by Cairo
At the moment, I have three steady men (not including Garrett and Maurice) who are on call whenever and however I need ’em. I call ’em my three sex charms because I fuck ’em in threes. Three’s a charm, and I keep my pussy wrapped around their dicks like a tennis bracelet. Not only are diamonds a girl’s best friend, so is a thick, stiff dick. And that’s exactly what all three of ’em have.
First, there’s sex charm #1: Jamil. He’s five-eleven, 195 pounds of lean muscle, packing a solid seven-and-a-half inches of thick beef. I met him while standing in line at Commerce Bank. He’s a Gemini, moody and unpredictable. One minute he’s blowing my phone up, scratching and sniffing around like a dog in heat, hounding me for some more of this pussy. The next minute, he’s as cold and distant as an Alaskan polar bear. Probably because of all the stress he catches from his six baby mommas and the chick he’s currently living with. By the time he shells out child support for his ten kids, he barely has enough money for himself. And he knows not to ask me for anything. His financial state is not my problem. I have no sympathy for his dumb ass, which is running around breeding with everything moving. And the crazy mofo’s talking about he wants to have three more. Go figure. I guess he’s gonna try for a baker’s dozen. Humph. Whatever! The only thing he can do for me (at the moment) is eat my pussy, and serve me the damn dick.
Next is sex charm #2: Wade, a six-foot-three, 215-pound solid hunk of smooth, milk chocolate with long lashes wrapped around the most entrancing pair of hazel eyes I’ve ever seen on any human being. Hanging between his chiseled thighs is a thick, eight-inch dick with enormous veins running along the shaft and a big mushroom head, and attached to this beautiful chocolate dick is a set of huge, hairy balls. His dick sort of reminds me of a miniature baseball bat, narrow at the base, thick at the shaft. Just looking at him makes my pussy tingle with delight.
Wade is a college graduate and owns his own landscaping business. I’ll admit, if I were ever looking for a steady piece of dick, he’d definitely be the one. Okay, well, maybe one of the ones. Besides the fact that he’s intelligent, fine as hell, and has no children and no chicks, he eats pussy like it’s the only thing on the menu, and he can fuck practically all night. That’s exactly how I like it. Usually after he’s finished digging my back out, I can still feel him inside of me for at least two days, and then can’t fuck anyone else for another three. That’s how good he wears this pussy out. The only problem: he’s twenty-five. And that’s entirely too damn young. For a relationship, that is.
Last, but definitely not least, is sex charm #3: Mitchell. Mitchell is six-one, two-hundred pounds, and the color of midnight with a ten-inch dick that curves to the left. And he’s freakier than a mutha. The last time we were together, he poured chocolate syrup in the crack of my ass, then licked and tongue-fucked my asshole clean. I almost lost my mind. He can get it almost anytime he wants it. However, I won’t let his freak-nasty, ass-eating self kiss me.
And of course, there’s Garrett, who comes through once every two weeks or so. Well, uh, that’s what he used to do. Lately, it’s been every chance he can get. I’m not too sure what that’s about. But he keeps coming—in more ways than one. And I keep on spreading open my legs and fucking him.
Anyway, then there’s Maurice whom I fuck once or twice, sometimes three times a year due to his work, travel, and family obligations. And now there’s Wendell, who is still new on my dick list. But before Jamil, Wade, and Mitchell, there were Tyrone, David, and Solomon. And before them: Reggie, Carlos, and Martin. And before them: Cedric, Eli, and Thomas.
Okay. For those of you who might not have picked up on it, I fuck my men in threes. And I usually rotate ’em in threes. Basically, I change my men about as many times as I change the oil in my car, practically every three thousand miles. Or every three months, whichever comes first. I drain ’em, dump ’em, then move on to something fresh and new. It’s the only way to go. So, basically, I’ve never had an issue getting a man. Now, getting rid of his ass is sometimes another story. One we’ll get to at another time.
Oh, you wanna know why I fuck ’em and rotate ’em every three months? Well, because in my experience, it takes about three months before a mofo starts trying to check for you like he’s your damn man, or before he starts getting too damn comfortable and starts expecting shit from you, or thinking you want something from him, or before he starts trying to move his ass up in here. Sorry, boo-boo, I’m not having that shit under any circumstances. I don’t care how good he digs my back out. A man is only good for three things: Fucking, fucking, and more fucking! Other than a stiff dick, there’s nothing he can offer me. At least I’m honest about that, and I let them all know from jump what the deal is. He doesn’t have to worry about me trying to get him to pay my bills, or keep my hair and nails done. I’m more than capable of doing those things for myself. And I expect him to be able to do the same for himself. No, you can’t get a ride. No, you can’t get a hot meal. No, you can’t stay the night. No, you can’t move in. No, you can’t use my address or have your mail coming to my house. It ain’t gonna happen. I’m not running a bed and breakfast, a motel, or a damn shelter. So lick the clit, serve the dick, and be on your merry way. Sine qua non, bottom line: I want his ass out of my house before sunrise. No exceptions!
Please. Say what you want. Some dudes don’t seem to understand what the hell “no strings attached” means. Hello. It means, let’s fuck and have a good time without you trying to crowd my space, be all up in my damn face questioning me like I owe you something, or trying to keep tabs on me. Negro, get a grip!
And I’ve also found that within three months, whatever drama a man has in his life will eventually find its way into yours if you’re not on point. That’s why it’s always best to fuck ’em and dump ’em within ninety days. Come to think of it. I’m really starting to believe that there really are some things money can’t buy. And, baaaaaaby, let me tell you. Hassle-free dick is one of them!
Anyway, back to my three current charms. All three of ’em have been in my bed, oops, I mean my life, for almost three months. But, like with everything else in life, eventually all good things must come to an end. Sadly, nothing stays the same. And neither does the dick. Hitting this pussy comes with an expiration date.
Okay, before I forget, I’m gonna let you in on something else. There are a few things I’ve learned along my sexual journey, and they are: 1) A stiff dick has no conscience. It’ll fuck anything moving if it can get away with it; 2) Most men lie about the size of their dicks (which is why I carry a ruler); 3) A big dick doesn’t guarantee a good fuck, and a small dick doesn’t guarantee a bad one; 4) An itsy-bitsy, teeny-weenie, short, short dick can’t hit it doggie-style; 5) A man with good dick isn’t necessarily a good man; 6) You can’t judge the size of a man’s dick by his shoe size, hand size, or by the size of his nose. Those physical features don’t mean shit; and 7) Old dick is no different from young dick. It may look different, but with the lights out, it’s still dick. It’s the man attached to the dick that’s different.
I’ve also learned that most men lie about themselves, and about what it is they really want from you. They’ll say whatever they think you want to hear to get whatever it is they want from you. Because a man calls you all the time doesn’t mean he can be trusted. Because he comes through to fuck you all the time doesn’t mean he’s your man, or that he wants to love you. And it definitely doesn’t mean he wants to get to know you better. It usually means he’s only interested in you wetting his dick. So don’t get caught up in trying to make it out to be more than what it is, a fuck.
And I’ve also discovered that most men think sucking on your titties and slapping you on the ass is foreplay. Or that a few tongue laps around the clit is all it takes to have you begging for the dick. Well, that may work for some women. But a woman like me needs a bit more to get it going. See, for me, great sex begins with great foreplay. And great foreplay begins with seduction. Stimulate the mind, arouse the senses, tantalize and
tease the body, or find yourself on the receiving end of a miserably lousy fuck.
However, always keep in mind this tidbit: The thrill of seduction sometimes lies in the chase rather than the conquest. In layman’s terms: Sometimes it’s best not to fuck ’em. Masturbate to your fantasies and keep it moving.
Anyway, I say all this to say that some men get so caught up in solely fucking that they don’t even consider whether you’re enjoying it. I mean, damn. I don’t mind being fucked when that’s what I’m asking for. But don’t be a selfish fuck. I mean, really. How tired is that? But some men really don’t give a fuck about it being good for you too. As long as it feels good to them, as long as they can get their shit off, to hell with making sure we get ours. But I’m not the one. If he’s popping a nut, dammit, so am I. Trust me. And that’s exactly why I have a sign hanging over my bed that reads: “My bed, my pussy, my way! Either fuck me the way I want, or fuck off!” And I make sure every man who enters this bedroom reads it out loud. And if he can’t read, then I read it for his illiterate ass.
Make no mistake. Be a lazy fuck if you want, and find yourself tossed out with a hard dick, depending on my mood. If I am extremely horny or feeling generous, then I will make him stop, roll him over on his back, straddle him, slide down on his dick, and ride him like there’s no tomorrow, then throw him out. And that’s exactly what I did to Benson’s punk ass three nights ago. He’s thirty-five, five feet, 185 pounds, with nine and a half inches of dick. And he claims he doesn’t have a woman. But I know he’s lying. Shit. Dude doesn’t have to lie to me. What the hell do I care? I don’t want him. The only thing I want is to be fucked right. Fuck me the way I want, or you get dismissed. And that’s what it is. Ugh! Every time I think about it, it makes me want to scream. How the fuck you think you gonna lay up in my bed and not feed my pussy right?
Anyway, I leaned forward with my titties sweeping back and forth across his chest as I pounced and galloped up and down on his dick, fucking him until his eyes rolled back in his head. Let me tell you how I had him moaning and calling out my name, telling me how good this pussy is. My juicy hole slurped all over his dick, sucking the nut out of him. And when I was done, I rolled over onto my back and without giving him a second glance, I told him to “Get out!” And you want to know what this mofo had the nerve to do? He looked at me like I was crazy. He didn’t say it, and I didn’t give him a chance to. That look was all I needed.
“No, negro,” I snapped, “you the crazy one, tryna half fuck me! Now see yourself out, ’cause your services are no longer needed.”
Dude grabbed his shirt, hastily putting on his clothes, then walked out the bedroom. “Fuckin’ bitch,” I heard him mumble as he stomped his way out into the hallway, then down the stairs and out the door, slamming it so hard that the windows upstairs rattled. Like I gave a fuck! Yeah, I had probably bruised his ego, okay, and? Humph, some men are like spoiled-assed babies, pouting and whining when their little feelings get hurt. Whatever!
See, that’s the problem with a lot of these big-dick niggas, which is why I sometimes wonder if dick size really matters, or is it really all about the motion of the ocean? Well, I guess it does matter depending on what you’re in the mood for. Truth be told, I’ve had men as long as eleven and a half inches and as thick as a cucumber, some as short as six inches and as thick as a beer can, and others in between and as thin as a pencil. And what I’ve found is that the ones who fall short in the length department tend to make up for it in other areas, like eating the pussy until your uterus shakes. Most of ’em definitely have a crazy tongue game. And most (not all) men with a long, thick dick—like Benson’s sorry ass—tend to be lazy with it. Mostly due to the fact that they get so much attention from dick-crazed women that they think they don’t have to put in any work or make any effort to ensure you get yours too. They either want to lay back and expect you to do all the damn work, or they cum quicker than a rabbit. Ugh! There’s nothing more distressing than a big-dick mofo with a whacked-ass sex game.
And the ones who know exactly how to work the hell out of it, giving you blood-curdling orgasms, have been gassed up by women (and I have been guilty of doing it too) to believe that they’re God’s gift to women based on the size of their dick. But I’ll admit, engaging in sex with a big dick can definitely be rather intoxicating, if its owner is on point. Unfortunately, this particular night with Benson, I was fucking gypped!
Anyway, in terms of dick size, I suspect it’s those chicks with the four-finger and fist pussies constantly complaining about the size of a man’s dick. A man can’t even finger-pop her coochie without her snatch sucking in his whole damn hand. Their holes are so beat up and stretched out the frame that fucking them with an average-size dick would be like trying to fuck the Atlantic Ocean. Humph.
Now, to be perfectly honest with you, when a man is up inside of me, I do need to feel him knocking these walls around. But he doesn’t always have to knock the bottom out. Give me a thick dick with a whole lot of motion and I’m good to go. And if I’m going to suck a dick, then it needs to fill my wide mouth, and not feel like I’m sucking on a damn Tic-Tac. And if I’m going to jerk a dick off I want to be able to use both of my hands—not a set of tweezers, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, I believe the reason my snatch snaps back, and grips a dick with ease is because I alternate the dick. I don’t stick with one dick type. I fuck ’em all. And no matter how many dicks I ride, it’s because of that fact that I’m able to maintain this five-star pussy. Think what you like, I’m telling you what I know.
Oh, the power of dick…how it can have a chick lose her mind over it. How it can force a woman to forget everything that is rational, and pure, and have her caught up in the drama of chasing it down, fighting over it, and having babies by it, knowing damn well the man attached to it is not gonna take care of her or them little snotty-nosed crumb snatchers. I had a dude I was once fucking actually say: “A bitch will know that I’m fucking other chicks and still give me the keys to her car, let me lay up in her spot, and even hit me with money outta her bank accounts, all because I rammed my big dick up in her guts and fucked the shit outta her dumb ass.”
I simply stared at him, and could do nothing but shake my head because I knew what he spoke held truth. Then he added, “If I fuck you and see any signs of weakness or stupidity over how good I’ve thrashed your back out, then I’m gonna run your dumb ass straight through the mud. And that’s real talk.”
Well, all I can say is this: I’m so damn glad I’ve never succumbed to such madness. And I don’t really feel sorry for these chicks who have this “knowledge” and still allow themselves to get played. Shame on ’em. And to add to the craziness, I have to shake my head at the men who measure their manhood by the length of their dicks, and the number of women they fuck, use, or have fighting over them.
I don’t even know why I got on this topic ’cause the more I think about it, the more disgusted I find myself getting with these stupid-assed, dick-whipped, scatter-brained women out here with their ridiculous antics over what’s hanging between a man’s legs. It’s obvious there’s a whole lot of strength behind the thrust of a cock. ’Cause, baby, dick, like good pussy, will flat out have a chick doing some crazy shit if she lets it control her. She becomes possessed by the dick. And before you know it she has turned into a weak-minded, emotionally unstable bitch—even if only for a moment. I’m seeing more and more women doing dumb shit behind a damn piece of dick. Dick will have a woman walking out on her husband, abandoning her children. It will have her lying and stealing and pushing drugs. Dick will have her dismissing all of her friends. It will have her selling her pussy. Dick will have her risking her life and health. It will have her begging and crying, and fighting other women, knocking on doors, and playing childish-ass phone games. It will have her plotting and scheming to have someone else’s man. Ugh! And it will have her dumb ass losing everything she owns because she has allowed it to fuck her silly ass into stupidity. Humph
. As bad as I don’t want to admit it, dick is dangerous! And I have one thing to say: All hail to the Almighty King Ding-a-ling!
CHAPTER THREE
“Hello?” I answer groggily.
“Hey, baby. You up?” the voice on the other end asks in a seductive whisper.
I rub my eyes and glance over at the digital clock on my night-stand. I squint to make sure I’m not hallucinating. 3:15 a.m. My eyes widen. What in the hell?! “Please tell me you have lost your damn mind,” I snap through clenched teeth, “calling me this time of the morning when I have to be up for work in another three hours.”
“Damn, baby, I ain’t mean to wake you,” he says, almost sounding apologetic. But I know enough to know that this mofo isn’t sorry about shit. “I thought you might be up thinking about this dick.”
He chuckles.
I roll my eyes, letting out a disgusted sigh.
Now had this been six or seven months ago, I would have graciously accepted his call with the promise of wetting his dick up nice and slow. And with Vince, the one thing I was always guaranteed was a dose of mouth-watering, powerhouse dick. But that was then, and this is now.
“Oh, really?” I sarcastically inquire, sitting up in bed. I am pissed that he has awakened me from a delicious, pussy-pleasing dream—one that has left me sopping wet. I turn on the night lamp, sighing. “Well, I’m not! So why are you calling me so early?”
“You’ve been on my mind.”
“Ohhhhkaaaay. And you had to call at me this hour to let me know this, right?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
I suck my teeth. “Since when?”
“C’mon, baby,” he says, lowering his voice. “Don’t play. You know how I feel ’bout you. I got you on the brain like crazy. I’ve been real fucked up lately, missing you and shit.”
Now a lonely, simple-minded bitch would fall headfirst for this line of bullshit he’s dishing out. And before you knew it, he’d be slamming his dick in her ass, twisting her guts out. But I’m not the one.
