Daddy Long Stroke (16 page)

I'm finally home—chillin', kicked back watchin' CNN Live, tryna get caught up wit' what's poppin' wit' my dude Barack and his whack-ass opponent. I'm tellin' you, dude got this presidential shit in the bag—hands down! He's been waxin' that old-ass dude's ass in e'ery debate. That cracker can't rock wit' Barack, real talk. Dude might as well throw his ass in a ditch and let 'em toss the dirt down on him 'cause it's already over for 'im. Hell, the coffin was sealed on this election the minute dude announced that Gidget look-alike as his vice president—like that was gonna help him. Fuck outta here! Obama got swagger. And it's 'bout to be on up in the muthafuckin' White House, ya heard?

Anyway, a nigga can't front, it's good to be home—word up. That lil' stint in ATL wit' Minnie Mouse, nah…let me stop— wit' Vita, was aiight. I ain't even gonna style. She's cool peeps. Like I said before, she isn't the hottest chick on the block, but she ain't the ugliest either. And she ain't broke. So what she lacks in looks, she makes up in dollars, feel me? True, she can't handle the dick,
yet
. But she did try her damndest to serve up the pussy wit' enthusiasm and greed. And, for me, an enthusiastic, greedy bitch tryna bounce the pussy up 'n down on this dick gets mad props from me. Still a muhfucka's horny as hell and ready to fuck—
now!

Who can I call?
At least three dozen bitches, but I ain't feelin' none of 'em. I want some new pussy. That Stone Mountain cutie comes to mind. I curse under my breath for not gettin' at her
while I was in ATL. I woulda loved slidin' up between them hips, word up. I scroll through my phone, find her number, and call. When she doesn't pick up, I decide to leave a message—this time, then get up from the sofa and run upstairs to get my laptop from outta my office-slash-guestroom. I come back down wit' it, ploppin' back down on the sofa. I kick my feet up on my leather coffee table, then call Maleeka while waitin' for the PC to boot up. I leave a message, lettin' her know big daddy wants some pussy. My dick starts to thicken thinkin' 'bout her big, wet pussy slurpin' in this dick. I pull my dick outta the slit of my boxers, and stroke. I close my eyes. Imagine her ridin' this dick broncostyle wit' her perky titties bouncin' up 'n down.
Damn, I wanna fuck
. I deepen my strokes on my dick, cup my balls wit' my free hand, then lighty squeeze on 'em. I'm on the brink of bustin' a quick nut when my cell rings, disruptin' my flow. It's Shavron. I let go of my dick. Let my nut ooze out.

What the fuck this lame bitch want?
“What's good, baby?” I say, grabbin' a T-shirt and wipin' my nut off my stomach and from 'round my dick and balls. I log onto BlackPlanet. I click on my Notes page. Damn, there's seventy-eight notes. I go through 'em, deletin' the ones I ain't beat for. I click on the pages of the ones that pique my interest. I wanna see who these hoes are before I respond.

“You,” she says in a low voice. I'm not sure if the bitch is sad, or tryna sound sexy. “You still outta town?”

“Nah, I'm back.”

“Oh, for real? When you get back?”

“Yesterday,” I lie. Yeah, I coulda kept shit real and told this ho I got back last week, but what the fuck for? Bitches be straight lyin' all the time. Besides, it's none of her muthafuckin' business when I touched the fuck down.

“Then why didn't you call me? I thought you said you was gonna hit me up when you got back.”

Is this bitch fuckin' serious? “Aye, yo, bit…”—I catch myself before I rip into her ass—“Listen, don't muthafuckin' question me. I had mad shit to handle when I got back. I got sidetracked. Shit happens. But you know I was gonna hit you up sooner or later, damn—relax, baby.”

She softens her tone. “I didn't mean to come off like I was questioning you…”
Yes the fuck you did.
“It's just that I've been anxious to see you, and I wanted to make sure we were still on for your birthday.”

Damn, I almost forgot I had another birthday weekend comin' up, which means more gifts. I grin, rememberin' the Xbox she copped me. A muhfucka changes his tone, quick. “Oh, no doubt, baby.”
I need to make sure I scoop up some lube before I get at her, though. There's no muthafuckin' way I'ma stick my dick back up in that desert of a pussy. I might as well just go out and fuck a box of sand.
“You remember all that slick shit you was talkin' 'bout how you tryna suck this dick, right?”

“Yeah, I know what I told you. And I meant it.”

“That's what ya mouth says,” I tease. “But we know you ain't ready to put in no real work.”

“I was born ready,” she states, laughin'. “I don't ever gotta get ready; thought you knew.”

Same script, different ho,
I think, shakin' my head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah…I've heard that before.”

“And now you're hearing it again. Only difference is, I bet them other chicks don't love giving you head as much as I do.”

“Oh, word? What you love 'bout suckin' on this dick?”

“Everything.”

“E'erything like what? Tell me.” She tells me how she loves
the way it tastes; how big, black and beautiful it is; how strong and heavy it is; how she loves the way it pulses in her mouth and stretches her jaws and mouth open. Then she tells me how she wants my baby batter on her tongue and smeared all over her lips.

As I'm listenin' to her, I'm readin' and deletin' notes, and clickin' on members' pages that catch my attention. I come 'cross DrSweetPussy's page. It's done in red and black and there's a flick of a chick wit' her face blacked out wearin' a black-lace bodysuit and a pair of red stilettos. The shit is sexy as hell. Her profile says she's fifty-five—
goddamn, this bitch gotta a body like a twenty-year-old. I bet she got some good pussy, too—
lives in Jersey, married and seekin' sumthin' on the side. I peep the outline of her nipples, then zoom in on the imprint of her pussy. She got one of them phatties fo' sure. I imagine slidin' this dick up in that shit. It's been a minute since I had some seasoned, old-school pussy. Shit, the last time I fucked some aged-pussy was like eight years ago when I fucked one of my man's moms. Yeah, I know I shoulda felt bad for rockin' his moms' box. But, man, listen…that old-ass ho knew how to make that shit pop, word up.

At fifty-six, Ms. Carson was one sexy-ass woman with a juicy, apple-bottom ass and big double-D titties. My dick used to feel good as hell beween them two cock knockers, word up. She had a few jelly rolls around her waist and stomach area, but she had some bangin' pussy. She'd hit me up late at night, like 'round two or three in the mornin' for some of this dick. I'd park my car 'round the corner, then sneak through her backyard and meet her out in the shed. She'd suck and fuck this dick for 'bout an hour or so, then stumble her hot-ass back into her house and climb back into bed wit' her husband. I ended up smashin' her walls for three more months before I deaded it. That greedy bitch wanted to keep guzzlin' this dick, but she wasn't tryna come up offa no paper. So you already know she had to go.

Damn, I bet that pussy is better now at sixty-four.
Okay, DrSweetPussy, I'ma give you exactly what that fat-ass pussy needs,
I think, starin' at her page and grabbin' at my dick. I hit her up wit' a note, leavin' her my email addy to holla back.

I bring my attention back to this broad I got on the phone. “So how many other niggas' tops you spinnin'?” Not that I gotta right to be askin', but I know she's gonna give me an answer, anyway—even if it's some half-truth bullshit.

“What?”

“Yo, you heard me. I asked you how many other niggas' dicks you washin'?”

“OhmyGod, I can't believe you'd ask me some crazy shit like that. Don't play me, nigga. I'm many things, but a ho ain't one of 'em. I don't go around sucking a bunch of dicks. The only nigga's top I'm poppin' is yours.”

Yeah, right. Tell me any-fuckin'-thing.
This bitch musta forgot who she's talkin' to. I know her work. She's the same cum-guzzlin' slut who piped out my man's 'n 'em two summers ago after a barbecue at Mountainside Park. And she's the same nut-catchin' ho who had some cat from Hillside stretchin' her throat a few months back. But she don't know I'm up on it. Not that it matters. She can slurp down as many babies as she wants. I ain't tryna wife the bitch, feel me?

“Yo, whatever! Fuck all that ying-yang you talkin'. You tryna wet this dick up, or what?”

“You already know.”

“Aiight, that's wassup. And I want that shit real nasty, too. A whole lotta slob and spit all over this dick. I want that shit drippin' down my balls.”

“I got you. You know I know how to serve you up proper.”

Yeah, you just oughta know how! Cause you ain't servin' shit else wit' that sandbox pussy.
I feel my dick startin' to brick thinkin' 'bout her
wrappin' them big-ass dick suckas 'round my joint and me chokin' the shit outta her wit' it. On some real shit, I ain't beat for no head tonight, I wanna fuck a wet hole. But, unless I snatch up some pussy in the next twenty minutes, a wet throat will tie me over 'til I do.

“Alley Cat, I don't know why you be tryna play me. You already know what it is…” I text Lahney while this ho babbles on: Yo, what's good? U fuckin' 2 nite?

“…The only nigga I'm fuckin' with is you.”

“Oh, word?”

“Word. I'm not interested in any other nigga.”

I shake my head. “Listen…I hope you keepin' shit in perspective between us. Don't start tryna padlock a nigga down like he's ya man 'n shit 'cause I told you from dip what it is—”

“Nigga, please. Don't trip. I already know.”

Lahney texts back: Not tonight. Unless you up for a bloody Mary.

Fuck, this bitch stays on her muthafuckin' period,
I think textin' back: That's aiight. I'm good. Hit me up when u ready 2 get that hole stretched.

Lol, nigga, u a trip! I will, she replies.

I decide to swab Shavron's throat, then swing by Akina's spot to have her ride down on this dick when I'm done. “Yo, I'm ready to come through wit' this hard-ass dick.”

“Oh, so you really tryna get it wet?”

Duh, didn't I just say that shit? What the fuck else this dumb bitch think I'm tryna do wit' a stiff damn dick? Sit and watch movies wit' her simple-ass. “No doubt, baby. I only want a drop 'n go, though. No extras tonight, feel me?”

She sucks her teeth. “Yeah, I got you. But be clear. Just because you coming through tonight doesn't mean I don't wanna still see you on your birthday. This is just a little pre-birthday treat.”

This bitch.
“Don't worry, ma. We still gonna chill. And I'ma rock the snot outta ya.”

“Mmmm,” she moans. “And you gotta stay the night.”

I smile, knowin' her thirsty ass is gonna be tryna gobble up these nuts all night. And, lucky for her, a nigga like me comes fully loaded wit' a full sack of cream. “You got that. But, in the meantime, get that dick washer ready for round one 'cause big daddy's comin' to dump a double load in it.”

“I'll be ready,” she says, laughin'.

“Bet.” After we hang up, I jump up and run upstairs to take a quick shower, throw on a sweat shirt and pair of Polo sweats wit'out any drawers. My dick 'n balls can bounce freely, and give this ho quick access. So when I walk up in her spot, all she gotta do is drop down on her knees, yank these sweats down 'round my ankles, then let it do what it do.

I hop in my other hoopty—a blue four-door Chevy Impala, drive up Ocean Avenue, and make a left onto Broadway to get to the parkway. Livin' down here by the shore is cool 'n all, but it's nights like this when I wish I had some local broads to kick it wit' instead of havin' to drive all the way up to North Jersey for some throat 'n pussy action. I spark the half blunt in my ashtray, call Akina and tell her what time I'ma come through. Then I call Cherry in L.A., but leave a message when she doesn't pick up.

My cell rings. It's Maleeka hittin' me back. “Yo, what's good, ma?”

“Shit,” she says. “I got your message.”

“So, what's good, then? You feel like fuckin', or what?”

“When you tryna come through?”

“Now,” I tell her.

She laughs. “Damn, nigga, you sound real pressed for some of this gushy shit.”

Bitch, don't get it twisted
, I think, laughin',
a muhfucka like me ain't never gonna be pressed for one bitch's pussy.
“Pressed? Nah, baby… never that. But a muhfucka's horny as hell.”

“Nigga, you stay horny.”

“You already know. So what's good? Can I come through and fuck, or what?” She pauses. I'm sure to think 'bout how I deep stroked that pussy the last time we were together. Nonstop, for two hours, I pumped her insides. By the time I finished, this dick had her ass shakin' and beggin' for some more. And, after the second round, a muhfucka walked up outta there wit' a quick four hunnid.

“Hell yeah, you can come through,” she finally says. “But not right now. I got three heads to braid, and I probably won't get done 'til about eight, or nine o'clock.”

“Nah, baby, that's too late. Can't you push those shits back and let me come through now?”

“Nigga, please, not today. Your stroke game is tight, but a bitch ain't about to let a nigga and his dick get in the way of me makin' my paper. You know how I am about getting that money.”

On some real shit, I had to respect her hustle. With all of her regulars, chick pulls in anywhere from one-to-two thousand a week braidin' hair—straight cash. This bitch be rapin' the shit outta the IRS. I laugh to myself.
That's right, baby, get them snake-ass muhfuckas before they try 'n get you.