Daddy Long Stroke

I shake my head. “Listen…I hope you keepin’ shit in perspective between us. Don’t start tryna padlock a nigga down like he’s ya man ’n shit ’cause I told you from dip what it is—”

“Nigga, please. Don’t trip. I already know.”

Lahney texts back: Not tonight. Unless you up for a bloody Mary.

Fuck, this bitch stays on her muthafuckin’ period, I think textin’ back: That’s aiight. I’m good. Hit me up when u ready 2 get that hole stretched.

Lol, nigga, u a trip! I will, she replies.

I decide to swab Shavron’s throat, then swing by Akina’s spot to have her ride down on this dick when I’m done. “Yo, I’m ready to come through wit’ this hard-ass dick.”

“Oh, so you really tryna get it wet?”

Duh, didn’t I just say that shit? What the fuck else this dumb bitch think I’m tryna do wit’ a stiff damn dick? Sit and watch movies wit’ her simple-ass. “No doubt, baby. I only want a drop ’n go, though. No extras tonight, feel me?”

She sucks her teeth. “Yeah, I got you. But be clear. Just because you coming through tonight doesn’t mean I don’t wanna still see you on your birthday. This is just a little pre-birthday treat.”

This bitch. “Don’t worry, ma. We still gonna chill. And I’ma rock the snot outta ya.”

“Mmmm,” she moans. “And you gotta stay the night.”

I smile, knowin’ her thirsty ass is gonna be tryna gobble up these nuts all night. And, lucky for her, a nigga like me comes fully loaded wit’ a full sack of cream. “You got that. But, in the meantime, get that dick washer ready for round one ’cause big daddy’s comin’ to dump a double load in it.”

“I’ll be ready,” she says, laughin’.

“Bet.” After we hang up, I jump up and run upstairs to take a quick shower, throw on a sweat shirt and pair of Polo sweats wit’out any drawers. My dick ’n balls can bounce freely, and give this ho quick access. So when I walk up in her spot, all she gotta do is drop down on her knees, yank these sweats down ’round my ankles, then let it do what it do.

I hop in my other hoopty—a blue four-door Chevy Impala, drive up Ocean Avenue, and make a left onto Broadway to get to the parkway. Livin’ down here by the shore is cool ’n all, but it’s nights like this when I wish I had some local broads to kick it wit’ instead of havin’ to drive all the way up to North Jersey for some throat ’n pussy action. I spark the half blunt in my ashtray, call Akina and tell her what time I’ma come through. Then I call Cherry in L.A., but leave a message when she doesn’t pick up.

My cell rings. It’s Maleeka hittin’ me back. “Yo, what’s good, ma?”

“Shit,” she says. “I got your message.”

“So, what’s good, then? You feel like fuckin’, or what?”

“When you tryna come through?”

“Now,” I tell her.

She laughs. “Damn, nigga, you sound real pressed for some of this gushy shit.”

Bitch, don’t get it twisted, I think, laughin’, a muhfucka like me ain’t never gonna be pressed for one bitch’s pussy. “Pressed? Nah, baby… never that. But a muhfucka’s horny as hell.”

“Nigga, you stay horny.”

“You already know. So what’s good? Can I come through and fuck, or what?” She pauses. I’m sure to think ’bout how I deep stroked that pussy the last time we were together. Nonstop, for two hours, I pumped her insides. By the time I finished, this dick had her ass shakin’ and beggin’ for some more. And, after the second round, a muhfucka walked up outta there wit’ a quick four hunnid.

“Hell yeah, you can come through,” she finally says. “But not right now. I got three heads to braid, and I probably won’t get done ’til about eight, or nine o’clock.”

“Nah, baby, that’s too late. Can’t you push those shits back and let me come through now?”

“Nigga, please, not today. Your stroke game is tight, but a bitch ain’t about to let a nigga and his dick get in the way of me makin’ my paper. You know how I am about getting that money.”

On some real shit, I had to respect her hustle. With all of her regulars, chick pulls in anywhere from one-to-two thousand a week braidin’ hair—straight cash. This bitch be rapin’ the shit outta the IRS. I laugh to myself. That’s right, baby, get them snake-ass muhfuckas before they try ’n get you.

“Yo, I can dig it, baby; can’t knock a muhfucka for tryin’, though. Make ya ends,” I say bearin’ off toward exit 145. I pay the thirty-five-cent toll, then drive toward South Orange Avenue. “I’m on my way to get my dick sucked, anyway. So it’s all good.”

She laughs. “Nigga, you’re funny as hell. You comin’ at me for some pussy and you already got some throat lined up. You stay tryna keep ya dick stuck in somethin’ wet.”

I burst out laughin’. “Yo, ma, why you think they call me Alley Cat?”

“’Cause ya nasty ass is always prowlin’,” she answers, chucklin’. “Come through tonight, if you can.”

“I might. If not, I’ma hit you up in a few days, aiight?”

“Make sure you do so I can smoke that dick.”