Daddy Long Stroke (34 page)

I glance at the clock. It's ten-thirty in the mornin'. My flight leaves for Jersey tonight at nine-fifty. And between you and me, a muhfucka can't wait to get the fuck home. As nice as it is to get away, there's nuthin' like chillin' up in ya own spot, in ya own damn bed, feel me?

“What's up?” I ask, proppin' up on my forearms.

“Well, you know…I really enjoy spending time with you when you come out here. And I think this thing we have works really well for the both of us. There's no pressure from either of us. I'm not looking for a relationship, or expecting anything more from you than what I already get…”
OhmyGod, I wish she get to the muthafuckin' point!

“No doubt. So wassup?”

“Well,” she says, pausin'. “I want a baby.”—she puts a finger over my lips to stop me from speakin'—“Now before you say anything, hear me out first. I'm thirty-five and very successful with
no prospects of having a husband anytime soon. But I want to be a mother with no strings, or stress, or baby daddy drama. I am more than capable of raising a child on my own, so I'm not looking for someone to help me raise it.”

I tilt my head, tryna figure out where she's goin' wit' this. “Ohhhkay, and what does that haveta do wit' me?”

“Well, I've been seriously thinking about getting pregnant.”

“Ohhhkay, again, what does that haveta do wit' me?”

“I want a baby with
you
.”

My eyes almost pop outta my head. “Say whaaat?” I ask, almost knockin' her over as I sit up in bed. She repeats herself. “Oh, I heard you the first time. It just caught a muhfucka off guard. I mean, damn…you want me to paint ya insides up wit' my nuts. That's a big-ass request. I don't know if it's one one I can help you fill.”

She sits up in bed. “I'm only asking you to be my sperm donor. Not marry me, or claim the child as yours. I know you and I trust you, opposed to going to a sperm bank or some online site and not really knowing who or what I'm getting. With you, I know I'm getting a sexy black man with above-average intelligence and excellent bone structure.” I frown at her on that “above average” intelligence shit. Although I know it's not meant as a dis, for some reason, I don't like how the fuck it sounded, like I'm a step or two up from bein' retarded. I decide to let it go. “And aside from your weed smoking, I know that you take relatively good care of yourself. You can be in its life or not; the choice would be entirely up to you. Either way, I wouldn't ask you for any monetary support.”

I scratch the side of my head. “Ummm, why not adopt?”

“I thought about that. But I want to experience the joys of motherhood being pregnant, carrying my own child.”

“I don't know. I mean, that's a big request to hit a nigga wit', feel me?”

“I know. But before you flat out say no, just give it some thought,
please
.”

“Umm, there's nuthin' really to think 'bout. A muhfucka like me ain't—”

“I'm willing to pay you fifty thousand dollars,” she bursts out, cuttin' me off. Now that gets my attention. My dick starts to twitch.

“Yo, let me get this right. You're willin' to pay me fifty gees to knock you up?”

She nods. “Yes, half up front, then the other half once I'm pregnant.”

My dick thickens.

Damn, and all I gotta do is plant this nut up in her. Now you all know I ain't the most moral muhfucka and I know I can be a bit—aiight, aiight…very—unscrupulous at times, but damn… gettin' paid to knock someone up is askin' a bit much, even for a muhfucka like me. I mean, damn…I can understand her desires to be a mother and even bein' willin' to pay to become one. But, fuck! To expect me to be aiight wit' givin' her my seed, then turnin' my back on it. Man, listen…I can't wrap my mind 'round any muhfucka willin' to walk away from a child, knowin' it's theirs. As disconnected as I can be when it comes to chicks 'n shit, I think that's one thing I'd have a hard time detachin' myself from. I think it would fuck wit' me, knowin' I had a child, a lil' man or baby girl of my own, out here. And it damn sure would have my moms spazzin' the fuck out, knowin' I deprived her of a grandchild. But, then again, for fifty grand…

“Let me think on it,” I finally say.

She smiles, reachin' up on her tippy-toes, givin' me a kiss on the lips. “Thank you.”

“I'm not makin' any promises.”

“And I'm not askin' for any.”

“Cool.” I pat her on the ass, then grab and squeeze it, pressin'
my dick up against her. “So, you ready for another round of dick?” She nods her head, grabbin' my joint and grinnin'. She drops down to her knees and starts lappin' my balls and lickin' the underside of my hard dick. Before she can attempt to put her mouth 'round it—'cause I ain't in the mood for her grazin' my shit wit' her muthafuckin' teeth—I pull her up and toss her up over my shoulder, walkin' her back over to the bed, then ploppin' her down on it. I push her legs back and dive into the center of her pussy wit' my tongue, lickin', lappin', kissin', slurpin' all over it, 'til she cracks a sticky nut. When she finishes buckin' her hips, I roll a condom down on my dick, then slowly push in, windin' my hips, tip drillin' her slit, e'ery so often pushin' another inch in, then pullin' back out to the head. She tosses her head from side to side, pulls in her bottom lip. Her eyes start to roll up in the back of her head. OhmyGod, this bitch got some good pussy. I lean in, whisper in her ear, let her know how hot 'n wet her pussy feels 'round my dick before dippin' my tongue in her ear and suckin' on her earlobe.

She moans.

I push this dick deep into her.

She moans again, louder.

I pull out to the head, then push back in.

“Oh, Alex…hmmmm…ooooooh, baaaaaby…you make me feel soooo good…whatever you do…please…Don't ever…stop… fuckin' me…”

I grin, lockin' my arms up under her hips. “Don't worry, baby, I'ma keep fuckin' you for as long as you want,” I whisper, rockin' her box for one straight hour 'til she breaks down and cries.

The rest of the day, we lounge 'round her spot naked, fuckin' whenever the mood hits, and watchin' flicks in between. 'Round four o'clock, we head downtown to do some last-minute shoppin'. Cherry laces me wit' a few pairs of DSquared2 V-neck tees, two
pair of Gucci jeans, and a slick pair of Versace shades to go along wit' the rest of the shit she's already hit me wit' durin' my stay here. I can't front, she spoils the fuck outta me. Hell, as crafty as I am, I know I probably should dismiss the rest of the hoes on my team and give her the lead spot. And who knows, maybe one day I will. But for now, I like shit the way it is between us. However, I'm thinkin' I might wanna start comin' out here e'ery other month or so to keep my pockets lined more frequently, feel me? But if I start doin' that, is she gonna try to turn this thing into some kinda relationship 'n shit? I already know you can't give a broad too much of you wit'out her catchin' feelin's and whatnot, then wantin' more from a muhfucka. Let me not think too much 'bout it—at least while I'm still here—'cause if I do, I'ma start actin' funny toward her. Don't ask me why. That's just how I do.

When we finish our shoppin' spree, we decide to stop by this Japanese spot, Octopus, downtown over on Seventh Street 'cross from the Macy's to eat before it's time for her to drop me off at the airport. She orders a large hot saki, miso soup, two crunch rolls, and two tiger rolls. I try to keep from frownin' at the thought of eatin' salmon and freshwater eel rolled together. And I'm thinkin':
This bitch won't be kissin' me unless she scrubs down her tongue, then gargles.
I order a seaweed salad and the garlic seared tuna sashimi.

Over our meal, she tells me how much she enjoyed my stay here and how she wishes I didn't have to go. I smile and tell her likewise, then tell her how much I appreciate her lookin' out for me. Then she tells me she doesn't want more than three months to go by before she sees me again. And when I come out, she wants me to stay another two weeks. I swallow the last bit of my rice, not sayin' shit. But between you and me, two weeks wit'out blazin' is a bit much for me. I'ma haveta find me a connect out here for these extended stays to work. She pulls out her BlackBerry.

“What are you doing the week of February tenth? I would like to spend Valentine's Day with you.”
Valentine's Day?
What the fuck?! Here she goes tryna turn sumthin' into nuthin'. I don't celebrate that shit. I give her a look. She catches it. “Not as lovers, silly. I know what we are to each other. But I do consider you a very special man in my life. You're more than a friend with benefits to me. I care about you, Alex. And before you start trippin', don't take what I say outta context. I'm very clear on what our arrangement is.”

I smile. “Oh, you know I was 'bout to go there. I don't want you catchin' feelin's for me, then wantin' more than what I'ma give you.”

“Only a fool would think such, sweetie. Believe it or not, I know you better than you think. And I know you are not capable of loving anyone more than you love yourself. And I'm okay with that. So trust, I'm
not
interested in investing my heart into an emotionally unavailable man. Yes, I care about you. And I enjoy your company. But that's it. You're good for two things, baby: a good time, and a good fuck. And that's why
I
keep you around.”

I choke on my drink, laughin'. “Oh shit, you funny as hell. That's some shit I'd say.”

“I know. And I put that out there just in case you thought it.”

Yeah, aiight. I heard this before,
I think as I decide to ask her more 'bout this baby proposition she hit me wit' earlier. She sounds like she has shit in perspective, but what happens after she gets pregnant—if she can even get pregnant? I'm not sure if I'm really entertainin' the idea or not, but it does have me curious. I wanna know if I agree to it and don't want any ties to the child, what guaranatees do I have that she won't try to drag me into court in the future? Or what if I wanna be involved in my child's life, then what?

“I won't put your name on the birth certificate. And I'll have legal papers drawn up to absolve you of any financial obligations. And if you wanted to stop seeing me, I'd understand since it may be an uncomfortable position for you.”

Would I wanna stay in her life? My child's life? Yeah, we have a great time together. Yeah, the sex is great. Yeah, she's attractive and smart and financially well-off. Yeah, she seems emotionally stable. But, is she the kinda woman I'd want to be the mother of my child? Is she the kinda woman I'd want to be tied to for the rest of my child's life? I honestly don't know.

For some reason, I'm startin' to feel sick, and wish I wouldna brought the subject up, again. Sittin' here thinkin' 'bout this— fifty grand or not, I don't think I could go through wit' it. I'm sure she'd be a great mother, and do a great job raisin' it on her own. And I know wit'out a doubt she'd give our…I mean, her child, the best of e'erything. But would that be enough? What happens when he or she starts askin' questions and wants to know who their father is? What is she gonna tell 'em? Yo, son, ya father's dead? I don't know who the nigga is? He was some bum muhfucka who didn't wanna be in ya life? He was some good dick I paid to knock me up? Or would she end up marryin' some nigga who raises him or her as his own? Fuck that! A child should have its biological father in its life, too. I never really gave havin' a child any serious thought 'til today. Hell, I never really thought 'bout anyone other than myself.
I know you are not capable of loving anyone more than you love yourself.
Her words play in my head. I
am
capable. Or am I? Hell yeah, I am. I just haven't been willin', big difference, right? Then why does what she said have me feelin' some kinda way?

“So does this mean you're considering it?”

I shrug, takin' a deep breath.
I can't wait to get the fuck home to
blaze!
That's what I need to get my mind right. “I don't know. I haveta definitely give it some major thought before I agree one way or the other. That's for sure.”

“And you should.”

I stare at her. “So what happens if I say no?”

“Then I guess we keep doing what we do until I work out an alternative plan, or find a suitable donor.”

“I feel you. Well, I don't wanna get ya hopes up.”

“Trust me, you won't. It was only an idea. Whatever you decide is fine with me. I'm giving myself five years to be pregnant, so I have more than enough time to figure it all out. Who knows, Mr. Right may find his way into my life and sweep me off my feet. In the meantime, are you available the week of February tenth, or not?”

I pause for a minute, tryna remember what day we're leavin' for All-Star.
The twelth
, I think. “Nah, I'ma be in Phoenix that week. How 'bout the week after?”

“That works for me,” she says, markin' it in her calendar. She slips it back into her bag.

I smile, pourin' myself some more green tea. I raise my cup. “To good times and good fuckin'.”

She raises her cup of sake. “Exaaaaaaactly.”

I glance at my watch, then lick my lips and slowly pull in my bottom lip. “So dig, baby…you think we gotta 'nough time to get another round in before my flight?”

She eyes me seductively, flaggin' the waiter. “Check, please.”

 29