes here; Looking for now. Can’t host gotta travel 2 u
hello. I work in edison. lookin 4 when i get out. my quit time varies. u sound nice. i really need a sloppy wet bj. i get a lil dirty at work so either i shower with you or if u like a lil sweat on ur meat then u can clean me off with ur tongue. no games, no bs here. just sloppy, wet dick sucking. please be close to edison. and able to come to me. will be checking my emails from my phone throughout the day.
I roll my eyes, wondering what the hell this idiot looks like. Who in the hell sends an email in all lowercase letters, I think, turning my nose up. His retarded ass is probably some dusty, fat-ass. I delete.
Somehow I find myself sitting here musing over how I’ve gotten myself so wrapped up in all of this online bullshit. I never, ever, thought or considered that I would become addicted to sucking dick. I don’t want to admit that I am, but it is the only thing that can possibly explain why the fuck I’m sitting here in front of this computer, reading emails from motherfuckers looking to get topped off, in the first place. It’s the only logical explanation that makes sense. ’Cause only someone addicted to this shit—or maybe the idea of getting caught—would be crazy enough to keep doing the shit, especially when it seems like shit is starting to close in on them. I want to believe I’m a sane, rational, open-minded woman. Hell, maybe, I’m too damn open-minded. Or, perhaps, too damn stupid to see how what I am doing can potentially blow up in my face. I’m still kicking myself for allowing that photographer to snap my picture and have my face plastered all over the front page of the Star Ledger Community section. Everything would be fine, if I would have been on my P’s & Q’s instead of sleeping on the potential consequences. How the hell was I supposed to know I’d have some psycho on my heels sweating me for a dick suck? Yeah, my head game is tight. And, yes, I can curl a nigga’s toes and make his knees buckle. Yes, I can suck and swallow a dick down to the base, then extend my tongue out to lap his balls. Plus, in some instances, pull his balls into my mouth as well. All that still doesn’t warrant a begging-ass motherfucker trying to work my nerves about it.
Okay, call me what you want. Bottom line, I’m a skilled, dick-sucking bitch. And if I were able to give instruction on the art of dick sucking, giving head, fellatio, throating, etc., I’d give this advice: First, I’d tell them that dick sucking is a craft that needs to be perfected. That like eating pussy, it’s an art. That there is definitely a science behind successfully sucking a nigga’s dick without scraping or cutting it with your teeth, or throwing your last meal up in his lap, and all over his dick, fucking up his sheets, drawers, and/or pants, which will surely piss him off, and have him throw you out of his house or car. Or flat out curse you out, if he doesn’t punch a bitch in her skull first.
Secondly, I’d show them how to tease him with touch. Licking and kissing and nibbling—as well as running her fingertips, along the inside of his inner thighs, along the sides of his dick, over the head, then around the backside of the head—which is the most sensitive part of a nigga’s cock.
Next, I’d show them how to use their tongues to explore the dick. In slow, wide strokes, and with lots of spit, wet every inch of his dick up, licking that shit like it’s her favorite ice cream cone or—if she’s lactose intolerant—Popsicle. Hell, a lollipop. Whatever works, damn it! Just lick the shit like it’s dipped in something you love.
Then I’d tell them to—if he’s not already bricked up—to begin their dick sucking experience by putting his semi-hard cock in their mouths, guiding their lips over the tip of his cock, making sure their lips cover their teeth. The last thing any man wants is a bitch snagging up his dick skin with her teeth. I’d let them know that, in my experience, sucking on a soft or semi-hard cock helps her get comfortable with his dick; especially when he’s swinging a Mandingo cock.
Then I’d show them how to breathe through their noses while swallowing the dick—slowly, one inch at a time, and using their hand to control how much of the dick gets pushed down into their throats, to keep the nigga from choking the shit out of her with it.
Then I’d encourage them to alternate between sucking and licking the dick, to lapping and sucking on their balls and jerking them off, never neglecting the dick or balls. If she’s sucking the dick, she should be caressing or massaging the nigga’s balls. If she’s sucking his balls, then she should be stroking his dick. And if any of the students had rough hands, I’d give out coupons for a paraffin wax so they could have them soft as cotton. And I’d encourage them to keep their lips moisturized, glossy and wet. No man wants a bitch with rough, cracked hands and/or lips stroking up and wetting up his dick.
I’d continue by letting them know that great dick sucking involves knowing how to use their hands and mouth, simultaneously and alternately. Hand and mouth coordination is a must to ensure bringing and taking a nigga over the edge. You want him opening and closing his toes, clutching the sheets, thrashing his head, bucking his hips, and moaning and groaning, slurring your name out in pure ecstasy.
Then I’d close with the following remarks: I’d tell them to not suck the dick like it’s a tedious, laborious job. To suck it like it’s their passion. Slob it like they love it, damn it! Trust me. I’d tell them men love for women to adore the dick. No matter how big, or small, if she’s going to suck the dick, then, goddamn it, be the best damn dick sucker she can be. Then I’d pause for effect, let all that I’ve shared sink in, then say, “To swallow, or not to swallow? That is the question.”
I’d tell them if they’re going to swallow, then work that nut up out of him and gulp that creamy shit down with a smile on their faces, slathering it all over their lips, back onto his dick, then licking it clean. But if they’re not going to swallow, then I’d suggest that they should let the nigga know, out of courtesy, what they intend to do with the nut. Spit, swallow, or face bust, or a combination of the three. It is totally up to them. However, most men love to see a chick swallow him, and some are okay with her not doing it. So if she’s not going to drink his milk, then she should remove her mouth when he’s about to nut and replace her mouth with her hands to continue stroking him until he cracks and pops that nut out.
Then I’d probably run off and chase down the nearest dick to suck off since I’d be so damn worked up over all that demonstration. ’Cause the truth is I love sucking dick! Always have. Always will. Which is why I’m great…no, exceptional, at it. Sucking on the head of a nigga’s dick; twirling my tongue all over it, licking and lapping its slit—slick with his sweet precum, turns me the fuck on. I can’t deny it. There’s something about slobbering all over a dick, gliding my lips and mouth up and down its length that makes my pussy soooo wet. I don’t know. It’s almost as if I was born with two clits—one between my legs, and the other stuck somewhere between my tonsils and the little thingy that hangs in the back of my throat. Shit, that actually might be my clit, now that I think about it. The minute a dick pushes past that point, everything in me starts to tingle and I start creaming in my panties. I find that my orgasms intensify when my pussy is being eaten while I’m sucking a nigga off. The beautiful thing about dick sucking is that yo
u can swab a nigga down slow and seductive, making love to the dick. Or you can throat him real fast and nasty, necking him with a bunch of spit and shit-talking. Either way, there’s a nice delicious, hot, creamy treat waiting to erupt.
TWELVE
“Girl, the key to sucking a man’s dick is seducing him mentally first, then sucking him like you love him. Fuck his mind, make love to his dick. Stroke his ego, and worship the dick! That should be every woman’s strategy…You want it so that every time he sees you or hears your voice, he’ll think about how good you sucked down on his cock. In the still of the night when he’s lying in bed, alone—or with his woman next to him, his dick will brick up thinking about your head game…”
I’m not sure what made me think of this conversation. It was one of those rare off-the-record moments Bianca and I were having behind closed doors in my office a few years ago. And it has always stuck in the back of my mind because it is something I wholeheartedly agree with. Interestingly, when I asked her how she knew so much about dick sucking, she laughed, lowered her voice, and said: “Girlfriend, who isn’t sucking dick in the twenty-first century? And if it’s her man, she needs to be swallowing every drop of that dick milk. It does the body and face good!”
I laugh, replaying the conversation in my head. That damn Bianca is a mess, I think, opening another email. And that’s exactly why we clicked. I read, sighing.
Hello. R U still looking to suck cock? Would like some head. I like my balls licked and cock sucked nice and slow. Into face-fucking pretty chicks. DDF here expect the same. Hit me up if u still looking.
There’s no stat info, no pic, nothing that would make me want to reply back. I delete, and move onto the next. Wassup deep throat diva? How u? Itz been a minute since we chatted. Been thinkin bout u and that long, wet tongue wrapped around this dick. U still putting in that throat work? A nigga could definitely use some right now. Holla back. 973-333-5555.