Daddy Long Stroke

I text back: I’ll be there in 30 mins. Have them drawers off and that box clean ’n ready. Big daddy’s cumin’ through to bust that ass!

She texts back: See u when u get here.

My phone rings. It’s Maleeka. “Yo, what it do, baby?”

“What time you tryna come through? I’m still doin’ heads.”

I start to tell her to forget it; that I already got plans, but quickly decide fuckin’ two hoes in one night is a much better way to celebrate Obama’s victory. “You tell me, what’s good for you?”

“I should be done this last head ’round two-thirty. If you still up, swing through then.”

“I gotta make a run, anyway. So that works out good. I’ma hit you up when I’m on my way.”

“I don’t have the kids, so you stayin’ the night, right?”

“Awww, shit. You tryna get ya back dug out ’til the sun comes up. That’s wassup.”

She sucks her teeth. “Whatever. Just make sure you come through, so I can fuck the skin off that dick.”

I laugh. “That’s what ya mouth says.”

“Don’t front, nigga. You already know.”

“Yeah, aiight,” I say, takin’ off my clothes. “I’ll holla later.” I toss the phone on the bed, goin’ into the bathroom. I turn the shower on, take a piss, then hop in the shower. I grab the Tone body wash, and wash my ass, dick ’n balls extra good. Ten minutes later, I’m out the door. I hop in my hooptie, crank the engine, then back outta the driveway. Yeah, these bitches love Daddy Long Stroke, I think, sparkin’ a blunt, makin’ my way ’cross town to slay my first round of ass for the night.

30

A week later, I’m over at Pops’ spot—up in my room chillin’, shufflin’ through mail and puffin’ on a L while flippin’ through TV channels tryna find sumthin’ to watch. Ain’t shit on this bitch, I think, tossin’ the remote over on the other side of the bed. Pay all this fuckin’ money for a buncha hot garbage. I turn on my laptop and wait for it to boot. I hear the doorbell ring, but don’t give it much thought since I know Pops is somewhere in the house. I click on Internet Explorer, then hit up my Yahoo account. The minute I log on, it chimes, alertin’ me I have new messages; eighty-seven, to be exact. As I’m goin’ through ’em, a buncha IM’s start poppin’ up. Of course I ain’t beat for any of ’em today. I don’t know why I don’t make myself invisible, knowin’ this is the kinda shit I gotta deal wit’ e’erytime I sign on. These thirsty bitches stay tryna get a taste of this chocolate stick. I ignore ’em all.

My cell rings. It’s Akina. I decide she can leave a message. She calls again. I let the call roll into voicemail, again. Five minutes later, she’s callin’ back. I pick up. “What’s good?”

“You need to check your messages,” she says, soundin’ tight. “Ya voicemail’s full.”

“Oh, aiight,” I say, loggin’ off Yahoo. “So what’s poppin’?” I hit up my BlackPlanet page, then Myspace and Facebook pages, readin’ and deletin’ notes and ignorin’ friend requests.

“Why is it the only time I hear from you is when you want some pussy, ya dick sucked, or you need me to do something? Other than that, I’m the one always calling you.”

“Ohhhhkay, ya point?”

“Muhfucka, the point is it would be nice if you took time outta your day to hit a bitch up to say, ‘Hey, I was thinking about you. I don’t need or want nothing; just wanted to see what’s good with you.’ Hell, it’s not like I’m looking for you to come outta ya pockets ’cause we both know ain’t shit in them bitches, except lint, any-damn-way…” This bitch tryna make it sound like I’m some bum-ass nigga. I frown, but keep my mouth shut and let her go on. “…I’m sick of feeling like I’m being used.”

On some real shit, I’m kinda surprised she’s comin’ at me like this. Outta all the chicks I’ve smashed, she’s been the one I kept ’round the longest ’cause she’s never tried to stress a nigga. I mean. E’ery now and then she might get on some bullshit, tryna question me or some other shit, but she’s never come at my neck. We had an understandin’ that we do what we do and get up when we get up. At least that’s what the fuck I thought. Man, listen…I don’t know why the fuck bitches can’t stick to the muthafuckin’ script. Things would run so much smoother if they played their fuckin’ positions instead of tryna turn shit into sumthin’ extra. Damn, we only FUCKING!

I shake my head. “Yo, hol’ up,” I say, gettin’ up off the bed, “you must be PMS-in’ real bad to be comin’ at me all sideways ’n shit. But, I’ma tell you what. Take that shit somewhere else ’cause I ain’t beat for it. Not today, baby, real talk.”

“You know what, Alley Cat. Kiss my motherfucking fat ass, for real, baby. You ain’t never beat. Every time you don’t like how something’s being said to you, you wanna dismiss a bitch, like that shit’s supposed to mean something. Fuck you, nigga! All them bitches you fucking and got sucking your dick ain’t ever gonna have your black-ass back the way I’ve had it. But it’s all good ’cause I’m done with ya dumb ass.”

I sigh. “Yo, check this out. Where the fuck is all this comin’ from?”

“Ask ya motherfucking boy, Ron, nigga.”

“What? Ron? What that nigga got to do wit’ how you comin’ at me?”

“I saw him at Divas last night all drunk up ’n shit. That nigga was tryna press up real hard ’n shit and ride all up on a bitch.” For some reason, I feel myself gettin’ tight hearin’ this shit. Not ’cause I got some claim on her, but ’cause that nigga knows what it is wit’ me and her. And he straight disrespected that.

“Okay, so he was tryna get at you. And? You still ain’t said what that got to do wit’ how you talkin’.”

“The nigga told me all about your stay in Atlanta. You know. The motherfucking trip I FUCKING paid for! I asked you straight out if you went there to see some other bitch on my dime, and you told me no. But come to find out, you were out there fucking some big-faced, handicapped bitch in a wheelchair or some shit. At my FUCKING expense! That shit is foul as hell. It’s one thing for you to have another bitch’s pussy all dried up around your funky-ass balls while I’m sucking your dick. And it’s another to take my hard-earned money and go see some other bitch, then lie about it. Nigga, I don’t think so!”

Ain’t this some shit?! That hatin’-ass, bitch-ass nigga! I always knew he was diggin’ her, but I didn’t think the pussy-ass nigga would try ’n snake me to get at her. I’ma confront his ass. But, instead of goin’ in his mouth, I’ma let ’im think he got that off. And the next time his girl comes at me on some slick shit, tryna wet this dick, I’ma fuck the dog shit outta her ugly, knotty-headed ass. I’ma wipe this nut all over her big-ass dick suckas. Straight disrespect her ass on the strength of how that muhfucka tried to play me, word up. I might even take a few snapshots and post ’em up on Facebook. The crazy part is I never told the nigga ’bout that ep. The only person I said anything to was Gee’s dumb ass.

“I thought we already had this conversation, and I told you what it was. I also told you I’d give you your money back, but you didn’t want it.”

“No, nigga, I wanted the truth.”

“And I gave it to you.”

She sucks her teeth. “Yeah, muhfucka, your version of it.”

“So you mean to tell me, after three years of us kickin’ it, you gonna believe some muhfucka you don’t even know over me? You gonna let some drunk-ass nigga get all up in ya head. Damn, I thought you was bigger than that.”

“Muhfucka, don’t go there. Ain’t nobody get up in shit. If you was bigger than that, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation. Dude seemed to know what the hell he was talking about. Why would the nigga wanna lie on you, if he’s ya boy ’n shit?”

“That nigga ain’t my boy. He’s a muhfucka I chilled wit’ on the strength. Obviously, the nigga wanna smash or beat ya throat up.”

“Whatever. The only thing that nigga can do is beat it. He can’t do shit else for me.”

“Yeah, but you believin’ what the fuck comes outta his mouth. What kinda shit is that?”

“It’s me thinking that maybe the nigga spoke the truth since I was kinda doubting ya lyin’, sneaky ass any- damn-way. Your freak-ass probably was fuckin’ some crippled bitch. Who knows what the fuck you be doing.”

“Yo, get real, what the fuck a big-dick nigga like me look like fuckin’ some disabled bitch in a wheelchair? That shit don’t even sound right. I’d rip her fuckin’ box out the frame. But since you wanna believe some crazy-ass shit like that, then go ’head. Do you.”