“These cracker muhfuckas are always lookin’ for ways to keep a nigga down. They wanna see a muhfucka fail wit’ all this dumb shit they got me doin’?”
“Like what?” I asked him the last time he complained.
“Like this fuckin’ curfew, yo. What the fuck I look like bein’ in the muthafuckin’ house at nine o’clock? I’ma grown-ass man, yo. This nigga talkin’ ’bout if I’m one minute late he’s gonna violate me. What kinda shit is that? Shit, I coulda took my ass on ISP if I wanted to have a muhfucka breathin’ down my back e’ery fuckin’ day. That muhfucka needs some pussy in his life, yo. Maybe then, the nigga wouldn’t have so much free time ridin’ my nuts ’n shit.”
I am always so tempted to remind him that he got himself caught up in this shit so stop fucking complaining about shit he can’t control. Instead I keep my mouth shut. Let him vent. “A muhfucka can’t even get his drink or smoke on fuckin’ wit’ these crooked-ass muhfuckas.”
I had to smile, shaking my head. I realized it wasn’t the fact that he was on parole that was his issue. He was pissed that he didn’t have his parole officer in his back pocket, like he’s had everyone else his whole bid; from CO’s to counselors.
Anyway, aside from his “detailing job” five days a week and checking in weekly with his parole officer, Jasper’s been pretty much hanging around the house. And for the most part, it’s fine ’cause I’m down at the salon the majority of the day. The weekends haven’t been so bad. Most times he’s out with Stax doin’ whatever they do. Or he has everyone chilling here. The only problem: I can’t get away with shit. If I sneeze wrong, he’s on it. This fool watches me like a damn hawk. He won’t let me out of his sight. And when he does, he’s calling every ten to fifteen minutes checking on me. Even when we’re in bed, I can feel him watching me. A few times I woke up with him standing over me watching me sleep. Ever since he found out about that incident with that nigga, he’s become excessively possessive and protective over me. It’s not all the time. Mostly when something snaps in his brain and has him thinking crazy shit, like I’m out doing some sneaky shit, which I’m not. Hell, I’m too damn paranoid to.
“Yo, wake ya sexy ass up,” he says, shaking me. I don’t budge. “Pasha? Get ya ass up, yo.”
I groan, stretching. “Fifteen more minutes.”
“Don’t you have to go into the salon today?”
“No,” I mumble. He asks why not. I tell him, “I have a doctor’s appointment this morning.” He wants to know what kind of appointment. “For a checkup.” I decide this nigga isn’t going to let me get any sleep so I might as well get up. I pull the covers back and get out of bed.
“What kinda check-up?”
“I have a GYN appointment,” I tell him, bending over to look in one of the bottom drawers for my pink camisole. He gets out of bed and walks up behind me, pressing his nude body into mine. He grinds his dick into me. I straighten my body, sucking my teeth. “Will you quit it, nasty?”
“What you need a GYN appointment for?”
“To make sure shit’s right,” I tell him. But the truth is I think I might be pregnant. I took a home pregnancy test last month, and it came back negative. Then I took another one two weeks ago, and that one was positive. I’ve been feeling feel strange lately. Hard to describe it, like something is fluttering in my stomach. So I decided to make an appointment.
“Yo, the only pussy checker you need is me. As long as that shit stays tight, it’s right.”
“Whatever,” I snap, rolling my eyes. “You get on my fucking nerves with that stupid shit.”
He laughs. “Yeah, you know what it is.”
“Yeah, what I know is your black ass ain’t getting any more of this pussy, so laugh at that.” I turn on the balls of my feet and head into the bathroom, popping my hips; pissed the hell off that he still makes snide remarks; subtle comments about me cheating. And I’m not. Okay, I was. But that’s beside the point. I’m not
“Say, what?”
“You heard me,” I say, turning on the water to brush my teeth. I place my toothbrush under the water, then squeeze out a glob of Crest. I brush my teeth. Then spit and rinse.
“You buggin’ for real now. You know damn well I’m gettin’ up in that ass, so you need to cancel that dumb shit you talkin’, ya heard?”
“Whatever,” I say, shutting off the water.
He grabs me by the arm as I attempt to brush past him. He pulls me into him. “C’mon, baby. You know I was only fuckin’ wit’ you.”
I mush him in his face as he tries to kiss me. “Nigga, please.”
“C’mon, don’t start ya shit, yo. You got my dick all hard ’n shit.”
He presses himself into me. “That’s too bad,” I say, trying to ignore his growing dick. He interlocks his fingers into mine. Kisses me on the forehead, then slowly moves down to my nose, my lips, then nibbles on my neck. I don’t stop him, quickly forgetting my weak attempt at being mad at him. Before I know it, I have his hard dick in my hand, jerking it as we kiss. He slips his hand in between my thighs, plays with my clit, then dips two fingers into my sticky honey.
In no time, I am down on my knees, doing what I love most—sucking his dick. This is the only time—besides when I’m riding his dick—that Jasper submits. That he lets me have control.
I take him into my mouth and suck him, lovingly. Suck him with everything that is in me. He moans, grabs the back of my head, rocks on the back of his heels, trying to brace himself as I spit shine his nozzle.
I pull his dick from out of my neck, then begin twirling my tongue around the head of his dick, lapping at the precum. I lick the slit of his dick, then cup my lips around the head again, popping his dick with my lips and mouth. I take the shaft of his dick back in my mouth, then swallow him again. He lets out another moan of pleasure. I glance up at him and see that his eyes are shut, tight. The minute I tickle his balls with my tongue, Jasper’s leg starts to shake.
Two minutes later, I can feel the head of his dick swelling inside of my throat. I rapidly bob my head back and forth on his cock until he empties his balls down in my throat. I gulp his cream down, then pull his dick out of my mouth and suck and lick it clean, getting the last remaining drops of his creamy milk. I stand up, licking my lips. He kisses me, looking dazed, sliding his tongue back into my mouth. Jasper’s an undercover freak. Not too many niggas would tongue down their girl while she still has his nut on her tongue. But Jasper isn’t ever bothered by it. It seems to turn him on more. And that within itself turns me on even more.
When I am done, Jasper staggers back over to the bed and collapses. I turn on the shower and step in. By the time I get out, and walk back into the room, Jasper is sprawled out in the middle of the bed, snoring. I smile, getting dressed, then making my way to my doctor’s appointment to confirm what I already know in my heart.
Two weeks later, Jasper and I are in Philadelphia having an early dinner at Warmdaddy’s—a Rhythm & Blues soul food spot on Columbus Boulevard. I haven’t been to Philly in years, so when Jasper said he wanted to take a drive down here I was pleasantly surprised; particularly since he wanted to go to Penn’s Landing, the waterfront area of Center City. The weather was beautiful today so it was perfect for a stroll along the river, holding hands, talking and laughing. Something we haven’t done in years. It felt good to spend the day out of the house doing something other than fucking and sucking—which I do enjoy, don’t get me wrong. Still, the fact that Jasper wanted to get up early and do a road trip was a nice break from our normal Saturday routine.
After our stroll along the river, then ferry ride over to Camden, New Jersey to check out the Aquarium, we caught the ferry back to Philly, then walked over the bridge into South Street. Though long and exhausting, overall, it’s been a wonderful day.
Warmdaddy’s is packed as usual. We decide to eat upstairs instead of paying the extra cost to see a show. Once we’re seated, the waiter hands us our menus. At first glance, I already know what I’m going to have: the Southern Neptune Seafood Salad, and for my entree the Eastern Coast Crab Cakes with a side of smoked turkey collards. It takes Jasper a while longer before he decides on having the Southern Fried Chicken Dinner—white meat, with a side of collards and macaroni and cheese.
The waiter takes our orders, then walks off. I am surprised when Jasper asks me what’s going on with the wedding. Usually he is not interested in any of the details; just how much it’s going to cost. We decided to have a formal, yet small intimate wedding. Well, actually I did. Still, we both agreed to keep it very small. Twenty-to- twenty-five people at the most. However, somehow, the list has grown to close to fifty guests.
