Daddy Long Stroke

Fuck what ya heard. You can pop all the shit you want. But don’t get up in my space, talkin’ wit’ ya hands. And do not put ya muthafuckin’ hands on me. And this Looney Tune has already proven the last time I was wit’ her that she likes to get it in when shit ain’t goin’ her way—like when she threw an ashtray at my head for tellin’ her not to fuckin’ question me ’bout where I’ve been.

“Hol’ up, let me get some clothes on,” I tell her, shuttin’ the door in her face, then lockin’ it. She bangs on it.

“I’m not fucking goin’ anywhere, so you might as well open up this door, Alley Cat. Otherwise, I’ma keep fucking banging until you do. I wanna talk to you.”

I need a fuckin’ blunt. I snatch up the half-smoked blunt in the ashtray, and spark up. I yell at her through the door. “I said I’ll be out in a minute. So stop bangin’ on my muthafuckin’ door.”

“Well, hurry up.”

I finish gettin’ my smoke on. Then when I’m done, I open the door—ten minutes later—and this pigeon is still standin’ in the same spot wit’ her arms folded. I lock the door, closin’ it behind me. “Aiight, let’s talk,” I say to her, brushin’ past her goin’ toward the stairs. She follows behind me. Now, had I been thinkin’, I woulda had her go down the stairs—first, just in case she had a weapon and tried to stab or shoot me in the back, feel me? The bitch is one screw from crazy so anything is possible wit’ her. But I’m so pressed to get this ho outta the house in case she goes off and starts bustin’ up shit that I jump dead in front of her and race down the stairs.

I open the front door. “Let’s sit outside and talk.”

“Why can’t we talk in here?” she questions, stoppin’ in the middle of the livin’ room and puttin’ her hand up on her hip.

’Cause I wanna talk to ya unstable ass outside on the muthafuckin’ porch in front of witnesses, that’s why. “’Cause I need some fresh air,” I tell her, double-checkin’ my front pocket to make sure I have my cell on me. I stand wit’ the door open, waitin’ for her ass to walk out. I’m relieved when she does.

I step down from offa the porch, then take a seat. She decides to stand in front of me wit’ her arms folded tight ’round her chest, like she’s scared to let sumthin’ go.

“Okay, so talk,” I say, ice-grillin’ her.

“I wanna know why you stopped calling and returning my calls?”

Umm, you dizzy-ass ding bat that should be obvious: ’Cause ya ass is muthafuckin’ craaaaazy! I sigh. “It wasn’t workin’ out.”

“Oh really, since when?”

What the fuck?! Uh, duh, since I stopped callin’ ya dumb, lazy, dick-suckin’ ass. “Look, like I said, it wasn’t workin’ out.”

“Humph. Mighty funny it was workin’ out when I was lettin’ you ride around in my car and come in and outta my apartment, but the minute I check you on something, it’s not ‘working out.’”

“No, the minute you tried to get at me on some rah-rah type shit, throwin’ ashtrays ’n shit. That’s when it was no longer workin’. I ain’t wit’ all that extra ghetto bullshit.”

“So, you just stop fucking with me, instead of talking it out.”

I tilt my head. Stare at this fuckin’ broad long and hard. “Are you serious? Talk what out? A muhfucka who’s tryna build wit’ ya ass is talkin’ it out, not a nigga who is straight smashin’ you.”

I feel my cell vibratin’ and pull it outta my pocket. Lahney texts me: Cum through and ram that big, black cock up in me.

“I let you into my heart and this is how you fucking treat me…”

I text back: LOL, you don’t really want it. This dick’ll have ya ass cryin’ again.

She sucks her teeth. “I can’t believe you’d pull out your fucking phone and start texting while I’m standing here trying to talk to you. How fucked up is that?”

Lahney texts: Whateva, punk! U cumming to beat this pussy up or what.

I shrug. “You tell me. You the one actin’ like a desperate housewife, huntin’ a nigga down ’n shit.”

She tsks me. “Desperate? Nigga, puhleeeze. I’m coming to you like a grown woman, trying to resolve whatever has gone wrong between us.”

I text Lahney back: Yeah, I got ya punk, aiight. 11.5-inches worth. What time u want it?

I look at Sherria. “Yo, check this out. There’s nuthin’ to resolve. How many times I gotta tell you, there was no us. We was fuckin’, that’s it. You wasn’t my girl. I wasn’t ya man. And I never promised you a future wit’ a rose garden. It was straight dickin’ you down. If you allowed ya’self to catch feelin’s, then that shit’s on you. So don’t come at me wit’ all the extras. If you wanna come at me like a woman, then take it for what it was, a fuck. And…step.”

Lahney texts: NOW!

“I know all that. But still, I thought you were different.”