Daddy Long Stroke

don’t pay me my money. I’ma end up goin’ in his mouth, real talk.”

I shake my head, checkin’ out these two honeys standin’ at the concierge desk ’cross the lobby. I squint as they turn ’round and make their way toward us. “Gotdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, them bitches are bad,” I say, practically droolin’. They the hottest and baddest hoes I’ve seen this whole trip.

Mike agrees. “Word up, but I bet they some stuck-up ho-types.”

They both look mixed. One of ’em is light-skinned wit’ long, thick wavy hair pulled back into a ponytail; the other is the color of cinnamon wit’ bone-straight, shoulder-length hair, lookin’ like an Egyptian goddess. They fine as fuck, and I’d dick ’em both. But the one who stands out the most is the one wit’ the chinky eyes. She looks exotic. And she has the kinda swagger that lets a muhfucka know she’s ’bout her business. She catches me starin’ at her. And I swear I think I see her lick her lips at me. Her hips sway, hard. And I’m convinced she’s throwin’ me the twat. That bitch got some good-ass pussy, I bet. My mouth waters.

“Yo, what’s good?” I ask the minute they walk past.

No response.

No, these bitches didn’t disregard me like I’m some crab-ass nigga. Mike looks at me, smirkin’. I frown. “Aye, pretty ladies,” I say, gettin’ up and followin’ behind ’em.

The Egyptian goddess tosses her hand up in the air, not botherin’ to look back at me. “Beat it,” she says.

I hear Mike laughin’. “I told you, man,” he says. But I ain’t the one to be dismissed or easily deterred when I see sumthin’ I wanna get at. I get up behind them in the revolvin’ door. “Oh, word. It’s like that? A muhfucka speaks to two beauties and he can’t even get a simple hello?”

“What, nigga, you want some pussy?” the light-skinned broad snaps, cuttin’ her eyes at me.

I smile, flashin’ my pearly whites. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. But for now, a simple hello will do.”

She stops, smacks her lips, pullin’ her Louis V shades up over her head. The Egyptian goddess walks off as if I don’t exist, bouncin’ her hips toward the parkin’ lot. I try to keep from starin’ at her ass shakin’ ’n bouncin’. The beauty in front of me, stares me down. Although she’s not who I have my sights on, I decide if I can break the ice wit’ her, eventually, I might be able to get at her peeps. “What’s good?” she says wit’ much attitude, eyein’ me.

“There you go,’ I say, grinnin’. Shit, she’s sexy as hell. Stay focused, nigga. “Was that hard? Where ya’ll from?”

“Brooklyn,” she says, shiftin’ her Dolce & Gabbana bag from one arm to the other.

I laugh.

She raises her brow, ice-grills me. “I say sumthin’ funny?”

“Nah, baby, I’m laughin’ ’cause wit’ all that attitude ya’ll got goin’ on, I shoulda known.”

She smirks. “Whatever.”

“So, sexy lady from Brooklyn, you gotta name?”

“Chanel,” she says as her peeps pulls up, pushin’ a shiny bronze CLK550.

“And ya peeps, she gotta name?”

“That’s for her to tell you. And from the looks of things, she ain’t interested.”

“Damn, it’s like that?”

The Egyptian beauty rolls down her window, and yells. “Bitch, will you come on? That nigga’s all dick, and no dollars. And he smells like trouble. Let’s roll.”

“See,” Chanel says, smirkin’, “told you.”

I laugh, watchin’ her sashay her juicy ass over toward the passenger side. “Damn, baby,” I say, throwin’ my arms open. “You done sized me up all wrong. Now, what’s up wit’ that? I ain’t no killer, baby.”

“Yeah, well, I am,” she says, rollin’ up her window, then peelin’ off. And for some strange reason, my dick starts to stretch down the right side of my leg.

Four hours later, we’re at Scottsdale Fashion Square mall down at the food court chillin ’n shit, people watchin’ while we eat. I’m killin’ a vegetarian sandwich on multigrain bread and two bangin’ cream cheese brownies from Paradise Bakery & Cafe. There’s muhfuckas and hoes e’erywhere.

“Man,” Mike says, pointin’ up to the second level, “look at Akon’s dumb-ass wit’ all them muhfuckas walkin’ ’round wit’ him.” Dude is here walkin’ ’round and goin’ into stores ’n whatnot, but wasn’t buyin’ shit. And he had ’bout fifteen to twenty heads rollin’ wit’ ’im. Then when peeps try to snap flicks of ’im, he’s tryna act like he ain’t beat to stop and pose up wit’ ’em. “That’s the corniest shit I’ve seen today; you up in the mall, walkin’ ’round just to be seen.” He shakes his head. “That nigga just want some attention.”

Gee adds, “Yo, that’s some clown shit, for real.”

“Yo, whatever,” I say. “Let that nigga do him. I don’t listen to the cat’s music, so who gives a fuck.”

The rapper Young Buck swaggers by all iced-out and whatnot on some solo-type shit. If he had a crew wit’ him, they weren’t all up on him. I watch a buncha white kids run up to him, hittin’ him up for his autograph. They couldna been no more than eleven, maybe tweleve, but they knew who he was.

Two local chicks grab a table next to us. I overhear one of ’em say she’s never seen so many fine black men in one place before. The other agrees, then says how Phoenix isn’t used to all this excitement; that they’re probably scared to death of so many blacks in one place. They laugh. I chuckle to myself, lookin’ ’round. And we spendin’ major paper up in this muhfucka, too! Yeah, they mighta not been used to us bein’ here, but I bet they’re sure glad we came through this bitch to boot up the economy.

“Aye, yo,” Mike says, tappin’ me on the arm, “there go them fine-ass hoes from the hotel.”

“Where?” I ask, tryin’ not to sound all thirsty ’n shit.

He points straight ahead over in their direction. “Right there, gettin’ ready to go up the escalator.”

All eyes follow where he’s pointin’, zoomin’ in on the view. And there they are, fine as ever, carryin’ a shitload of shoppin’ bags. Gee says, “Gotttttttdamn, they fine.”

Glenn agrees.

Mike laughs. “And they stuck up as hell. Yo, this nigga here”— he points at me—“tried to holla at ’em this mornin’ when we were waiting for ya’lls dumb asses, and they played the shit outta him. The one bitch threw her hand up at him like he wasn’t shit.” This nigga is crackin’ up.

“Yo, whatever, muhfucka.”

He’s still laughin’. “Yo, dawg, am I lyin’, though? Keep it gee, nigga. That ho played you, son.”

Gee and Glenn shake their heads, laughin’ wit’ his dumb ass.

“Now the light-skinned one,” Mike continues, “seemed like she was a little more approachable ’cause she did stop and give you some rhythm. But that other one, whew…man, listen. That ho is a problem.” Instead of him deadin’ it, this muhfucka keeps the shit goin’. “Yo, ya’ll shoulda seen how she played him like a real crab.”

“Damn, yo, she did you like that?” Gee asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” I say nonchalantly, “she was on some funny-style shit. But it’s all good.”

“Yo, the shit was funny as hell. And instead of this nigga leavin’ it alone, he gets up and follows ’em out the hotel. They was probably thinkin’ ya ass was a real nut, yo.”

“Damn, yo, get up off my dick,” I snap. Listenin’ to him talk ’bout it got me feelin’ some kinda way. I don’t usually get straight igged like that. But her evil ass made my dick bulge earlier wit’ her slick talk. And a muhfucka ain’t gonna be satisfied ’til I can get at her. Fuck what ya heard. I don’t give up easily. I keep my eye on ’em, watch which direction they walk in.

He laughs louder. “Damn, son, let me find out you bein’ all sensitive ’n shit.”

I laugh it off. “Fuck outta here. I’m just sayin’. Give it a rest, damn. Ya’ll niggas come out here to shop or bullshit?”

“Both,” Gee says, crackin’ up. I see these muhfuckas wanna be on some extra shit. I get up and toss my trash into the garbage can, then bounce.

“Peace, I’m out,” I say, throwin’ up two fingers. “I’ma get at you niggas later.”

“Aye, yo. Where you goin’?”

“I got sum shoppin’ to do.”

They all start laughin’. “Yeah, right, muhfucka. The only thing you tryna do is get ya feelin’s hurt.”

“Whatever, yo,” I say, headin’ toward the escalator. “Hit me up when ya’ll niggas ready to bounce.”

When I get to the top of the escalator, I turn in the direction the two Brooklyn beauties went, then slowly