Daddy Long Stroke (6 page)

She laughs. “Nigga, it is what it is.” She rests her chin up on my chest, keepin' her eyes locked on me. “So why you fucking all them other bitches if they don't compare to me?”

I grin. “I thought you didn't care.”

“I don't. I just wanna know.”

Yeah, okay.
“'Cause I can,” I say, keepin' it real wit' her ass. For as long as a nigga can remember, bitches have always thrown the pussy at me. Growin' up, I wasn't like most cats who had to hound a ho for some ass; bitches pressed me for a taste of this chocolate. And since bitches loved to talk 'bout the size of a nigga's dick, almost e'ery bitch in Essex, Union, Hudson, and Pasaaic counties knew 'bout my dick game. And they all wanted to see— and feel, for themselves. And they still do. “And as long as they're willin' to throw me the ass,” I tell her, kissin' her on the lips, “I'ma keep catchin' it. I love pussy, and I love to fuck.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, you fuck all the bitches you want.
But you make sure you don't catch nothing else besides pussy 'cause I'm not tryna catch nothing I can't get rid of.”

“Aye, yo, don't play me. I might fuck alotta pussy, but I keep my man strapped up at all times, real talk.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she says, twistin' her lips up like she ain't believin' it, “if you say so.”

“It's what it is, baby. I might be many things, but reckless ain't one of 'em.”

She looks at me. “Well, maybe not. But like I said, as long as you got me wetting ya dick, you make sure you keep it strapped. I don't wanna have to shut shit down.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right.”

She mushes me. “I ain't laughing, nigga. As long as I'm fucking you, don't bring me no extras.”

I grin. “Oh, so you think you gonna keep gettin' this dick?” I ask, rollin' up on top of her. I reach for a Magnum, placin' it beside me on the bed.

“Yep,” she says, spreadin' open her legs. I allow my tongue to travel over her invisible titties, 'cause she's all big-ass nipples. I lightly pull 'em wit' my teeth while fingerin' her already wet pussy. She moans. I plant soft kisses down the center of her chest, kiss her stomach, dip my tongue into her belly button, then journey down to the triangular trimmed patch of hair, coverin' her pussy. Now this is the fuck how a bitch's pubic hair is 'posed to look. She has hers shaved and dyed platinum. I flick my tongue 'cross her pierced clit, then start lappin' it. She moans louder. Tells me how good I make her feel. I cover her pussy wit' my mouth and eat her inside out, causin' her to buck her hips, and snap her thighs around my head. I wet my middle finger with her pussy juice, then stick it in her ass and finger fuck her hole nice 'n slow while tongue fuckin' her pussy. She palms my head, then grinds her hips into my mouth. “I'm cumming…aaaaaah…I'm cuuuuuumming…”
She squirts her nut into my mouth and I swallow her sweet sauce, lickin' all around her clit 'n shit, while rollin' the condom on. I pull her legs up over my head, then slid my dick in. “Aaaaaaaaaah…oh, yessssss…whatever you do, don't ever stop fucking me…” She holds onto me, clutchin' my dick wit' her snapper.

I don't bust this nut 'til she cums again. And when she finishes, I pull out, snatch off the condom and pump this dick. I watch my nut shoot all over her stomach, her titties and up under her chin. Then I flop over on the bed exhausted as fuck.

Thirty minutes later, she's steppin' outta the shower wit' a white towel wrapped 'round her body. I'm lyin' 'cross the bed, watchin' her as she drops the towel, then starts oilin' her body up. Admirin' her toned body, I feel my dick startin' to get hard again, but I try to will the shit still. Unfortunately, it has a mind of its own, so I let the shit swell up. She slips back on her pink g-string, then pulls her Juicy Couture jeans up over her curves. Them muthafuckas wrap around her plump ass like a glove.
Damn, I wanna fuck this ho in that big ass,
I think, puttin' my hand up to my nose and smellin' her ass scent on my fingertips.

“Aye, yo,” I say, gettin' up and walkin' over to her. I pull her into me, and start kissin' her. “I really 'preciate you wantin' to be here for me.” She looks up at me, stares me in the eyes.

“Alex, I told you. I got you. Whatever you need, I got you, baby.”

I bite down on my bottom lip. “My moms' real sick, babe. And I'm stressed the hell out, for real for real. I don't know if she's gonna make it. And I need to get out there to see her. But money's real tight for me, you feel me?”

“Wow,” she says, runnin' her hand through her hair, “sorry to hear that.” She looks at me, like she done figured some shit out. “Wait a minute. I thought your mom lived in Jersey.”

“Yeah, my biological mom does, but she didn't raise me. My grandmother did, so she's who I consider my moms, feel me?”

She nods. “Yeah, I feel you. So, where is she?”

“Atlanta,” I tell her.

“Is she in the hospital, or something?”

I slowly nod. “Yeah, she's in ICU.” I pause for a minute, then hit her wit', “In a coma.”

She gasps, holdin' her hand up to her mouth. “OhmyGod, Alex, why didn't you tell me this earlier. I'm so sorry, baby.”

“I 'preciate that,” I say, reachin' for her hand. I take it in my mind, then kiss it. “My head's been all fucked up over it. I need to get out there, but my paper ain't right. And I can't ask my pops to spot me 'cause he's already carrin' my black ass, feel me? And my moms is caught up in her own world.”

“Don't stress ya'self, baby. I got you. How much you need?”

I look her in the eyes. “Just a little sumthin' to get a plane ticket and have a few dollas in my pocket.”

“Done. When you tryna go?”

“ASAP,” I tell her. She thinks for a moment, walkin' over to my leather chair in the corner, then rummagin' through her Louis knapsack. I can see her calculatin' in her head. I sit on the edge of the bed, watchin' her. As she turns, I quickly hold my head in my hands, then slowly look up at her, sighin'. “Umm, you know what. Don't sweat it, baby. I don't wanna put a strain on ya pockets. I'ma see if I can get it from one of my niggas, but I hate fuckin' wit' them cats like that.”

“Oh, you know it ain't no sweat off of me. I told you I'ma hold you down. I'm just tryna figure out how to do this.” She pauses, pullin' in her bottom lip, then pulls her cell outta her bag. “I tell you what. I'ma call the airline, and book your flight. Is tomorrow too soon?”

I think for a moment. “Nah, tomorrow's good.” She calls the airline, and makes a reservation wit' Continental. She writes down all the information, then hangs up.

“It's settled. You're leaving on flight eighty-five, at one thirty-five. It's an open ticket so you can come back anytime.” As she's lookin' in her wallet, I peep her pullin' out bills. My dick starts to brick up. “I can give you five hundred; is that cool?”

Well, damn. Maybe next time I'll hit her up for a few gees. I get up and walk toward her, then pull her into me and give her another tongue-probin' kiss. “Good lookin' out, baby. I'ma definitely get it back to you.”

She presses her body up against mine, strokes my Johnson. “Take your time, baby. I'm not going anywhere.”

Of course you not,
I think, grabbin' her ass.
You wanna keep gettin' this black dick
. “Well, as long as you keep wettin' up this dick”—
and linin' my pockets
—“I might keep ya fine ass 'round for a while.”

She punches me in the chest playfully, suckin' her teeth. “Yeah, whatever, nigga.”

I grab a pair of navy blue gym shorts from outta my dresser drawer, then slip 'em on. I open the bedroom door. “C'mon, baby. Let me walk you out.” When we get downstairs, I lean in and give her another tongue dance, then open the front door. “Don't be suckin' no other nigga's dick while I'm gone, either.”

She smirks. “You're not my man, remember?”

“Yeah, aiight. You just make sure
you
remember that.”

She flips me the finger as she walks out, switchin' her juicy ass. “Whatever!” I watch her get into her whip and back outta the driveway before closin' the door.

 5 

“Okay, so which one outta your harem is she?” the deep voice in back of me asks, spookin' the fuck outta me. It almost makes a nigga jump outta his skin.

“Oh, shit,” I say, quickly turnin' 'round to face my pops, an older version of me—tall, bow-legged, worked-out, and dark chocolate. No, homo…but the nigga's got real flava. And at fifty-two, Pops looks like he's still in his early forties, hands down. A nigga can't front. I'm glad he gave up all that drinkin' and feelin' sorry for his ass. It was startin' to make him look real weak 'n shit. And it got way outta hand when he started wakin' up and hittin' the bottle first thing in the muthafuckin' mornin'. Man, listen. All he did was drink, curse, complain and keep an army of bitches runnin' in and outta here when he wasn't passed the fuck out. It's surprisin' he held down a job wit' all that drinkn' 'n shit. But he got his ass up and went to work e'ery damn day, hung over or not. And get this. He worked as a plant foreman for the Budweiser distillery in Newark. Ain't that some shit? A muthafuckin' alcoholic workin' at a damn beer company! And his ass didn't even drink the shit.

I guess livin' in a house wit' a drunk wasn't all bad, though. For one, Pops didn't stress me 'bout no bullshit-ass rules like my moms did. As long as I followed my curfew and took my ass to school, it was all gravy. I could bring chicks to the house and crack this nut up in 'em anytime I wanted. I played varsity ball in
high school—all four years, which kept the bitches on my dick. And I even got offered scholarships to play at St. John's, Syracuse, Howard, Norfolk State, and Hampton. Of course a nigga went to Hampton, and flunked out after two years 'cause I was too busy tryna major in pussy, instead of takin' my ass to class. But don't get it fucked up; a nigga ain't stupid.

“When'd you get in?” I ask. “I didn't hear the alarm chirp.”

He's standin' in front of me wearin' a white Norfolk State University T-shirt with the green and gold emblem on the front, faded blue jeans and a crisp pair of white-on-white Air Force Ones. I can tell he's been to the barber today. He's sportin' a fresh shape-up, and his mustache and goatee are neatly trimmed. The one carat in his left ear is blingin'. He even got on some smell-good. I bet he got some pussy lined up for tonight.

“Of course you didn't. You were too busy up there tryna rip that gal's guts out. I'm surprised she didn't shatter all my windows with all that damn yelling and screaming she was doing.” He stares at me, shakin' his head. “I thought you were up there playing opera at first with all that damn ear-splitting screeching going on.”

I laugh, ploppin' down onto the leather sofa. “Pops, you crazy.”

“Boy, I ain't laughin'. You gonna have to stop bringing all them screeching-ass women up in my house, like this is some damn cathouse.”

“But what 'bout all them broads you used to have runnin' through here?”

He tilts his head, raisin' a brow. “Nigga, the last time I checked, I paid the bills here, so I can have as much pussy as I want comin' in and outta here. But, you, on the other hand, can't. Besides, that was then. And this is now. And right now, I'm not on it like that. At some point, a man needs to grow up, get anchored, and decide what he wants outta life, then live by it.”

I scratch my head, lookin' at Pops like he has three heads or some shit. He's soundin' like a black Doctor Phil. “Pops, you sound like you ready to turn in ya playa card.”

“The day your mother put me out, my card had already expired. I was just holding on to it to keep from crying.”