Daddy Long Stroke

come of it. And a part of me had hoped nothing would. But, lo and behold, my email became flooded with requests. And I responded back. I told myself that I’d do it one time, only. But once turned into twice, then twice became three more times, and now—a year-and-a-half later, I’m logged on again—still telling myself that this time will be the last time.

I stare at my ring finger. Take in the sparkling four-carat engagement ring. It’s a nagging reminder of what I have; of what I could potentially end up losing. My reputation for one—as a successful, no-nonsense hairstylist and business owner of one the most upscale hair salons in the tri-state area; winner of two Bronner Brothers hair show competitions; numerous features in Hype Hair magazine, one of the leading hairstyle magazines for African-American women; and winner of the 2008 Global Salon Business Award, a prestigious award presented every two years to recognize excellence in the industry—could be tarnished. Everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve could be ruined in the blink of an eye.

My man, for another, could…will, walk out of my life. After he beats my ass, or worse—kills me. And I wouldn’t blame him, not one damn bit. I know better than anyone that as passionate a lover Jasper is, he can be just as ruthless if crossed. He has no problem punching a nigga’s lights out, smacking up a chick—or breaking her jaw, so I already know what the outcome will be if he ever finds out about my indiscretions. Yet I still choose to dance with deception, regardless of the outcome.

As hypocritical and deceitful as I’ve been, I can’t ever forget it was Jasper who helped me get to where I am today. He’s been the biggest part of my success, and I love him for that. Nappy No More wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for him believing in me, in my visions, and investing thousands of dollars into my salon eight years ago. Granted, I’ve paid him back and then some. And, yes, it’s true. I put up with all the shit that comes with loving a man who’s been caught up in the game. From his hustling and incarcerations to his fucking around on me in the early part of our relationship, I stood by him; loved him, no matter what. And I know more than anyone else that I’ve benefited from it. So as far as I’m concerned, I believe I owe him. He’s put all of his trust in me, has given me his heart, and has always been damn good to me. And, yes, this is how I’ve been showing my gratitude—by creeping on the internet.

He won’t find out, I think, sighing as I remove my diamond ring from my hand, placing it in my jewelry case, then locking it in the safe with the rest of my valuables. Jasper had given me this engagement ring and proposed to me a month before he got sentenced while he was still out on bail. He wanted me to marry him before he got locked up, but I wanted to wait until he got released. Having a half-assed wedding was not an option. But, they’ll be no wedding if I don’t get my mind right and stop this shit, soon! I’ll stop all this craziness once he gets home. This is what I tell myself; this is what I want to believe.

How many dicks have I sucked over the last year? Ummm, honestly, I wish I could tell you. Truth is I try not to give it much thought. Thinking about it would make me feel guiltier than I already do. Every time I walk back up in this spot and crawl back up into bed with thoughts of Jasper, every time he calls me and tells me how much he misses me and loves me and can’t wait to get home to me, every time I sit in front of him at a visit, or when he looks into my eyes and he kisses me—it fucks with me. It eats away at my conscience. But, is it enough to make me stop? It should be. I swear I had hoped, wished, it would be. But it hasn’t. Something keeps luring me right back on my knees sucking down another nigga’s dick.

I sigh, remembering a time when I used to be so obsessed with being a good dick sucker that I used to practice sucking on a dildo. I had bought myself a nice black, seven-inch dildo at an adult bookstore when I was barely twenty. At first, it was a little uncomfortable. My eyes would water and I’d gag as the head hit the back of my throat. But, I didn’t give up. I was determined to become a dick-swallowing pro. Diligently, I kept practicing every night before I went to bed until I was finally able to deep throat that rubber cock balls deep. Then I purchased an eight-inch, and practiced religiously until I was able to swallow it too. Before long, I was able to move up to a nine inch, then ten. And once I had them mastered, it was then, that I knew for certain I was ready to move on to the real thing. And I’ve been sucking dick ever since.

Funny thing, I’ve always prided myself on being a phenomenal head giver; on knowing how to take care of a man’s dick—to not only suck it, but to make love to it. To slob it because I love it; because I adore it. There’s something about slobbering all over a dick, twirling my tongue all over it—its slit slick with sweet precum, gliding my lips and mouth up and down its length, engulfing it—that makes my pussy wet.

The only difference is, back then I only sucked my boyfriends, men I loved; men who I wanted to be with. But now…now, I’m sucking a bunch of faceless, nameless men; men who I care nothing about. Men I have no emotional connection to. And that within itself makes what I’m doing that more dirty. I know this. Still—as filthy and as raunchy and trifling as it is, it excites me. It entices me. And it keeps me wanting more.

As crazy as this will sound, when I’m down on my knees, or leaned over in a nigga’s lap with a mouthful of dick while he’s driving—it’s not him I’m sucking, it’s not his balls I’m wetting. It’s Jasper’s dick. It’s Jasper’s balls. It’s Jasper’s moans I hear. It’s Jasper’s hands I feel wrapped in my hair, holding the back of my neck. It’s Jasper stretching my neck. Not any other nigga. I close my eyes, and pretend. I make believe them other niggas don’t exist.

The dinging alerts me I have new Yahoo messages. I sit back in front of my screen, take a deep breath. Eight emails. I click on the first one:

Great ad! Good looking married man here: 42, 5’9”, 7 cut, medium thick. Looking for a discreet, kinky woman who likes to eat and play with nice, big sweaty balls, lick in my musty crotch, and chew on my foreskin while I kick back. Can’t host.

I frown, disgusted. What the fuck?! I think, clicking DELETE.

I go onto the second email:

Hey baby, looking for a generous woman who likes to suck and get fucked in the back of her throat. I’m seven-inches cut, and I like the feel of a tight-ass throat gripping my dick when I nut. I’m 5’9, about 168lbs, average build, dark-skinned. I’m a dominate brotha so I would like to meet a submissive woman. I’m disease free and HIV negative. Hope you are, too. Hit me back.

Generous? Submissive? “Nigga, puhleeze,” I sigh aloud, rolling my eyes. Delete.

I open the next three, and want to vomit. They are mostly crude, or ridiculous; particularly this one:

Hi. I’m a clean, cool, horny, married Italian guy. I’m also well hung ’n thick. I’d love to put on my wife’s g-string, maybe even her thigh-highs, and let you suck me off through her panties, then pull out my thick, hot cock and give me good oral. I’m 6’2”, 180lbs, good shape. Don’t worry. I’m a straight man, but behind closed doors I love wearing my wife’s panties and getting oral. I hope this interests you.

I suck my teeth. “No motherfucker, it doesn’t!” Delete. What the fuck I look like sucking a nigga who wears woman’s panties? Straight man, my ass! Bitch, you a Miss Honey! I think, opening up the sixth email.

Yo, lookin’ for a bitch who enjoys suckin’ all kinds of cock. Hood nigga here, lookin’ to tear a throat up. Not beat to hear whinin’ ’bout achin’ jaws and not wantin’ a muhfucka to nut in her mouth. I’m lookin’ to unzip, fuck a throat, then nut ’n bounce. If u wit’ it, holla back. Delete.

Ugh! The one downside of putting out sex ads on the internet, you never know what you’re going to get. It’s hit or miss. Sometimes you luck up and get exactly what you’re looking for. But most times you get shit even a dog wouldn’t want. Truth be told, there’s a bunch of nasty-ass kooks online. And judging by these emails, I’m already convinced tonight’s going to be a bust. Try to convince myself that it’s a sign that it’s not meant to be, not tonight anyway; maybe not ever again.

Then again, who am I fooling? I am a dick-sucking, freaky-ass bitch. Dick sucking has become my weakness. Long dick, short dick, it makes me no never mind. As long as it’s thick, and cut, and loaded with warm, gooey cream, I want it. I crave it. I love swallowing hot cum and licking a dick clean. And the fucked up thing is that as hard as I have tried to get my urges under control, there are times when it overwhelms me, when it creeps up on me and lures me into its clutches and I have to sneak out and make a cock run.

My computer dings again. I have three new emails. My mind tells me to delete them without opening them; to log off and shut down my PC. But, of course, I don’t. I open the first email:

5’11”, 255lbs, trim beard, stache, stocky build, moderately hairy, and aggressive. Always in need to have my dick sucked to the extreme! I love a woman who is into my cum. Show it to me in your mouth and all over your tongue, then go back down on my dick and try to suck out another load.