Daddy Long Stroke

Second, this brunch shit was from nine to eleven, which meant I had to get up early as hell. I’m like, what the fuck?! Yeah, it’s all gravy that Amare and his crew are hostin’ the shit to benefit the Ronald McDonald House and some kinda Each 1, Teach 1 Foundation. But for a buck-twenty-five…man, listen, I ain’t feelin’ it. But I’m up ’n dressed and downstairs in the hotel lobby wit’ Mike, waitin’ on Gee and Glenn to get down here. Mike looks like shit. His eyes are red and puffy. The nigga is definitely hung the fuck over.

“Man, you look like shit,” I say, glancin’ at my watch. It’s eight-thirty. “Looks like you been up all night.”

“I have,” he says, stretchin’ out his six-four frame. “And I feel like shit, too.”

“Yeah, and you smell like it, too,” I joke.

He laughs. “Muhfucka, go ’head wit’ that.”

“What ya’ll niggas get into after I dipped?”

“I’m not sure what Gee’s drunk ass did. But Glenn and I ended up hittin’ the casino. Man, them slots weren’t doin’ shit. They were rapin’ muhfuckas.”

“Oh, word…what they get you for?”

“Like eight hunnid; somethin’ light. You know a muhfucka like me knows when to get the fuck up. But Glenn’s dumb ass let ’em drag his whole wallet, then the muhfucka gonna ask me to spot his ass.”

I shake my head. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I hit that nigga wit’ a couple of hunnid.”

I laugh. “What a loser.”

“I told that muhfucka I want my shit back, too.”

“Good luck. You know that nigga don’t like payin’ up.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I ain’t tryna hear that shit, man. That’s my boy and all, but let ’im fuck around and don’t pay me my money. I’ma end up goin’ in his mouth, real talk.”

I shake my head, checkin’ out these two honeys standin’ at the concierge desk ’cross the lobby. I squint as they turn ’round and make their way toward us. “Gotdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, them bitches are bad,” I say, practically droolin’. They the hottest and baddest hoes I’ve seen this whole trip.

Mike agrees. “Word up, but I bet they some stuck-up ho-types.”

They both look mixed. One of ’em is light-skinned wit’ long, thick wavy hair pulled back into a ponytail; the other is the color of cinnamon wit’ bone-straight, shoulder-length hair, lookin’ like an Egyptian goddess. They fine as fuck, and I’d dick ’em both. But the one who stands out the most is the one wit’ the chinky eyes. She looks exotic. And she has the kinda swagger that lets a muhfucka know she’s ’bout her business. She catches me starin’ at her. And I swear I think I see her lick her lips at me. Her hips sway, hard. And I’m convinced she’s throwin’ me the twat. That bitch got some good-ass pussy, I bet. My mouth waters.

“Yo, what’s good?” I ask the minute they walk past.

No response.

No, these bitches didn’t disregard me like I’m some crab-ass nigga. Mike looks at me, smirkin’. I frown. “Aye, pretty ladies,” I say, gettin’ up and followin’ behind ’em.

The Egyptian goddess tosses her hand up in the air, not botherin’ to look back at me. “Beat it,” she says.

I hear Mike laughin’. “I told you, man,” he says. But I ain’t the one to be dismissed or easily deterred when I see sumthin’ I wanna get at. I get up behind them in the revolvin’ door. “Oh, word. It’s like that? A muhfucka speaks to two beauties and he can’t even get a simple hello?”

“What, nigga, you want some pussy?” the light-skinned broad snaps, cuttin’ her eyes at me.

I smile, flashin’ my pearly whites. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. But for now, a simple hello will do.”

She stops, smacks her lips, pullin’ her Louis V shades up over her head. The Egyptian goddess walks off as if I don’t exist, bouncin’ her hips toward the parkin’ lot. I try to keep from starin’ at her ass shakin’ ’n bouncin’. The beauty in front of me, stares me down. Although she’s not who I have my sights on, I decide if I can break the ice wit’ her, eventually, I might be able to get at her peeps. “What’s good?” she says wit’ much attitude, eyein’ me.

“There you go,’ I say, grinnin’. Shit, she’s sexy as hell. Stay focused, nigga. “Was that hard? Where ya’ll from?”

“Brooklyn,” she says, shiftin’ her Dolce & Gabbana bag from one arm to the other.

I laugh.

She raises her brow, ice-grills me. “I say sumthin’ funny?”

“Nah, baby, I’m laughin’ ’cause wit’ all that attitude ya’ll got goin’ on, I shoulda known.”

She smirks. “Whatever.”

“So, sexy lady from Brooklyn, you gotta name?”

“Chanel,” she says as her peeps pulls up, pushin’ a shiny bronze CLK550.

“And ya peeps, she gotta name?”

“That’s for her to tell you. And from the looks of things, she ain’t interested.”

“Damn, it’s like that?”

The Egyptian beauty rolls down her window, and yells. “Bitch, will you come on? That nigga’s all dick, and no dollars. And he smells like trouble. Let’s roll.”

“See,” Chanel says, smirkin’, “told you.”