Daddy Long Stroke

by Cairo

  I sigh. “Yo, check this out. Where the fuck is all this comin’ from?”

  “Ask ya motherfucking boy, Ron, nigga.”

  “What? Ron? What that nigga got to do wit’ how you comin’ at me?”

  “I saw him at Divas last night all drunk up ’n shit. That nigga was tryna press up real hard ’n shit and ride all up on a bitch.” For some reason, I feel myself gettin’ tight hearin’ this shit. Not ’cause I got some claim on her, but ’cause that nigga knows what it is wit’ me and her. And he straight disrespected that.

  “Okay, so he was tryna get at you. And? You still ain’t said what that got to do wit’ how you talkin’.”

  “The nigga told me all about your stay in Atlanta. You know. The motherfucking trip I FUCKING paid for! I asked you straight out if you went there to see some other bitch on my dime, and you told me no. But come to find out, you were out there fucking some big-faced, handicapped bitch in a wheelchair or some shit. At my FUCKING expense! That shit is foul as hell. It’s one thing for you to have another bitch’s pussy all dried up around your funky-ass balls while I’m sucking your dick. And it’s another to take my hard-earned money and go see some other bitch, then lie about it. Nigga, I don’t think so!”

  Ain’t this some shit?! That hatin’-ass, bitch-ass nigga! I always knew he was diggin’ her, but I didn’t think the pussy-ass nigga would try ’n snake me to get at her. I’ma confront his ass. But, instead of goin’ in his mouth, I’ma let ’im think he got that off. And the next time his girl comes at me on some slick shit, tryna wet this dick, I’ma fuck the dog shit outta her ugly, knotty-headed ass. I’ma wipe this nut all over her big-ass dick suckas. Straight disrespect her ass on the strength of how that muhfucka tried to play me, word up. I might even take a few snapshots and post ’em up on Facebook. The crazy part is I never told the nigga ’bout that ep. The only person I said anything to was Gee’s dumb ass.

  “I thought we already had this conversation, and I told you what it was. I also told you I’d give you your money back, but you didn’t want it.”

  “No, nigga, I wanted the truth.”

  “And I gave it to you.”

  She sucks her teeth. “Yeah, muhfucka, your version of it.”

  “So you mean to tell me, after three years of us kickin’ it, you gonna believe some muhfucka you don’t even know over me? You gonna let some drunk-ass nigga get all up in ya head. Damn, I thought you was bigger than that.”

  “Muhfucka, don’t go there. Ain’t nobody get up in shit. If you was bigger than that, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation. Dude seemed to know what the hell he was talking about. Why would the nigga wanna lie on you, if he’s ya boy ’n shit?”

  “That nigga ain’t my boy. He’s a muhfucka I chilled wit’ on the strength. Obviously, the nigga wanna smash or beat ya throat up.”

  “Whatever. The only thing that nigga can do is beat it. He can’t do shit else for me.”

  “Yeah, but you believin’ what the fuck comes outta his mouth. What kinda shit is that?”

  “It’s me thinking that maybe the nigga spoke the truth since I was kinda doubting ya lyin’, sneaky ass any-damn-way. Your freak-ass probably was fuckin’ some crippled bitch. Who knows what the fuck you be doing.”

  “Yo, get real, what the fuck a big-dick nigga like me look like fuckin’ some disabled bitch in a wheelchair? That shit don’t even sound right. I’d rip her fuckin’ box out the frame. But since you wanna believe some crazy-ass shit like that, then go ’head. Do you.”

  “Muhfucka, don’t try that reverse-pyschology bullshit with me. I know your kind, nigga. And I think there’s some truth to what that nigga told me. So you can say what the fuck you want. As far as I’m concerned, you’re real fucked up for it.”

  I sigh. “I see you wanna beef, so I’ma let you go.”

  “Yeah, nigga, you do that!”

  “Peace,” I say, disconnectin’ the call, then tossin’ the phone onto the bed. I feel a muthafuckin’ headache comin’ on. And I’m all outta blunts. Fuck! I swing open the bedroom door and head downstairs to get sumthin’ to drink. All the lights are out and the house is quiet. Pops musta dipped over to Moms’, I think, walkin’ into the kitchen. I grab a glass from outta the dishwasher, then open the ’fridge and pour myself some cranberry juice. I take the bag of Cool Ranch Doritos off the counter and head back into the livin’ room.

  I flop on the sofa—still heated. I can’t believe that crab-ass nigga told Akina that bullshit, tryna fuck up my groove. Got her comin’ at my neck all crazy ’n shit, like she’s ’bout to dismiss a nigga. She’s straight trippin’, for real. Aiight, aiight…what I did was fucked up, but that nigga had no muthafuckin’ business runnin’ his muthafuckin’ mouth tellin’ her shit. I can’t front on the chick, though. Akina’s always had my back. No matter what time of the day or night it is, anytime I’ve called her, she’s always been Johnny on the spot. Not that she was sittin’ ’round waitin’ on me to get at her. She just seems to always make time for me when I do. But now this fake muhfucka done went and tossed salt in the game.

  I grab the remote off the coffee table, turnin’ the TV on. Nigga, what in the hell you sittin’ here trippin’ for? She ain’t ya girl. If she wanna bounce, then tell her bounce. You had a good run. The shit wasn’t gonna last forever. Eventually, she was gonna be out anyway. So, fuck it! I think, flippin’ through the channels. I contemplate callin’ Gee’s dumb ass and blastin’ ’im for runnin’ his muthafuckin’ mouth, but decide to get at ’im the next time I see ’im, or the next time he hits me up. I tell u, muhfuckas gotta always be on some extra shit. I’ma give her a few days to cool off, then get at her to see where her head is. “Hopefully, back in this lap,” I mumble, chewin’ on a mouthful of chips. I take a long gulp of juice to rinse ’em down. As usual, ain’t shit on the television. I’m relieved to catch Dexter on Showtime. Yo, this dude is one sick muhfucka; a muthafuckin’ serial killer workin’ for the police department. That’s some shit right there. Although I’ve missed most of the season’s episodes, I make a mental note to purchase the DVD when it comes out.

  Ten minutes into the show, my cell rings. I suck my teeth. It’s Akina callin’ back. I consider iggin’ the shit, but I don’t. “Where are you?” she asks the minute I answer. She doesn’t sound as tight as she was earlier, but there’s still a sharp edge to her tone.

  “I’m at the crib, why?”

  “I need to see you.”

  “For what?”

  She huffs. “I’m on my way over. I’ll get into it then.” She hangs up before I can respond. I sigh, shakin’ my head.

  Twenty minutes later, she’s at the door wit’ her face all twisted up. I open it and let her in. “I hope you ain’t come over here to beef ’cause if so, you coulda did that shit over the phone, word up.”

  She rolls her eyes, brushin’ past me wearin’ a brown three-quarter leather coat and a pair of knee-high boots. “Nigga, ain’t nobody come here to beef with you,” she says, unfastenin’ her coat. “I’m here to set the record straight. And get shit out in the open, once and for all.”

  I stare at her shiny lips. They have me thinkin’ ’bout havin’ ’em wrapped ’round the head of my dick. I wanna grab my shit, pull it out, but don’t. She squints her slanted eyes at me. She knows my mind is startin’ to wander. Knows I’m startin’ to become preoccupied wit’ sexin’ her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She has a strand of hair swooped over her face and it makes her look sexier than she already is.

  She removes her coat and wraps it over her arm. She smells good as hell. I inhale, tryna figure out what she has on. I can’t front, like so many of the other broads I fuck—okay, okay…and fucked over—this bitch is bad as hell. She’d definitely be a good woman for someone, just not me. For me, she’s only good for fuckin’.

  “You want me to take that?” I ask, reachin’ for her coat.

  “Nope,” she says as she walks over to the sofa. I peep the way her designer
jeans wrap ’round her ass like an extra layer of skin, and feel my dick jump. She sits down. “I won’t be here long.”

  “Oh, word? So what you gotta say to me in person that you couldn’t say over the phone?”

  “Look, let me be clear on something. I know what it is…I mean, what it was, between us—absolutely nothin’. The only thing we’ve been is fuck buddies. And I’ve been cool with that. But what I’m not cool with is you tryna play me as some dumb-ass chick. That does not sit well with me.”

  I decide to keep some distance between us and sit in the chair ’cross from her. “Yo, I don’t think that.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Yo, how you gonna tell me what I think?”

  “Well, you act like it. And it pisses me the fuck off that you would even come at me like I was. And it pisses me off even more that I’ve allowed you to make me feel vulnerable and used and disrespected. I know I can’t be mad at you ’cause you told me what it was wit’ you from the gate. And you’ve shown me time and time again who you really are. But I still chose to fuck with you. So I get what I get ’cause I’ve allowed it…” She pauses, stares at me, throws her head back, fights back tears.

  “I can’t keep lying to myself. I love you, nigga. I don’t know when it happened. But it did. Even though I knew in my head I shoulda kept it moving; that I shoulda never let you in my head, or my heart, ’cause you’re no motherfucking good, I still allowed myself to fall head over heels for you anyway. And it hurts knowing that you don’t love me back. It hurts knowing that you aren’t capable of loving anyone other than yourself…”

  Damn, that’s the same shit Cherry hit me wit’. I shift in my seat. She’s right. I don’t love her, I like her. But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of loving someone other than myself.

  “…I’ve tried to act like you fucking other chicks doesn’t bother me, but it does. You’re the only nigga I’m fucking. I cut e’eryone else off, still knowing you were gonna be plowing ya dick through a buncha bitches. You get at me when you get at me, and my stupid ass sits around waiting for you to toss me the scraps them other hoes leave behind. I’m not blaming you. I blame myself. But the shit still hurts. You told me, warned me, not to get too caught up in you, but I did any-damn-way. And it’s gotten way outta hand. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t.

  “And right now, I need for you to look me in my face and tell me the fuckin’ truth. Not the lie you’ve turned inside-out to become the reality you’ve created in your fucked-up head. I want the real T-R-U-T-H. That’s the only thing I wanna hear. Can you do that?”

  I take a deep breath. I’m really not beat for this shit right now. But I created this shit wit’ her, and listenin’ to her spill her heart out to me has a muhfucka feelin’ some kinda way. If she wants the truth, then I owe it to her. That’s the least I can give her, feel me? “You got that,” I say, leanin’ forward in my seat, restin’ my elbows on my knees.

  “Then tell me this. Is anything that nigga Ron said true? Were you in Atlanta fuckin’ some crippled-ass bitch on my dime?”

  “Hell, no,” I tell her, frownin’. “She was a mid…uh, I mean, little person.”

  She blinks, blinks again. Tilts her head as if she’s tryna wrap her mind ’round what I’ve said. “A little person,” she repeats in disbelief, “like in midget?”

  I nod. “Yeah, sumthin’ like that.”

  “Wait. Wait one goddamn minute! You fucking dissed me to stick ya dick up in some midget?!” She stares at me in disbelief. “OhmyfuckingGod, pleeeeeeease tell me you’re joking. You’re actually telling me you fucking looked me in my face and lied about having a dying grandmother, so you could get out to Atlanta to FUCK some goddamn dwarf bitch?!”

  I run my hands over my face, then cup the back of my head. “Yeah, I mean, no.” She tilts her head, raises her eyebrow. “Yeah, I lied about my grandmother bein’ sick. But chick lied to me. I didn’t know she was a half-pint ’til I got there.”

  “And that’s supposed to make the shit better? Nigga, puhleeze! That’s exaaaactly what ya lying, sneaky ass gets,” she says through clenched teeth. “I’m sooooooo fucking pissed right now. OhmyGod, I don’t believe this shit. I really hoped what the nigga was talking was a buncha shit.” She stares at me, shakes her head. “You know what? I can’t even be mad at you ’cause you were only being who you are. I knew from the jump you were a dog, so I don’t know what I was thinking. Niggas like you don’t change ’cause you don’t ever think what you’re doing is wrong. And because there’s bitches like me who’ll keep allowing you to do the shit you do, you’ll always do what you do. We always want what we can’t have. And I know for a fact I will never have you. No one will. ’Cause ya black ass is too goddamn selfish!”

  She breaks down and starts that cryin’ shit. A part of me wants to tell her to shut the fuck up wit’ all that noise; to go wipe her snotty-ass nose; to get the fuck out ’cause I told her so, but… another part of me, is feelin’ kinda bad for her. Then again, why the fuck should I? She brought this shit on herself.

  I get up from my seat and excuse myself while I go upstairs. A few minutes later, I come back down. She’s still crying, but not howlin’ like a damn wounded hyena. I hand her five bills. “Yo, here’s ya money back.”

  Instead of her takin’ the shit, she stares at my hand, then fuckin’ snaps, jumpin’ up swingin’ off on a nigga, like she’s possessed. “Nigga, I don’t give a fuck about that money. You fuckin’ tried to be on some slick shit. You think handin’ me that paper’s gonna change shit?”

  “Yo, hol’ up,” I say, grabbin’ her by the wrists.

  “Get the fuck off me!” She yanks her arms, but I gotta tight grip on ’em. “Why the fuck you have to lie to me, huh, nigga? Why the fuck did you have to fucking play me?” She starts tryna kick me. We wrestle a bit ’til I get her in a bear hug. I’m really tryna keep from swingin’ her ass into a wall, then straight smashin’ her chin, but she’s not makin’ it easy for me. The whole time I’m wrestlin’ wit’ her ass, I’m glad Pops ain’t here. And I’m hopin’ like hell he doesn’t walk in on this shit.

  “Yo, c’mon, baby, you wildin’ out, for real.”

  “C’mon, hell, nigga. Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me. Get ya fucking hands off me!” She starts tryna kick my shins, and stomp down on my feet. The bitch has me shufflin’ ’round tryna keep her from diggin’ her six-inch heels in me. I swear I don’t need this shit right now. I squeeze her tighter. Flip her ass onto the sofa, knockin’ shit over. I pin her down. She’s still cursin’ and screamin’ and tryna wriggle herself free. She’s straight beastin’. And I’ve never seen her like this. Wild and muthafuckin’ crazy. “Get the fuck off of me!”

  “Not until you calm down,” I say, pressin’ my forearm into her neck.

  “You’re…choking…me…”

  “Then stop tryna fight me. I don’t wanna fight wit’ you. I understand you’re mad. But I’m not ’bout to apologize for you gettin’ all caught up in ya feelin’s.”

  “Fuck you! Get the fuck off of me!”

  “You need to calm down first, for real.” After ’bout ten more minutes of her thrashin’ around, she finally stops movin’. I slowly let up on my grip, takin’ my forearm from offa her neck. “You calm?”

  “Get…off…of…ME.” My gut tells me to keep her ass pinned down a lil’ longer, but I don’t listen to it. I let her go, and as soon as I do, she jumps up and starts hookin’ off. “I hate you, you black motherfucker!” She hits me in the mouth, bustin’ my lip. I try to grab her. She swings again. I block her blow. Grab her by the arm, and twist it behind her back. I don’t wanna hit her. I swear I don’t. But I’m startin’ to think I’ma haveta knock her the fuck out, or break her goddamn arm to calm her ass down. I grab her tighter. And this bitch bites my arm. She grinds her teeth into my skin. Now she has me hollerin’ and screamin’ like a lil’ bitch.

  “Yo, what the fuck! Owww…get the fuck off…. Fuck!” I try to pry her off of my arm b
efore she bites a chunk of my arm off. And, before I know what’s come over me, I punch the bitch in her damn head. One, two, three quick blows to her dome before she finally lets go of my arm. I grab it. She grabs her head. Blood is comin’ from my mouth and arm. “Fuck!”

  “OhmyGod,” she says, holdin’ both sides of her head. “I can’t fucking believe you punched me in my head like that. OhmyfuckingGod, you fucker! I got a big-ass knot in my head.”

  This ho put her hands on me, first. Then sunk her muthafuckin’ fangs in me, busted my lip, and got me comin’ outta pocket. “Bitch, you damn straight I lumped ya ass up. What you did wasn’t cool, at all. Puttin’ ya muthafuckin’ hands on me. And right now I feel like hittin’ ya ass, again. Dead in the center of your muthafuckin’ forehead. So you best get ya shit, and get the fuck out before I break your muthafuckin’ jaw.”

  I’m pacin’ the room, practically foamin’ out the mouth. I literally feel myself ’bout to black on her ass. Her eyes bulge. I can tell I’m scarin’ her. Good! She’s crossed the muthafuckin’ line, feel me? I have never put my hands on a broad, but you got the game fucked up, if you think I’ma ever sit back and let a bitch hook off on me and shit’s gonna be sweet. I ain’t that nigga! And all I know is if she doesn’t bounce the fuck up outta here in less than ten seconds, I’ma forget my vow to never put my hands on a female, and beat this bitch the fuck up tonight, word up!

  31

  “What happened to your lip?” Moms asks the minute I step through the door. It’s still swollen from that shit wit’ Akina the other night. I know Pops already told her how he walked in and found the livin’ room all tossed up and Akina lookin’ all wild-eyed, yellin’ and screamin’, runnin’ outta the front door, holdin’ the side of her head, almost knockin’ him over. And there I was standing there with blood dripping from my arm and lip. He straight blacked on me.