AllFreeNovel
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“OhmyGod, I can’t believe you’d ask me some crazy shit like that. Don’t play me, nigga. I’m many things, but a ho ain’t one of ’em. I don’t go around sucking a bunch of dicks. The only nigga’s top I’m poppin’ is yours.”
Yeah, right. Tell me any-fuckin’-thing. This bitch musta forgot who she’s talkin’ to. I know her work. She’s the same cum-guzzlin’ slut who piped out my man’s ’n ’em two summers ago after a barbec
ue at Mountainside Park. And she’s the same nut-catchin’ ho who had some cat from Hillside stretchin’ her throat a few months back. But she don’t know I’m up on it. Not that it matters. She can slurp down as many babies as she wants. I ain’t tryna wife the bitch, feel me?
“Yo, whatever! Fuck all that ying-yang you talkin’. You tryna wet this dick up, or what?”
“You already know.”
“Aiight, that’s wassup. And I want that shit real nasty, too. A whole lotta slob and spit all over this dick. I want that shit drippin’ down my balls.”
“I got you. You know I know how to serve you up proper.”
Yeah, you just oughta know how! Cause you ain’t servin’ shit else wit’ that sandbox pussy. I feel my dick startin’ to brick thinkin’ ’bout her wrappin’ them big-ass dick suckas ’round my joint and me chokin’ the shit outta her wit’ it. On some real shit, I ain’t beat for no head tonight, I wanna fuck a wet hole. But, unless I snatch up some pussy in the next twenty minutes, a wet throat will tie me over ’til I do.
“Alley Cat, I don’t know why you be tryna play me. You already know what it is…” I text Lahney while this ho babbles on: Yo, what’s good? U fuckin’ 2 nite?
“…The only nigga I’m fuckin’ with is you.”
“Oh, word?”
“Word. I’m not interested in any other nigga.”
I shake my head. “Listen…I hope you keepin’ shit in perspective between us. Don’t start tryna padlock a nigga down like he’s ya man ’n shit ’cause I told you from dip what it is—”
“Nigga, please. Don’t trip. I already know.”
Lahney texts back: Not tonight. Unless you up for a bloody Mary.
Fuck, this bitch stays on her muthafuckin’ period, I think textin’ back: That’s aiight. I’m good. Hit me up when u ready 2 get that hole stretched.
Lol, nigga, u a trip! I will, she replies.
I decide to swab Shavron’s throat, then swing by Akina’s spot to have her ride down on this dick when I’m done. “Yo, I’m ready to come through wit’ this hard-ass dick.”
“Oh, so you really tryna get it wet?”
Duh, didn’t I just say that shit? What the fuck else this dumb bitch think I’m tryna do wit’ a stiff damn dick? Sit and watch movies wit’ her simple-ass. “No doubt, baby. I only want a drop ’n go, though. No extras tonight, feel me?”
She sucks her teeth. “Yeah, I got you. But be clear. Just because you coming through tonight doesn’t mean I don’t wanna still see you on your birthday. This is just a little pre-birthday treat.”
This bitch. “Don’t worry, ma. We still gonna chill. And I’ma rock the snot outta ya.”
“Mmmm,” she moans. “And you gotta stay the night.”
I smile, knowin’ her thirsty ass is gonna be tryna gobble up these nuts all night. And, lucky for her, a nigga like me comes fully loaded wit’ a full sack of cream. “You got that. But, in the meantime, get that dick washer ready for round one ’cause big daddy’s comin’ to dump a double load in it.”
“I’ll be ready,” she says, laughin’.
“Bet.” After we hang up, I jump up and run upstairs to take a quick shower, throw on a sweat shirt and pair of Polo sweats wit’out any drawers. My dick ’n balls can bounce freely, and give this ho quick access. So when I walk up in her spot, all she gotta do is drop down on her knees, yank these sweats down ’round my ankles, then let it do what it do.
I hop in my other hoopty—a blue four-door Chevy Impala, drive up Ocean Avenue, and make a left onto Broadway to get to the parkway. Livin’ down here by the shore is cool ’n all, but it’s nights like this when I wish I had some local broads to kick it wit’ instead of havin’ to drive all the way up to North Jersey for some throat ’n pussy action. I spark the half blunt in my ashtray, call Akina and tell her what time I’ma come through. Then I call Cherry in L.A., but leave a message when she doesn’t pick up.
My cell rings. It’s Maleeka hittin’ me back. “Yo, what’s good, ma?”
“Shit,” she says. “I got your message.”
“So, what’s good, then? You feel like fuckin’, or what?”
