Daddy Long Stroke (42 page)

“Yeah, it's fucked up.” Just thinkin' 'bout that shit and tryna imagine goin' through that got me feelin' some kinda way. I glance at my watch, quickly changin' the subject. “Aye, yo, it's gettin' kinda late. I'ma haveta get to the airport in a few hours.”

“Don't remind me,” she says, pushin' her plate away from her. “I wish you'd pack up and come out here to live. I told you before I'd put you in contact with some people who I know would give you a job.”

“And I 'preciate that. But you know I can't leave my moms like that.”

“Bring her, too. I know some wonderful assisted-living facilities in the area where she can get around-the-clock care. You already have a place to live. I told you I'd let you live in the condo. It's paid for, so all you'd have to manage is the utilities.”

I shake my head, knowin' Moms would snap if she knew I had this broad thinkin' she was in a wheelchair, practically an invalid. “Seems like you got it all figured out.”

She smiles, gazin' at me. For a split second, a muhfucka thinks he sees love twinklin' in her eyes. I dismiss the shit, knowin' she's not crazy enough to go there.
Or is she?
“Let's just say I've given it a lot of thought.”

Yeah, more thought than you should.
“Dig, let's not overthink things. Let shit flow, baby. Whatever's gonna happen is gonna happen, feel me?”

She grins. “Oh, I feel you.”

“You wanna get some dessert?” She nods. “Cool. What you wanna order?”

“You,” she says, lickin' her lips.

I pull in my bottom lip. “Oh, word? Let's blow this joint, then.” I flag the waitress over. Tell her we're ready to bounce. Then, believe it or not, I pay the check and tip. Yeah, a muhfucka came outta his pockets. But wit' another ho's paper, of course.

 35 

Two days before Christmas and here I am out and about at the mall wit' Moms, so she can pick up her gift. Goin' out to L.A. on some last-minute shit threw me off, but it's all good. Cherry laced a muhfucka—as usual, wit' some paper and wears. And I got some good ass and pussy to go wit' it. So I'm not complainin'. But bein' out in this muthafuckin' mall wit' all these heads is effin' madness! I thought we were gonna dip into the Louis store, cop Moms a fly bag, then be out. But, noooo! She wants to get her shop on! So here I am, four hours later, carryin' mad shoppin' bags and she's still not ready to go. When she decides to hit up Bloomingdale's, I tell her to go on in wit'out me, that I'ma be out here wit' the bags, waitin' on her. I take a seat in one of the leather chairs, takin' in the sights. A muhfucka can't front, there's some real dimepieces out here. And I'm sittin' here hopin' I don't run into any hoes I know, especially any I've had to dismiss. The last thing I need is some mall drama wit' my moms catchin' the shit firsthand.

There's a buncha bitches rockin' Juicy jumpsuits, Uggs and Louis bags. I peep a group of pampered white broads dipped in ice 'n chunky jewels, pushin' double strollers. They reek of money! I glance at my watch. It's goin' on four o'clock. My balls are heavy as hell right now. And I wanna bust a couple rounds off. I pull out my phone and scroll through my address book to see who I can set up some head wit' for later tonight. As I'm scrollin' down
the list of hoes on my roster, most of these greedy bitches gonna wanna fuck, or sixty-nine. Right now, I'm on some selfish-type shit. I'm not feelin' any extras. Hell, as long as she loves to suck dick, she can be ugly as dog shit as far as I'm concerned. My eyes are gonna be closed any-fuckin'-way, so who cares what the fuck she looks like. I decide to hit up this turtle-neck broad, Nicole, I used to fuck wit' from Rahway. She's 'bout five feet, six inches; one-hunnid-and-eighteen pounds wit' this long-ass neck like a turtle, which is definitely good for throatin'. It's been a minute since I punched up her throat. Last time I was wit' her, she told a nigga he can get at her anytime he wanted; didn't make a difference who she was wit', she'd always suck down on this dick.

“Hey, stranger,” she says, soundin' happy to hear from me.

“What's good wit' you?”

“Nothing much; just work and school. That's about it. What's been up with you? I haven't heard from you in almost a year; thought you forgot about me.”

“Nah, baby, never that.”

“Well, that's good to know. I was starting to think I did something wrong to chase you away.”

I laugh. “Nah, baby, I don't run easy. You know how it is. Life 'n shit got a cat busy.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Yo, you feel like swallowin' tonight?” I ask, peepin' these two young hoes checkin' for me. I can tell they real hot in the ass. I act like I don't see 'em, though. Too damn young. I watch 'em bounce 'n shake their asses as they walk, shakin' my head. “Daddy's lookin' for someone who wants to suck 'n throat this hard-ass cock tonight. Is that someone gonna be you?”

“Is head all you want?” she asks, lowerin' her voice; tryna sound sexy 'n shit.

“Wet 'n sloppy,” I tell her, “wit' a buncha slurpin', gulpin' and gurglin'.”

“About what time?” she asks as Moms comes strollin' over wit' three Bloomingdale's signature brown bags.

“About nine.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Dig, let me get back to you, baby,” I tell her before disconnectin' the call. “You ready to bounce?” I ask Moms as she hands me her shoppin' bags. She got a muhfucka loaded down wit' shit, carryin' four bags in one hand, and three in the other.

“There's one more store I wanna go into,” she tells me. “Well, actually two more.”

I sigh. “You killin' me, Ma, for real.”

She chuckles. “Whatever little plans you have, or had, you need to cancel them 'cause I'm the only woman you gonna be spending your time with today. And right now I'm not finished shopping, so get over your self.”

I smile, shakin' my head. “Aiight, Ma. You got that.”

“You damn right, I do.” I laugh at her. Tell her I'm gonna be in the American Express Members lounge—yeah, a muhfucka gotta AMEX card. And?—while she finishes burnin' up her paper. I dip into the lounge, find me a spot in the corner and set the bags down. Then grab a cranapple drink. My cell rings. It's Mike. “Yo, what's good?”

“Chillin', son, you know how I do. What's good with you?”

“Shit, man. Out here in this packed-ass mall wit' Moms 'n shit.”

He laughs. “Mom Dukes got you out in all that madness spendin' paper. That's wassup.”

“Yeah, sumthin' like that.”

“Dig, I got our tix for the All-Star games as well.”

“Oh, word. How much them shits run?” He tells me he copped
floor-end seats for the All-Star game; that they costs six hundred and fifty apiece. He was able to get 'em through a hookup, so I'ma only haveta come outta my pocket wit' half of that, but I gotta shell out two-hundred-and-twenty-five dollars for the celebrity game tix. Then he tells me he put it on his credit card, so he's gonna need my portion of the money before the due date. In my head, I'm already tryna figure out which broad I'ma hit up to recoup my paper. “Aiight, bet. I'll get that to you.”

“Aiight cool. Yo, that nigga Ron pulled out, talkin' 'bout his money bein' funny, so he ain't rollin'.”

“Yo, fuck that pussy-ass nigga,” I snap. “That muhfucka did some real bitch shit, so I'm glad the nigga ain't rollin'. I don't want that snake anywhere near me.”

“Oh, word? What that nigga do?” I tell 'em that shit that went down wit'Akina. “Damn, yo. That's fucked up. I always heard he was a shiesty-type nigga, but I didn't know he was on it like that.”

“Yeah, that nigga was straight hatin' on the kid. But it's all good.”

“Yo, how he find out?”

“Gee's dumb ass,” I say, peepin' these two Oriental broads as they walk into the lounge, carryin' a buncha bags. Both of 'em are rockin' stilettoes and designer bags.
I wonder if them shits are real, or knockoffs.
I bet they own a buncha weave 'n wig shops or nail salons, too. I peep the bling 'round their necks and in their lobes, grinnin'.
Damn, they right,
I think, eyein' 'em as they go over to the complimentary gift wrap station. I always heard Asian hoes—well, Akina doesn't count since she's mixed wit' black— have some nice tight pussies, and seein' these two sexy chicks got me wantin' to sample a few. I try to imagine what they gonna look like in another ten years; try to figure out why the hell most of 'em age so damn hard. I make a mental note to get at a young
dish of full-blooded Sushi the first chance I get. “You know that nigga can't keep shit on the low. I don't know why I even told his gossipin' ass, any-damn-way. I feel like bitch slappin' him when I see his ass.”

“So what's good wit' you and baby girl? Did that nigga fuck things up for you?”

“Man, listen. You don't even wanna know. She tried to get on some ole Mike Tyson shit, throwin' punches and bitin' up a muhfucka.”

He laughs. “Daaaaaaaaaam, son, she did you like that?”

“Yeah, and I had to lump the ho up.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me, nigga. I knotted her dome up.”

“Damn, nigga, I can't believe you punched her in her head.”

“Believe it,” I tell him, shiftin' in my seat. Another call is comin' through. It's a blocked number.

“Yo, hold on a minute.” I click over. “Yo?” Someone's on some dumb shit, breathin' in the phone. I click back over to Mike. We talk a few more minutes 'bout that situation, then flip back to All-Star weekend. He gives me a rundown of all the happenin's to expect. In my head, I'm thinkin',
this shit can wait
, but I let him yap. The nigga sounds all excited 'n shit 'bout it. I'm like, whatever. We decide to meet up after the holidays, then hang up. I glance at my watch, sighin'. It's six-fuckin'-thirty!
This is some straight bullshit
, I think, flippin' open my phone. “Yo, Ma, how much longer you gonna be?”

She sighs. “I'm walkin' out of Macy's now. Meet me by the entrance we came in at.”

“Aiight,” I say, gettin' up and scoopin' up the bags. Of course, I get to the entrance before she does. Fifteen minutes later, here she comes wit' a shitload of bags. And I know most of what she's
bought is shit she doesn't even need. I smile, shakin' my head. “I thought I was gonna haveta send out the robo cops to look for you. What's in all them bags?”

She bucks her eyes at me, like I'm stuck on retarded or some shit. “Gifts, what else?”

“Aiight, Ma,” I say, holdin' open the door for her. “Let's roll.”

“I'm starving,” she says as she walks out the door. “I need to grab something to eat.”

“Oh, aiight. We can pick something up on our way home.”

She stops in front of Legal Sea Foods. “Umm, no, I want to eat here.”

“Aww, Ma, c'mon. You killin' me. We've been out all day. And it looks packed as hell in there.”

“And your point?”

I shake my head. “Aiight, Ma, you got that. Let me go put all these bags in the car.”

“Good answer,” she says. “I'll go in and get our table.”

I laugh to myself, decidin' she's purposely tryna keep me out. But it's all good. It gives me a chance to spend the whole day wit' the only beauty who has my heart, real talk.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” Ma says. I glance at the digital clock. It's almost seven in the mornin'.

I smile. “Merry Christmas, Ma. You up mighty early.”

“I'm gettin' ready to head over to your Aunt Brenda's house to help finish up cooking. Everyone's meeting over there to exchange gifts and have breakfast.”

“I thought e'eryone usually got together for Christmas dinner?”