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Trippin’ ’bout what? “Yo, you ain’t no muthafuckin’ nigga, are you?”
“Huh?”
“Yo, don’t ‘huh’ me. Do you have a muthafuckin’ dick hangin’ between ya legs? A muhfucka like me ain’t on it like that, real talk. ’Cause you tryna get ya muthafuckin’ biscuit pushed in if so.”
She laughs. “OhmyGod, nooooo. I’m all woman.”
“Oh, aiight then. I was ’bout to say. Fuck ’round and have me catcha case. As long as you were born wit’ a real pussy and some real titties, it’s all good.”
“I promise you, I was born female.”
“Then we cool. Just make sure you got ya fine ass at the airport to pick me up.”
“I will.” We bullshit for a few extra minutes, then hang up. I let out a loud-ass yawn, then close my eyes, thinkin’ ’bout all that juicy Georgia Peach ass I’ma get up in while I’m down there. I think ’bout callin’ Keisha to come through and suck on this dick, but decide to jerk my shit instead. Yeah, I know I just finished fuckin’ a few hours ago. And? Fuck what ya heard. A muhfucka likes to beat his shit, too, which is what I contribute my great dick and nut control to. Some days when I’m jackin’ off I wanna slow-bleed this nut, which is where I’m jerkin’ my dick, then I stop strokin’ it, and just let my nut flow out by itself. Other times, I wanna gusher-type nut where I keep beatin’ my dick ’til I’m ’bout to nut, then stop, let my nut roll back down into my balls, then start beatin’ my dick again. I keep doin’ it over and over again, bringin’ me closer and closer to the edge. Then when I’m finally ready to bust, I pump my dick hard and fast and let my nut fly out all over the place. Whew! That shit be good as hell, word up. Some niggas think jackin’ off when you got a steady flow of pussy is whack, but them dumb-ass muhfuckas got it twisted. Beatin’ ya dick can teach you a lot ’bout ya body.
And ’cause of all my years of beatin’ this dick, a muhfucka can fuck for almost two hours straight before bustin’ a nut if I want. But that usually depends on how good the pussy or head is, and the type of ho servin’ it up. If she’s broke, she could end up gettin’ slayed wit’ three to thirty minutes’ worth of dick. But, if she’s a ho lacin’ a nigga and handlin’ a muhfucka real proper, then I’ma most likely run an all-nighter on her.
Anyway, today, I’ma make this a quick nut. I glance at the clock: 1:47 P.M. I grab the baby oil offa the nightstand, then let it do what it do. Ten minutes later, I spit this nut, then roll over and fall off to sleep, ’cause a nigga’s beat.
7
It’s almost seven-thirty in the evenin’. I decide to swing past my moms to see how she’s doin’ ’n shit since I’ma be outta town for a minute. Besides, I haven’t seen her in a week or so. The minute my phone rings, I suck my teeth. Tamera’s blowin’ the shit up, again. I ignore the bitch. Now she’s textin’ me. And a nigga like me ain’t beat for this textin’ bullshit. I read the message: Nigga, that’s real fucked up how you locked my motherfucking keys in my car. And now your black ass avoiding my goddamn calls. But it’s all good, nigga. I delete the shit. Dumb bitch!
“I don’t believe this shit,” I say, shocked to see my pops’ car up in my moms’ driveway as I pull up alongside the front of her spot, then park. From where I’m sitttin’, it looks dark as hell up in that piece. Not one damn light is on. What the fuck is he doin’ over here, I think, takin’ a hit off my Dutch. And why the fuck are all the lights out? I know they ain’t up in there fuckin’. Mom can’t stand his ass.
Okay, on some real shit. I was kinda fucked up for a minute when Moms and Pops split up. I mean, I was like one of the few cats on my block who had both parents—who worked—under the same roof, feel me? Even if they hardly spoke, unless it was to yell or scream at the other; even if they were both fuckin’ on the side—they were still together. And we were a family. You dig what I’m sayin’?
I lay my head back on the headrest, then turn my head toward the house I grew up in—the same house Moms tossed my ass outta—and stare. Moms’ voice rings in my head. It’s 1988, and I’m ten again.
“Alexander Maples, do you hear me calling you, boy? I told you I had somewhere to be, now hurry your ass on.”
I sucked my teeth. “I’m comin’, Ma,” I yelled down the stairs. I walked back into my room, shuttin’ the door, then finished dressin’. “Dang, I don’t know why I can’t stay home,” I complained, check-in’ myself out in my mirror. “I’m almost eleven. And Daddy said I’m almost a man.” I slipped on my jean shorts, pulled my white tee over my head, then put on my black high-top Chucks.
“Now, Alex,” she yelled. “Not tomorrow.” She was already at the front door wit’ her keys in her hand, tappin’ her foot when I finally came down the stairs, frownin’. “Boy, bring your ass on. And fix your damn face. I didn’t give birth to no ugly-ass child.”
“I don’t wanna go,” I whined.
She squinted her eyes at me. “Alex, I’m telling you right now. Don’t start, okay?”
I stuck my bottom lip out, poutin’. “I’ma tell Daddy,” I snapped, stompin’ past her. Before I could get outta the door, she yanked me by the arm, swingin’ me ’round to face her. She dug her nails into my skin. “Owww,” I winced. “You hurtin’ me.”
“In a minute, I’ma do more than hurt you. Do you want them new sneakers today?”
I quickly nodded my head. I wanted the fresh Air Jordans that had just hit the shelves. They were like a hunnid ’n shit. And I woulda done any muthafuckin’ thing Moms told me to do to rock them shits before e’eryone else got ’em.
“Then what the hell do you think you gonna tell him, huh?” she snapped through clenched teeth. “Half the time his black ass ain’t here, and the other half of the time when he is here it’s like him not being here any damn way ’cause he’s too busy fucking God knows who or what. If he can be out wetting his dick, then damn it, I can be out wetting one, too. I have needs. And you will not have me choose between you or them. So what the fuck are you gonna tell him?” She dug her nails deeper into my arm.
“Owww, Mom, I’m not gonna tell him nuthin’.”
“Just what the fuck I thought.” She let go of my arm, then started fussin’ in my head of curls. “I don’t know why you make me have to get ugly. But I know one damn thing, you had better be glad I love you as much as I do ’cause I swear I feel like smacking the shit outta your fresh ass sometimes. But I promise you this, if you dare open your motherfucking mouth to tell anything on me, I’ma beat the skin off your black ass. You understand me?” I nodded, rubbin’ my arm. She yanked me by the shirt. “Now let’s go.”
For some reason, thinkin’ back on that shit, now, is funny as hell to me. Moms spoiled the hell outta me, mostly to keep my mouth shut. But, Pops pulled the same shit when he took me off wit’ him while he went to get his top spun. E’ery Saturday, he broke his neck to get to the barbershop, and when we were done gettin’ our cuts, Pops would make a pit stop over to some chick’s spot to get his dick wet. And he’d leave me sittin’ out in the livin’ room watchin’ TV or some shit while he did his thing. Then he’d buy me the latest video game for my Nintendo Entertainment system, like the Super Mario Brothers 2 joint that had just come out. Yo, that was my shit back in the day, word up. Mario and Luigi were my niggas. Thinkin’ back the shit has me crackin’ the fuck up.
But on the real, growin’ up and bein’ the only child ’n shit, I stayed laced wit’ all the hot shit—Atari 2600, Sega Genesis, Game Boy, you name it…I had it. And my good fortune was always at the expense of Moms’ and Pops’ lyin’ ’n cheatin’. And I bet they were both fucked up wit’ guilt ’n shit, too.
I remember sumthin’ Pops once said to me when I was like eleven: “They’re all a bunch of conniving, scheming-ass bitches. So, make sure you ram your dick in their asses first, before one of ’em tries to ram you in yours. Men aren’t meant to be chained at the hip to one woman. Men need variety. It’s in our nature to fuck. Bitches! They ain’t good for nothin’ ’cept suckin’ dick and fuckin’, any damn way. So make sure you get as much pussy as you can. You hear me, boy?”
Mouth open, eyes wide in shock, I nodded. “Yes.”
