Daddy Long Stroke (22 page)

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.