Daddy Long Stroke

by Cairo

  There’s a buncha bitches rockin’ Juicy jumpsuits, Uggs and Louis bags. I peep a group of pampered white broads dipped in ice ’n chunky jewels, pushin’ double strollers. They reek of money! I glance at my watch. It’s goin’ on four o’clock. My balls are heavy as hell right now. And I wanna bust a couple rounds off. I pull out my phone and scroll through my address book to see who I can set up some head wit’ for later tonight. As I’m scrollin’ down the list of hoes on my roster, most of these greedy bitches gonna wanna fuck, or sixty-nine. Right now, I’m on some selfish-type shit. I’m not feelin’ any extras. Hell, as long as she loves to suck dick, she can be ugly as dog shit as far as I’m concerned. My eyes are gonna be closed any-fuckin’-way, so who cares what the fuck she looks like. I decide to hit up this turtle-neck broad, Nicole, I used to fuck wit’ from Rahway. She’s ’bout five feet, six inches; one-hunnid-and-eighteen pounds wit’ this long-ass neck like a turtle, which is definitely good for throatin’. It’s been a minute since I punched up her throat. Last time I was wit’ her, she told a nigga he can get at her anytime he wanted; didn’t make a difference who she was wit’, she’d always suck down on this dick.

  “Hey, stranger,” she says, soundin’ happy to hear from me.

  “What’s good wit’ you?”

  “Nothing much; just work and school. That’s about it. What’s been up with you? I haven’t heard from you in almost a year; thought you forgot about me.”

  “Nah, baby, never that.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I was starting to think I did something wrong to chase you away.”

  I laugh. “Nah, baby, I don’t run easy. You know how it is. Life ’n shit got a cat busy.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “Yo, you feel like swallowin’ tonight?” I ask, peepin’ these two young hoes checkin’ for me. I can tell they real hot in the ass. I act like I don’t see ’em, though. Too damn young. I watch ’em bounce ’n shake their asses as they walk, shakin’ my head. “Daddy’s lookin’ for someone who wants to suck ’n throat this hard-ass cock tonight. Is that someone gonna be you?”

  “Is head all you want?” she asks, lowerin’ her voice; tryna sound sexy ’n shit.

  “Wet ’n sloppy,” I tell her, “wit’ a buncha slurpin’, gulpin’ and gurglin’.”

  “About what time?” she asks as Moms comes strollin’ over wit’ three Bloomingdale’s signature brown bags.

  “About nine.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  “Dig, let me get back to you, baby,” I tell her before disconnectin’ the call. “You ready to bounce?” I ask Moms as she hands me her shoppin’ bags. She got a muhfucka loaded down wit’ shit, carryin’ four bags in one hand, and three in the other.

  “There’s one more store I wanna go into,” she tells me. “Well, actually two more.”

  I sigh. “You killin’ me, Ma, for real.”

  She chuckles. “Whatever little plans you have, or had, you need to cancel them ’cause I’m the only woman you gonna be spending your time with today. And right now I’m not finished shopping, so get over your self.”

  I smile, shakin’ my head. “Aiight, Ma. You got that.”

  “You damn right, I do.” I laugh at her. Tell her I’m gonna be in the American Express Members lounge—yeah, a muhfucka gotta AMEX card. And?—while she finishes burnin’ up her paper. I dip into the lounge, find me a spot in the corner and set the bags down. Then grab a cranapple drink. My cell rings. It’s Mike. “Yo, what’s good?”

  “Chillin’, son, you know how I do. What’s good with you?”

  “Shit, man. Out here in this packed-ass mall wit’ Moms ’n shit.”

  He laughs. “Mom Dukes got you out in all that madness spendin’ paper. That’s wassup.”

  “Yeah, sumthin’ like that.”

  “Dig, I got our tix for the All-Star games as well.”

  “Oh, word. How much them shits run?” He tells me he copped floor-end seats for the All-Star game; that they costs six hundred and fifty apiece. He was able to get ’em through a hookup, so I’ma only haveta come outta my pocket wit’ half of that, but I gotta shell out two-hundred-and-twenty-five dollars for the celebrity game tix. Then he tells me he put it on his credit card, so he’s gonna need my portion of the money before the due date. In my head, I’m already tryna figure out which broad I’ma hit up to recoup my paper. “Aiight, bet. I’ll get that to you.”

  “Aiight cool. Yo, that nigga Ron pulled out, talkin’ ’bout his money bein’ funny, so he ain’t rollin’.”

  “Yo, fuck that pussy-ass nigga,” I snap. “That muhfucka did some real bitch shit, so I’m glad the nigga ain’t rollin’. I don’t want that snake anywhere near me.”

  “Oh, word? What that nigga do?” I tell ’em that shit that went down wit’Akina. “Damn, yo. That’s fucked up. I always heard he was a shiesty-type nigga, but I didn’t know he was on it like that.”

  “Yeah, that nigga was straight hatin’ on the kid. But it’s all good.”

  “Yo, how he find out?”

  “Gee’s dumb ass,” I say, peepin’ these two Oriental broads as they walk into the lounge, carryin’ a buncha bags. Both of ’em are rockin’ stilettoes and designer bags. I wonder if them shits are real, or knockoffs. I bet they own a buncha weave ’n wig shops or nail salons, too. I peep the bling ’round their necks and in their lobes, grinnin’. Damn, they right, I think, eyein’ ’em as they go over to the complimentary gift wrap station. I always heard Asian hoes—well, Akina doesn’t count since she’s mixed wit’ black— have some nice tight pussies, and seein’ these two sexy chicks got me wantin’ to sample a few. I try to imagine what they gonna look like in another ten years; try to figure out why the hell most of ’em age so damn hard. I make a mental note to get at a young dish of full-blooded Sushi the first chance I get. “You know that nigga can’t keep shit on the low. I don’t know why I even told his gossipin’ ass, any-damn-way. I feel like bitch slappin’ him when I see his ass.”

  “So what’s good wit’ you and baby girl? Did that nigga fuck things up for you?”

  “Man, listen. You don’t even wanna know. She tried to get on some ole Mike Tyson shit, throwin’ punches and bitin’ up a muhfucka.”

  He laughs. “Daaaaaaaaaam, son, she did you like that?”

  “Yeah, and I had to lump the ho up.”

  “You did what?”

  “You heard me, nigga. I knotted her dome up.”

  “Damn, nigga, I can’t believe you punched her in her head.”

  “Believe it,” I tell him, shiftin’ in my seat. Another call is comin’ through. It’s a blocked number.

  “Yo, hold on a minute.” I click over. “Yo?” Someone’s on some dumb shit, breathin’ in the phone. I click back over to Mike. We talk a few more minutes ’bout that situation, then flip back to All-Star weekend. He gives me a rundown of all the happenin’s to expect. In my head, I’m thinkin’, this shit can wait, but I let him yap. The nigga sounds all excited ’n shit ’bout it. I’m like, whatever. We decide to meet up after the holidays, then hang up. I glance at my watch, sighin’. It’s six-fuckin’-thirty! This is some straight bullshit, I think, flippin’ open my phone. “Yo, Ma, how much longer you gonna be?”

  She sighs. “I’m walkin’ out of Macy’s now. Meet me by the entrance we came in at.”

  “Aiight,” I say, gettin’ up and scoopin’ up the bags. Of course, I get to the entrance before she does. Fifteen minutes later, here she comes wit’ a shitload of bags. And I know most of what she’s bought is shit she doesn’t even need. I smile, shakin’ my head. “I thought I was gonna haveta send out the robo cops to look for you. What’s in all them bags?”

  She bucks her eyes at me, like I’m stuck on retarded or some shit. “Gifts, what else?”

  “Aiight, Ma,” I say, holdin’ open the door for her. “Let’s roll.”

  “I’m starving,” she says as she walks out the door. “I need to grab something to eat.”

 
“Oh, aiight. We can pick something up on our way home.”

  She stops in front of Legal Sea Foods. “Umm, no, I want to eat here.”

  “Aww, Ma, c’mon. You killin’ me. We’ve been out all day. And it looks packed as hell in there.”

  “And your point?”

  I shake my head. “Aiight, Ma, you got that. Let me go put all these bags in the car.”

  “Good answer,” she says. “I’ll go in and get our table.”

  I laugh to myself, decidin’ she’s purposely tryna keep me out. But it’s all good. It gives me a chance to spend the whole day wit’ the only beauty who has my heart, real talk.

  “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” Ma says. I glance at the digital clock. It’s almost seven in the mornin’.

  I smile. “Merry Christmas, Ma. You up mighty early.”

  “I’m gettin’ ready to head over to your Aunt Brenda’s house to help finish up cooking. Everyone’s meeting over there to exchange gifts and have breakfast.”

  “I thought e’eryone usually got together for Christmas dinner?”

  “This year we decided to have a breakfast instead of dinner, so this way everyone gets to have the rest of the day with their own families. And we won’t have to worry about anyone getting drunk. ’Cause you know how your aunts and uncles get when there’s booze around.”

  I laugh, knowin’ them lushes would drink toilet water, if it’d get ’em drunk. “Ma, you know like I do, breakfast or not, they gonna come strapped wit’ flasks.”

  She laughs. “And you’re probably right. But I got something for all their asses. I’m gonna be checking bags, coats, and pocketbooks as everyone comes through the door, and confiscating anything that contains alcohol in it.”

  I join in her laughter. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a full house.”

  “You got that right; close to forty. Your cousin Dana and her family are here from Hawaii. And Brian and his are in from London.”

  “Wow, I haven’t seen them in years,” I say, sittin’ up in bed. Dana ran off to the army at eighteen, retired at thirty-eight and has made her home in Hawaii. She’s married to a retired army captain and has four children. Her brother, Brian, is also retired from the army and has lived in London for almost ten years with his wife and six children.

  Between my moms’ four sisters and her three brothers, she has ’bout twenty-two nieces and ten nephews. And nine of ’em popped outta Aunt Brenda’s box. Then there’s like forty-seven great-nieces and nephews. Although most of ’em no longer live in Jersey, it’s still too damn many of ’em; especially for a muhfucka like me who ain’t used to havin’ a buncha kids and noise around.

  “Are you coming over? Everyone’s been asking about you, and they’d love to see you.”

  Hell no! I ain’t beat for all them muhfuckas so early in the mornin’. The last time I went to a family function, Moms’ sister Ella got pissy drunk and snatched off their other sister’s wig, then tossed it into the punch bowl. Man, listen…Aunt Betty was hot! She turned ’round and tossed her drink in Aunt Ella’s face, then they got to cursin’ each other out, airin’ out each other’s dirt. By the time they finished, we knew that Aunt Betty used to sneak outta the house and fuck white men on the railroad tracks for money when they were growin’ up, and Aunt Ella had four abortions. And two of ’em were ’cause she was fuckin’ their sister Lanette’s husband for almost four years. Uncle Benny almost shitted in his drawers when she spilled the beans. And Aunt Ella’s husband, Larry, jumped up and started hookin’ off on Benny. They tossed Aunt Betty’s crib up.

  “Tell e’eryone I said hello, and that I send my love. But, I’ma haveta sit this one out.”

  “Boy, and you sat last year’s out as well.”

  “Yep, I sure did,” I say, laughin’. “Just make sure you pack me a plate.”

  “Yeah, I’ll pack you a plate alright, smart ass. Are you stopping by tonight for dinner?”

  “And you know it. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Well, then, I’ll see you later on tonight. Love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I say, smilin’. I get outta bed, take a piss, then jump back in bed ready to go back to sleep. But the phone keeps ringin’. Falani calls, then Maleeka, then Electra, then Vita—all of ’em hittin’ a muhfucka up to bring holiday cheer. By the time I get off the phone, I have invitations from all four hoes to come through for some pussy. My cell rings, again. Fuck! I sigh, pickin’ it up off the dresser and glancin’ at the screen. I accept the call.

  “Merry Christmas, baby,” Cherry cheerfully sings into the phone the minute I answer.

  “Same to you,” I say, yawnin’. “How you?”

  “Horny as hell,” she says. “I need another dose of that good stuff.”

  I laugh. “Damn, you feenin’ like that?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on with me. Ever since you left, my kitty box has been purring for that long, chocolate bone.”

  “Yeah,” I say, slippin’ my hands down into my basketball shorts. “What kitty wanna do wit’ it?”

  “She wants to sit on it, ride it. Fuck it ’til she weeps and aches.”

  “Oh, word?”

  She moans.

  “Yo, stop that ’fore you get my dick hard.”

  She laughs. “Oh, it’s not hard?”

  “Nah,” I lie. But the shit’s rock solid. I squeeze it. “But if you keep talkin’ slick, it will be.”

  “I’m already slick…slippery wet, thinking about all the nasty things I wanna do to you.”

  I shake my head, strokin’ my dick. I get outta bed, strip off my shorts, then go into my closet and pull out my “My Baby Got Back” sex doll. “Yo, you feel like a phone bone?”

  She moans. “Oh, yessssss. Let me grab my dildo.”

  “How big is it?”

  “Big as you,” she says, makin’ slurpin’ and suckin’ sounds. “But not as good.”

  “That’s wassup. What you doin’?”

  “I’m suckin’ all over your big, black dick, baby.”

  “Aaah, yeah…take it deep in ya mouth. Open wide, baby…suck on that shit…tighten ya lips ’round it…” She continues makin’ dick suckin’ sounds, moanin’. “Aaah, yeah…oh, shit…you wanna suck my balls?” She moans. “…Aaah, fuck, suck them big, heavy muhfuckas…”

  We go back ’n forth for ’bout ten minutes of her pretendin’ she’s puttin’ her best lip work down on this dick, but, since I already know the bitch can’t wet a dick right, it’s hard for a muhfucka to get into it. I squirt a large amount of Astroglide inside my sex doll’s pussy, then tell Cherry to lie on her back, bend her knees and let daddy run this dick up in her. I tell her to push the tip of her dildo inside her slit as I’m pushin’ the head of my dick inside the doll. “Yeah, baby, that shit is tight…” She moans. I tell her to push it all in as I push more of my dick into this doll. She moans louder. I tell how I want her to bang up her hole as I’m bangin’ up the doll. I turn the vibrator feature on high, and its pussy starts to beat against my dick. “Aaaah, fuck…aaah, shit. Gotdamn, you got that motor pussy…Aaah, that shit is churnin’ all over this dick…” She moans and groans and screams out, lettin’ me know she’s nuttin’. I feel my nut risin’ up in me, too. Ram my hips up into my rubber sex mate, then grunt and groan while pumpin’ out my nut. “Damn, that shit was good,” I say, keepin’ my dick inside the doll, slow-grindin’ it. My shit’s still hard.

  “What are you doing after the holidays?”

  I sigh, shakin’ my head. I just left her two weeks ago and she’s already tryna get me back out there. She’s slowly tryna to turn this into sumthin’ more than what it is. Although if I confront her on it, she’ll say she’s not. She’ll say she just enjoys my company; that it’s only sex for her and occasional companionship. But a muhfucka like me knows what it is. She’s already fallen for a nigga. I grin. “I’ma be bringin’ you your Christmas gift.”

  “Oooh, and what might that be?”

  “Me, baby,” I tell h
er before disconnectin’ the call. I pull my dick outta my doll, flip it over, then plunge back in. Its hole is wet and gushy from all the Astroglide and nut up in it. “Aaah, shit,” I moan, fuckin’ it deep from the back ’til I bust another nut. “’Tis the season to be muthafuckin’ jolly,” I say, rollin’ over on my back. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, driftin’ off to sleep.

  36

  “I want to spend New Year’s with you,” Vita says.

  “Damn, baby, that’s wassup. But you know I’m not workin’, so my paper’s light.”

  “You know you don’t have to worry about money, I got you. New Year’s is next Thursday, so when do you wanna come?”

  “Next Monday,” I tell her. She asks how long I wanna stay. I think. Decide to stay ’til Sunday.

  “That’s great!” she says excitedly. “That’s almost a whole week. I’ll call you back with all the details.”

  “That’s wassup. But dig, you gonna haveta chill out wit’ all that coke snortin’ you do. I’m not beat for that shit, feel me?”

  “I thought you were cool wit’ it.”

  “Why, ’cause I blaze?”

  “Well, yeah. And besides, I asked you if you were okay with it.”

  “Listen, you can’t compare burnin’ trees to snortin’ coke. I told you to do you ’cause I was up in ya spot, and I wanted some of that pussy. But, nah, I wasn’t cool wit’ you snortin’ shit up in ya nose.”