Daddy Long Stroke

up and bunched up on that biotch for almost forty minutes before finally takin’ the fuck off. A nigga needed a damn blunt bad, still do—straight to the dome. Lucky for me, I don’t fuck wit’ alcohol, otherwise, a muhfucka woulda got right. The one good thing outta the whole fucked-up flight is that I was posted up next to this bad-ass bitch from Stone Mountain. Whew…man, listen. Chick is a real beauty. Model-fine type wit’ long, sexy legs, nice bubble ass, lil’ waist and slanted gray eyes. Then she got the nerve to have a sexy-ass mole over her lip, and a muthafuckin’ Gabrielle Union smile. Man, listen. You know I had to put my thing down on her fine ass. And yeah, a nigga got the digits.

So, here I am walkin’ and talkin’, just straight kickin’ it wit’ her fine-ass. I’m diggin’ her vibe, and I can tell she’s diggin’ mine. And on some real shit, I almost forget the bitch I got waitin’ on me. I sigh when we get off the tram and make our way to baggage claim. I make a promise to get at this cutie before I bounce; not even on some fuck-type shit—well, not unless she’s tryna step outta them drawers, but on some straight chill shit.

“Make sure you do that,” she says, smilin’. She shifts her brown Dolce & Gabbana handbag from one arm to the other.

“No doubt,” I say, lickin’ my lips. “I’m definitely tryna holla.”

“You got the number. Use it or lose it.”

I laugh. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

“So, who you out here staying with?” she asks, starin’ me in the eyes and grinnin’.

“My peoples,” I state. “But I’m tryna spend some time—”

“Alex, over here,” I hear. I cringe. Fuck! I know who it is the minute I hear that squeaky-ass voice. I turn around, lookin’ for… uh, damn, what’s this bitch’s name? Vita, yeah, that’s it. I don’t see her, so I go back to talkin’ to my Stone Mountain beauty.

“…with you, ma,” I continue. “So, make sure you pick up ya phone when you see a nine-seven-three area code comin’ through. It’s gonna be me tryna get at ya.”

She smiles. “Well, if I’m not busy, I’ll pick up. If I don’t, leave a message. Oh, there’s my bag,” she says, pointin’ to a black Louis travel bag. I reach over and grab it before it goes by, then hand it to her. “Thanks, she says.

I glance ’round, lookin’ for Vita’s stupid ass, but I still don’t see her. “So dig, baby, I’ma hit you up in a few days.”

“Well, if you don’t, that’s on you.” She grins.

I grin back. “And if I do?” I ask, lickin’ my lips, steppin’ into her space.

She locks her eyes on mine. “Then that’s on you, too.”

I smile wider. And just as I’m ’bout to scoop this beauty up in my arms, I see this lil’ bow-legged chick, wobblin’ up on me, wavin’ me down. Who the fuck is this lil’ bitch? At first I think it’s some fresh-ass, hot-in-the-pussy shorty tryna holla. But then I notice her face got some age on it, and realize she’s a grown-ass woman.

“Heeeeeeey, Alex,” she says, grinnin’ from ear to ear, showin’ the gap between her teeth, like she just hit the Lotto.

I ice-grill the bitch. “Yo, what’s good? Do I know you?”

She keeps her smile plastered on her face as she walks up to where we’re standin’. She looks up at my Stone Mountain beauty, then up at me and says, “Yeah, boo, it’s Vita.”

My jaw drops. A nigga is ready to pass the fuck out! Ole girl looks at me, then down at this chick, and smirks. I can tell she’s thinkin’, You fuckin’ that? Oh, I see your work. She looks me in the eye and says, “It was nice talking to you. Enjoy your stay in the ATL.”

“Most def. I’ma hit you up.” I watch her walk off, then return my attention to this ho. Vita? A nigga tries to keep his composure. What the fuck?! I look down at this lil’ Munchkin bitch. Vita? Oh, hell naw. The chick in those flicks is brown-skinned wit’ thick hips and lips, and has big brown eyes and a sexy-ass smile. Not some muthafuckin’ light-bright, high-yellow bitch wit’ big, pink lips and burgundy hair.

I frown, scratchin’ the side of my head. “Hol’ up,” I say, shakin’ my head in disbelief. “You’re ATL Rough Rider Cutie, Vita, from offa Myspace?”

“Yeah, boo,” she says, laughin’ “You so crazy. Who else? I was calling you for a minute, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

Nah, bitch, I heard you. I just didn’t see ya ass. And now I know why. I pull in my bottom lip, and bite the fuck down on it before I blast her ass right here in the middle of the muthafuckin’ airport. Rough Rider Cutie my muthafuckin’ ass! “Nah, I didn’t hear you,” I say, grittin’ my teeth.

“You want me to wait here with you until your bag comes?”

I see muhfuckas eye-ballin’ us and I’m startin’ to feel some kinda way ’bout it. “Nah, I’m good,” I say not lookin’ down at her.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ma be sitting over there waiting for you then.” She points over to a metal bench by a set of payphones.

I take a deep breath. “Aiight, you do that.” I watch this broad waddle in her tiny-ass heels, lookin’ like muthafuckin’ Minnie Mouse ’n shit. All the ho needs is a big-ass bow in her hair. I shake my head. The ho got little feet, little hands, little mouth, and little body. E’ery muthafuckin’ thing on this bitch is little, ’cept for her big-ass head—and that fat ass of hers. I lock my eyes on her phatty, shakin’ my head. I need a muthafuckin’ blunt, now! The ho said her ass was short, not some toddler-sized adult. She shoulda kept shit real wit’ me. At least prepare a nigga first; dig what I’m sayin’?

I let out a deep, disgusted sigh. All that good shit she been talkin’ over the phone ’bout how deep her pussy is, ’bout how much she loves to fuck, ’bout how she’s gonna rock this dick, had a nigga ready to beat her guts up. And this is the shit I end up wit’—a damn pint-sized, freak-nasty ho. I shoulda known the shit was too muthafuckin’ good to be true.

When my bag finally comes, I swagger over to where her ass is sittin’. She’s on her cell, but disconnects her call when she sees me comin’. I’m lookin’ at her, thinkin’ how the fuck I’ma get outta this shit. I got like two grand on me, so I know I can always cop me a hotel somewhere, and be out. Then I can maybe hook up wit’ that Stone Mountain cutie. Fuck! I forgot her name, that quick. Shit!

She looks up at me. “You mad at me?”

I frown. Am I mad? This smut is the size of a fuckin’ poodle standin’ on its hind legs, and she got the muthafuckin’ nerve to be askin’ me some dumb shit like that. Damn straight, I’m heated. But since this ho gassed me up, it’s gonna cost her extra. I smile, decidin’ to milk this situation for e’ery muhfuckin’ thing it’s worth.

“Nah, baby, it’s all good. Let’s get outta here.”

She smiles. “Whew! I was worried for a moment. I thought you was gonna tell a sista to beat it or something.”

Oh, I’ma tell ya dick-thirsty ass to beat it aiight. “Nah, never that, baby. I ain’t no shallow-type cat. I came to spend time wit’ you. And get this dick wet. And that’s what it is.”

I stare at her, start to wonder if she got good pussy. I smirk at the thought of layin’ back, proppin’ her up on my dick, then spinnin’ her ass ’round on it like a doll. My dick starts to jump. Yeah, I’ma run this dick straight through her muthafuckin’ back. Lyin’-ass ho!

When we get to her shiny black customized Benz truck, I say, “Damn, I didn’t know Benz made whips for midgets.” I hear her suck her teeth as she disarms the alarm, unlockin’ the doors. I toss my bag in the back, then get in. I watch her climb up and in. She looks over at me. And on some real shit, the bitch got the nerve to be aiight lookin’ in a funny kinda way. Sorta like a chimpanzee.

“Please don’t refer to me as a midget. It’s offensive, and derogatory,” she says, slammin’ her door. “I might be many things, but a midget ain’t one of ’em.”

Bitch, please. I’ll call you what the fuck I want. I feel like laughin’ dead in her muthafuckin’ face. “Well, then what are you?”

“Well, for starters, I’m a woman. My name is Vita. And I’m a little person. ‘Little people’ is the term used to refer to us. Calling little people midgets is no longer politically correct. I’m not part of some old circus freak show.”

I can’t tell. “Oh, aiight, my bad. So why didn’t you just keep shit real and tell me