by Cairo
“Have fun,” I say, not looking up.
“I’ll stop by later.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, raising my eyes from the monthly projection report. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too,” she says, pausing before leaving. I can tell she wants to say something more, but can’t quite find the words. A few seconds go by.
I tilt my head, turning my hands palms up. “Umm, is there something else?”
She slowly shakes her head, pursing her lips. She has decided not to strain her brain, and I’m thankful. I watch her make her way to the door. When she is gone, I shake my head. “There’s no fucking way I’m ever dating anyone from this place,” I say to myself. “I don’t care how fine he is. Besides, most people don’t know what the hell dating means any damn way.”
Now help me understand something. Is it me, or am I the only one who got the memo on dating? I mean, damn! In my opinion, dating means you can go out with Fred on Thursday, go clubbing with Leon on Friday, have drinks and a movie with Stan on Saturday, and fuck all three of ’em on Sunday if you so choose. Not that you have to, or should be expected to. However, if you feel the urge to ride the dick to see what they have to offer, then you do exactly that. Just be responsible. And don’t expect it to be no more than what it was, a fuck.
Unless I’m missing something, dating does not equal relationship. Dating is a filtering, get-to-know-you process. It helps you weed out the men who are full of shit. Dating is asking questions. It’s one big interview, in my opinion. But, of course, no one dates anymore. It’s straight fucking, then right into moving him in. Talk about stupid!
Then when shit starts coming up missing in the house, or he starts staying out late or not coming home at all, or has trouble keeping a job, or wants to lie around the house in his boxers, scratching his balls and playing Xbox all damn day, you want to bitch and complain about it. Uh, duh, dumb ass, that’s what your ass gets when you don’t take the time out to learn a man before jumping straight into a relationship with him. Oh, don’t think that doesn’t go for men too. They get caught up in a big butt and smile attached to some good pussy, then before you know it, they’re complaining about her ass too.
Whatever! All I know is you get what you get when you don’t take the time to look for what you really want, and don’t ask questions. You know, maybe it’s me. But some of these fucking people today are really pathetic.
Humph. Well, since I’m already disgusted, I might as well go in for the kill and send out this special public service announcement to these dizzy-ass chicks—better known as the birds—swooping around the room. Listen, sweetie. I hate to be the one to tell you, but most dudes ain’t tryna wife you. They only want to fuck your low-budget ass every which way.
Besides giving you a stiff dick, don’t think he’s really going to lace you with much. He already knows that all he has to do is buy you a bottle of Hennessy, some Alizé, and come through with some smoke (trees, collard greens, or whatever else the pot heads call it) and you’re going to let him smash your insides out all night. And if he’s feeling generous, he’ll hit you with a fresh pair of kicks, or slide you a few dollars to get your hair and nails done. You might even be able to get a few more dollars (a hundred at most) out of him. Yeah, he might even splurge on a standard room at the Hilton or Sheraton for you. Hell, he knows it’s a step up from the Motel 6s and the backseats of cars you’re used to. He knows it doesn’t take much to excite you. You love his company and the fact that someone like him is paying you some attention. He already knows you think he’s the best thing that has ever come your way and that you’re not trying to let him go. He might even tell you he’s “feelin” you. But, you best believe you aren’t ever going to be his main girl, even if he is splashing off raw inside of you. At the end of the day, you just a bird to him. And when he bounces from your nest, he’s shaking off the feathers and going home to his main chick. Believe that!
CHAPTER NINE
I love New York, damn it! Yesterday I went to the Harlem Book Festival and it was packed. There was so much positive energy flowing. There were a ton of well-known and up-and-coming authors pushing their books. I finally got the chance to meet Anna J. She’s the freaky chick who wrote that book My Woman, His Wife. She was actually pretty cool, and I loved her sense of humor. Now you know I had to ask her if she was down with any of that stuff she wrote in her book. She laughed, then leaned in and whispered, “Girlfriend, I’m strictly about the dick; there’s nothing a chick can do for me.” Well, now, that’s what I’m talking ’bout. She’s all right with me.
Not only did I get autographed books, I took a ton of pictures. I also had the chance to meet some of the authors whose books I’ve read. And, baaaaby, let me tell you. There were some fine-ass men out there, showing body. Whew, dick for days! We are really some beautiful people. And it was really nice to see us all together without drama. Plus, the weather was beautiful!
Humph. Who said black folks don’t read?
Anyway, I got home around eight-thirty, then had the nerve to go to a club in Woodbridge called Studio 9. This big-time promoter from Newark was having a party there. I’ve been there twice, and each time I’ve had a great time. It’s always packed, and the music is enough to make my body hot. And the men are always plentiful. So I decided to get fly, and do the damn thing—by myself. I will never understand why a chick would hang out with a bunch of other chicks like a pack of wolves, competing for the attention and sometimes temporary affection of a man. I can see maybe two chicks going out on the town together. Even that would be a bit much for me since I like doing my dirt solo. But hanging with four, five, and six bitches, humph. You know like I know that if there are five chicks in a bunch, at least three of ’em are on the prowl for some dick, hunting for someone to take home who will fuck them relentlessly. Nine times out of ten, of the three hoes in the group, two of ’em got their eye on the same nigga. Please. Who has time for that shit?
Anyway, I got my dance on, took a few numbers, then was ready to go on my way. But of course, things don’t always go according to plan, which is not always a bad thing. Interestingly, I wasn’t really out on cock patrol or looking to get into anything last night. I wanted to finger-pop a bit, then bring it back to the house. But as I was walking toward my car, this brotha leaned his head out of the passenger’s window of a sleek, black S600, and said, “Yo, ma, damn you fine. Let me holla at you.”
Now I started to ignore him and keep it moving, but when I cut my eyes over at him, I noticed how sexy he was, so I told him if he wanted to speak to me, he needed to step out of the car and come over to me like a grown-ass man instead of some little boy. And that’s exactly what he did. I immediately sized him up. The dude was fine, and definitely young. But who cares? He had a grown-man swagger I found appealing. If he wanted to play with matches, then I’d be more than happy to set his ass on fire.
The minute he stepped up in my space, I asked him how I could help him. And he said I could help him by giving him my name and number. I smiled and told him to walk me to my car. He did. As we walked, I learned he was twenty (just like I thought, barely legal), from Hartford, but was resting in Elizabeth. When we got to my car, I told him he’d better get back to his ride before they left him. He gave me a look, then made it clear that nothing moved unless he moved. That made my pussy jump. I smiled.
“You ever been with an older woman?”
“Yeah,” he boasted. “I don’t rock with no one under twenty-five. Chicks my age bore me.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m thirty. Think you can handle that?”
“No doubt, baby.”
“You ever fuck a chick in her ass?” I boldly asked.
He didn’t flinch. “Nah, not yet. I haven’t met a chick who wasn’t scared to let me.”
“I love it when a man fucks me in the ass,” I said, getting right to the point. “It makes my pussy wet and creamy. Once you get a taste of a nice, tight ass wrapped around your dick, you’ll think
you were in heaven.”
“Damn, you a real live freak, I see.”
“I like to get my fuck on. You got a problem with that?”
“Nah, baby. Do you?” He rubbed his chin, then pulled at his neatly trimmed goatee. He licked his lips. “So you like taking dick in the ass?”
“I love it,” I said. “It makes me cum like a fountain whenever I have a nice big dick deep in my ass, and fingers fucking my pussy. Do you have a big dick?”
He grinned, stepping in closer. “Is ten inches big enough for you?”
“Is it thick?”
“Like a cucumber. And it shoots more than one round.”
“Well, check this out,” I said, all sexy-like. “I need my pussy and ass licked. And I’m looking for a nigga who ain’t scared to put the work in. Then when I’m done cumming all over his face and lips, I want dude to lie back, close his eyes, and let me use my mouth and tongue to suck and lick his balls, then milk the nut out of his dick. And for the record, I got a fat, puffy pussy with thick lips and a big clit. And I like it when, after a man finishes slurping, licking, and sucking all over it, he turns me over, spreads open my fat ass cheeks, then eats my ass out the way a freaky, nasty-ass man is supposed to.” Then I told him I would fuck and suck his ding-a-ling into a damn sling. You know, straight house him until his dick cramped up.
Let me tell you. By the time I had finished, I had him drooling.
“So, you still tryna holla?”
“Hell, yeah. Shit. Let’s go get a room.”
I laughed. “Slow down, tiger. Not tonight.”
“Oh, you playin’ games, right?”
“Baby boy, I don’t play games. I live life. And I fuck on my terms.”
“You got a name?”
“It’s Janaye. And yours?”
“Quincy, but all my peeps call me Q.”
He was not only intrigued, but turned the hell on. I could tell his dick was harder than steel by the way he shoved his hands down in his pockets and kept shifting from one leg to the other. He pulled his dick to the side, trying his hardest to keep it in check. I smiled, then leaned in closer and asked him if he was willing to release his inhibitions, to relax his mind, and allow me to take him to higher ground.
When he said, “Hell yeah,” I discreetly ran my hand along the front of his jeans, squeezed his dick, then whispered my pre-paid cell number into his ear. I opened my car door, then slid in. I rolled my window down, blew him a kiss, and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. Now between you and me, if he’s able to remember my number and calls, I’m going to fuck his young ass sideways. If not, oh well.
Well, gotta go. I’m exhausted from my weekend, so I need to get my ass in the bed. Tomorrow it’s back to work, and I need to have my mind right in order to deal with them folks. Ugh, I really fucking hate Mondays. Oh, well. Good night. Until the next time…happy fucking and sucking!
CHAPTER TEN
Let me ask you something: Do you think if a man allows you to insert a finger into his ass and he really enjoys it, he might have bisexual or gay tendencies? How many men do you think have allowed their partners to finger-fuck ’em, then felt guilty afterward? He’s afraid of how she’s looking at him, worrying about what she’s thinking, or whether she’s going to tell the world their bedroom secret.
Well, if I had to answer the first question, I’d say, “Personally, I don’t think so.” There is nothing wrong with massaging a man’s prostate and giving him that ultimate nut. Now, uh, if he’s asking you to strap on a dildo and fuck him deep, then I’d say, “Proceed with caution, and keep your eyes and ears open.” But it still doesn’t mean he’s sexually attracted to men. Honestly, if a man wanted me to fuck him, I would. I’d slap that ass, strap on a long, thick dildo, and dick him down like no tomorrow, then suck his dick when I’m done tearing his asshole out the frame. I’d do him exactly like some of them do us. Rough and dirty.
“Yeah, take this dick, nigga. You like Mommy’s big black dick? You want Mommy to nut up in that ass? Whose ass is this? That’s right, back that hairy ass up on this dick…this ass is mine, nigga…damn, you got some good, tight ass…don’t let me find out you givin’ this ass to some other bitch.”
And the whole time, I’d alternate slapping both of his ass cheeks. The thought has me cracking the fuck up. Yep, I sure would strap it up, and tap it up. I’d fuck him silly. Then afterward, I’d give him some of Mommy’s hot, wet pussy and let him know he’s still a damn man. At the end of the day, I wouldn’t think it meant he was gay or had bisexual tendencies. You can only be gay or bisexual if there’s a sexual attraction to the same sex, right?
Anyway, my answer to the second question is, “I think men who are very insecure in whom they are as men, or have secretly questioned their sexual identities are the ones who start tripping.” If they’re really secure in their sexuality and their women feel secure about who they are as men (and partners), then I don’t think there should be any guilt or concern. I see it as two open-minded adults satisfying each other sexually. However, a woman still needs to keep her mouth shut about what is jumping off in the bedroom. Just because she may think there’s nothing wrong with it, doesn’t mean her girls won’t. They’ll be looking at both of them sideways, snickering behind their backs. Or if a woman does think there’s something wrong with her man liking anal play and she discusses it with her so-called friends, trust and believe they’re gonna have a lot to say about that. They’ll get all up in her ear and head. Then by the end of the night—after three bottles of wine, or a few shots of Henny—they’ll have her ass thinking her man is a full-fledged drag queen. Then her drunk ass will go home and curse him out and accuse him of fucking men. And before you know it, he’s done packed his shit and left her ass. Then two weeks later, guess who’ll be fucking her man? You got it! It’ll be one of the same bitches who sat up in her face and gassed her ass all up. So she should definitely keep her mouth closed about it. Of course, this is the opinion of a ho. So what do I know?
Well, for starters, I know—and I will keep repeating myself on this—I can’t stand a person who flaps their lips like wings, yapping all of the goings-on behind closed doors. That to me is a damn no-no, especially if this is someone you plan on seeing again or becoming romantically involved with. Now if it’s a one-time fuck, then do you. Other than that, keep your fucking mouth shut!
I also know that most men want a woman who knows how to get freaky with it. Yeah, they want a conservative, mild-mannered chick in public, but behind closed doors, men crave a woman who can, I repeat, fuck a dick, suck a dick, and ain’t scared of a dick. They want her to be open enough to experiment, to role-play, to share all of their freaky little secrets.
I sigh, deciding that in addition to the questions I already ask men I meet, I’m going to add some others to the list: You ever had a chick lick your asshole? Or stick her finger in your butt while she’s sucking your dick? (If he says no, I’ll ask him if he’s willing to try it. This will give me an idea of exactly how far he’ll go sexually.) Are you secure in your sexuality? Are you willing to step outside of your comfort zone and really get freaky with it? Ever been with another man? If not, have you ever wondered what it would be like? Would you ever consider trying it if the opportunity presented itself, provided it would be kept private and discreet? This is what I need to know. Of course, I don’t expect him to be honest about that last question, but I’ll ask it anyway just to watch his facial expression and body language. Let’s be real, men who like it in the ass would never admit to it, not to a woman, for fear of being dissed. He might secretly masturbate while thinking about it, but he would never actually confess to it.
I want men to know that all their nasty little secrets are safe with me. My lair is a place where a man can explore his deepest, darkest sexual fantasies without judgment. Without sideways glances. Without being emasculated. Behind these closed doors, I allow a man to be as freaky as he wants to be. Hell, as I already mentioned, I’m willing to strap on a dild
o and do him in his ass while jerking him off if that’s what he’s into. I aim to please.
Not that whether he’s honest or not really matters ’cause if I want to fuck him, I’m going to do it anyway. He’d just have to double-wrap his dick, then keep it moving. Hell, there’re many women fucking men who have no idea who or what the hell the guys are doing at the end of the day, so what damn difference does it really make?
Well, knowing gives us choices. Not knowing puts us at greater risk. But either way, one should always, always practice safe sex; especially when he’s not your damn husband or man. But, then again, even then, you still don’t know. Do you?
My cell phone rings. I glance at the number, rolling my eyes. It’s Barry. “Hello,” I say into the receiver.
“Hey, stranger,” he says. His rich baritone voice drips with sex appeal. “What you been up to?”
“Not much,” I offer, sitting on the edge of my bed. I close my eyes, envisioning his naked body sprawled out in the center of my bed. “What’s been going on with you?”
“Same shit. I wanna see you tonight.” He’s talking all low ’n shit on his cell while his wife is in the other room getting their kids ready for bed. He tells me how he can’t stop thinking ’bout how good this pussy feels wrapped around his dick. And how bad he wants some more. Well, of course he does! They all do.
I sigh. Let me tell you a little bit about Barry. He’s a six-foot-four, two-hundred-thirty-pound, wanna-be Rasta whom I met in New Orleans at the Essence Festival last year. He has six children with four different baby mamas. And yes, I fucked him on the spot. Once I learned he was from East Orange, I made it my business to fuck him again, and again, and again until I had enough of his cum-cannon. The last time I fucked him was almost four months ago. It took me almost two days to recover from him rocking my pussy inside out.
