by Cairo
Porsha joins in my laughter.
“Whew, that boy has one huge-ass dick. Better you than me.”
Persia fans herself. “Yes, indeed he does. My boy toy is a whole lot of man in between them sheets.”
It’s kind of crazy and sick that the three of us can sit here laughing about our sexapades while swapping sex notes on the men in our lives. The three of us have fucked Royce and Emerson. Persia’s fucked Desmond, although that knowledge is still a sore spot for me. Still, we’ve passed men around and sampled the goods, like so many other women out there. Like my sisters, I have no regrets.
“So, what does that mean for you and the cute little waiter?” Porsha asks, eyeing her.
Persia shrugs. “Who knows? Only time will tell. For now, I’m having fun with him. Do you know I only recently found out that he graduated in May from Seton Hall with a degree in Business Management? And his father owns several businesses in Trinidad, and two Caribbean restaurants in Brooklyn. His father paid his tuition, but made him work for everything else he needed; hence, why he waited tables. But come January he’s going to take over his father’s two restaurants.”
“That’s great. Could you ever see yourself with him?” I ask, grimacing in pain.
She smiles. “Yeah, I think I could. He has a high sex drive, and is very open-minded sexually. But, more than that, he’s intelligent and very caring. And he’s exceptionally mature for his age. He’s invited me to go to Trinidad with him in the spring”
I smile. “You should go.”
“Oh, no, girl,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not ready for all that.”
“Do you ever think you’ll be satisfied with one man?” Porsha asks her.
She gives it some thought, then smiles. “Yeah, I definitely think I could. As much as I enjoy sharing men with the two of you, there’s something nice about having a man you can call your very own.”
A sharp contraction shoots through me, causing me to scream. Five minutes later, another one comes, sharper than the first. It feels like something is stabbing me. I clutch the sheets. “Ohmygod, I think it’s time. Call Daddy and tell him to meet us at the hospital. Ahhh!” I yell in between contractions. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. This shit is excruciating. “This baby is ready to come.”
“You want me to call Desmond for—” Persia stops in midsentence as I shoot her a look. “I know, I know. Hell no. I’ll call Daddy.”
“I’ll call him for you,” Porsha says, reaching for my cell. She locates his number, then dials it; tells him to meet us at the hospital. Persia tells Daddy the same thing. Then they both help me out of the bed and walk me down the stairs. Persia helps me into my coat. I scream as the contractions come quicker and last longer. “Ahhhhh!” I scream again when another contraction shoots through me. Persia helps get me into the backseat of the car while Porsha races over to the driver’s side and gets in. She shuts my door, then hops into the front seat as Porsha speeds around our circular driveway.
My cell rings. It’s Desmond. “Whaaaat?” I scream into the phone, panting.
“I’m a nervous wreck, baby. Where are you?”
“Ahhhh!” I yell into the phone. “On our way to the hospital.”
“Baby, you remember how they told you to breath in that Lamaze class, right?”
I scream again. “Fuck Lamaze. You were supposed to come lick my pussy,” I say in between contractions.
He laughs. “I know, baby. I’m gonna make it up to you.” I yell again. “Yo, you my heart. I’ll lick your pussy, suck them titties. Do whatever you want me to do to help you get through this, yo. You heard me, baby?”
I scream again, grabbing my stomach. “Bitch, press on that pedal and hurry up and get me to the hospital before I have this baby in the backseat of this car.”
“Hold on,” Persia says while on the phone with Mother, giving her minute-by-minute updates as to how far we are and what my condition is. “We’re almost there.”
I would smile if I wasn’t in so much damn pain, happy to see them talking. It’s the first time in months. Maybe there’s hope for the two of them after all. I concentrate on my breathing. Close my eyes, try to block out the pain. Try to block out Desmond’s voice as he tries to coach and calm me. It’s not working. I scream.
I’m not sure what will happen once this baby comes into this world. And I’m not sure what the future really holds for Desmond and me. He loves me. And I love him. But I’m not in love with him. Yet, I want to be with him. He’s a good man. And, if I marry him, it won’t be for this baby’s sake. It’ll be because he’s who I want to spend my life with. Still, there’s a fleeting thought lingering around in my head that one day my sisters and I will sneak off to some sexy Caribbean island—before Porsha or I get married—and give one more man a weekend of sexual bliss, pleasuring him in ways he’s never imagined, as Passion, Pain, and Pleasure—three sisters, three sets of hands, three pair of soft lips, wet tongues, and hot steamy pussies working together to drive him beyond the limits of ecstasy. Oh, yes…what a sweet, delicious thought it is. One I can’t get lost in, not now. I let out another scream. My baby’s coming!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cairo is the author of The Kat Trap, The Man Handler, Daddy Long Stroke, Deep Throat Diva and Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang. He currently divides his time between northern New Jersey and California where he is working on his next literary masterpiece. His travels to Egypt are what inspired his pen name. If you’d like to know more about the man behind the pen, you can visit him at www.facebook.com/cairoblacktheauthor, www.planetzane.org., or on his website at www.booksbycairo.com.
IF YOU ENJOYED “MAN SWAPPERS,” FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS
BEFORE PASHA’S FAIRYTALE WEDDING IN
DEEP
THROAT
DIVA
BY CAIRO
AVAILABLE NOW FROM STREBOR BOOKS
2005
“Aye, yo, you need to let me know now if you’re gonna ride this shit out with me ’cause I ain’t beat to be up in this muhfucka stressin’ ’bout dumb shit, feel me?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you, baby.”
“Aiight, that’s what it is. I’ma need you to hold it down out there. Keep that shit tight, ya heard? Don’t have me snappin’ out ’cause you done got caught up in some bullshit.”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever, nothin’, yo. I’m tellin’ you now, Pasha, don’t have me fuck sumthin’ up. I didn’t ice ya hand up for nothin’, yo.”
“Jasper, please, I’m not beat for another nigga. Four years ain’t shit. I keep telling you that.”
“Yeah, and? I’m gonna keep sayin’ the shit ’cause I know how hot in the ass broads are when a nigga gets behind the wall. They be on some ole other shit.”
“Well, I’m not them.”
“Oh, so you not hot in the ass?”
“Yeah, for you. But not for any other nigga.”
“You better not be either, yo, word up. Let me find out you done had another muhfucka hittin’ that shit and I’ma bust yo’ ass.”
“Nigga, please. The only thing you’re gonna be bustin’ is a bunch of nuts in them hands.”
“Yeah, aiight. I gotta buncha nuts for ya ass, ya heard? Talk slick if you want, but I’m tellin’ you, yo.”
“I heard you. And I’m telling you. I’m all yours in mind, body and soul. This pussy and my heart are for you and you only. And I got it on lock until you get home.”
“You better.”
“I promise, baby. I do.”
ONE
You ready to cum? Imagine this: A pretty bitch down on her knees with a pair of soft, full lips wrapped around the head of your dick. A hot, wet tongue twirling all over it, then gliding up and down your shaft, wetting it up real slippery-like, then lapping at your balls; lightly licking your asshole. Mmmm, I’m using my tongue in places that will get you dizzy, urging you to give me your hot, creamy nut. Mmmmm, baby…you think you ready? If so, sit back, lie back, relax and le
t the Deep Throat Diva rock your cock, gargle your balls, and suck you straight to heaven.
I reread the ad, make sure it conveys exactly what I want, need, it to say, then press the PUBLISH tab. “There,” I say aloud, glancing around my bedroom, then looking down at my left hand. “Let’s see how many responses I get, this time.”
Ummm, wait…before I say anything else. I already know some of you uptight bitches are shaking your heads and rolling your eyes. What I’m about to tell ya’ll is going to make some of you disgusted, and that’s fine by me. It is what it is. There’s also going to be a bunch of you closeted, freaky bitches who are going to turn your noses up and twist up your lips, but secretly race to get home ’cause you’re as nasty as I am. Hell, some of you are probably down on your knees as I speak, or maybe finishing up pulling a dick from out of your throat, or removing strands of pubic hair from in between your teeth. And that’s fine by me as well. Do you, boo. But, let me say this: Don’t any of you self-righteous hoes judge me.
So here goes. See. I have a man—dark chocolate, dreamy-eyed, sculpted and every woman’s dream—who’s been incarcerated for four years, and he’s releasing from prison in less than nine months. And, yes, I’m excited and nervous and almost scared to death—you’ll realize why in a minute. Annnywaaaay, not only is he a sexy-ass motherfucker, he knows how to grind, and stack paper. And he is a splendid lover. My God! His dick and tongue game can make a woman forget her name. And all the chicks who know him either want him, or want him back. And they’ll do anything they can to try to disrupt my flow. Hating-ass hoes!
Nevertheless, he’s coming home to me. The collect calls, the long drives, the endless nights of sexless sleep have taken a toll on me, and will all be over very soon. Between the letters, visits and keeping money on his books, I’ve been holding him down, faithfully. And I’ve kept my promise to him to not fuck any other niggas. I’ve kept this pussy tight for him. And it’s been hard, really hard—no, no, hard isn’t an accurate description of the agony I’ve had to bear from not being fucked for over four years. It’s been excruciating!
But I love Jasper, so I’ve made the sacrifice. For him, for us! Still, I have missed him immensely. And I need him so bad. My pussy needs him, aches for the width of his nine-inch, veiny dick thrusting in and out of it. It misses the long, deep strokes of his thick tongue caressing my clit and its lower lips. I miss lying in his arms, being held and caressed. But I have held out; denied any other niggas the privilege—and pleasure—of fucking this sweet, wet hole.
The problem is: Though I haven’t been riding down on anything stiff, I’ve been doing a little anonymous dick sucking on the side from time-to-time—and, every now and then, getting my pussy ate—to take the edge off. Okay, okay, I’m lying. I’ve been sucking a lot of dick. But it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to become hooked on the shit as if it were crack. But, I have. And I am.
Truth be told, it started out as inquisitiveness. I was bored. I was lonely. I was fucking horny and tired of sucking and fucking dildos, pretending they were Jasper’s dick. So I went on Nastyfreaks4u.com, a new website that’s been around for about two years or so. About eighteen months ago, I had overheard one of the regulars who gets her hair done down at my salon talking about a site where men and women post amateur sex videos, similar to that on Xtube, and also place sex ads. So, out of curiosity, I went onto their site and browsed around on it for almost a week before deciding to become a member and place my very own personal ad. I honestly wasn’t expecting anything to 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 as 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 recognize 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 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 and then locking it in the safe with the rest of my valuables. Jasper gave 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 want to wait until he gets released. Having a half-assed wedding was not an option. But, there’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. The fucked-up thing is that as hard as I have tried to get my urges under control, there are times when my “habit” overwhelms me; when it creeps up on me and lures me into its clutches and I have to sneak out and end up right back on my knees sucking down another nigga’s dick.
See. Being a seasoned dick sucker, I can swallow any length or width without gagging, or puking. I relax, breathe through my nose, extend my tongue all the way out, and then swallow one inch at a time until I have the dick all the way down in my throat. Then I start swallowing while I give a nigga a nice, slow dick massage. The shit is bananas! And it drives a nigga crazy.
I sigh, remembering a time when I once was 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 also able to swallow it. 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. I’ve been sucking dick ever since.
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 emotion
al connection to. And that within itself makes what I’m doing that more dirty. I realize 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 that I hear. It’s Jasper’s hands that 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 that I have new 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 continue to 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 168 lbs, average build, dark-skinned. I’m a dominant 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”, 180 lbs, 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.
