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“I’m not checkin’ for pussy tonight.”
“Well, damn. Can you at least finger-pop me?”
You suck.
You swallow.
You please me ’til I’m satisfied.
You ask no questions, ’cept, “May I suck you, again?”
That’s the kinda mood I’m in. “Nah, I want my dick wet, that’s it. So don’t sweat it. I’ma head home and watch True Blood instead.”
“Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“I sure am.”
She sucks her teeth, then the phone goes dead. Bitch musta hung up, I think, slowin’ down at the toll booth, then tossin’ four quarters into the bin. I take the last pull off my blunt, then toss it outta the window.
As soon as I get in the hous
e, I take off my clothes, then hop in the shower. I lather up my body, soap up my dick, then start strokin’ it, cuppin’ and yankin’ my balls and dippin’ at the knees. I work my nut up to the tip of my dick, then abruptly stop. I let it roll back down into my balls, then work it back up again. I repeat it three more times ’til my balls start to swell and ache, then let it blast out all over the shower walls. “Gotdamn, that shit was good,” I say, steppin’ outta the shower and wrappin’ a towel ’round my waist, lettin’ water drip all over the floor as I go into the bedroom. I oil my body, slip on a pair of boxer briefs and a wife beater, then head downstairs.
After I hit up Papa John’s and order a veggie pizza, I flip on the flat-screen, spark another blunt, then wait for True Blood to come on. My cell rings. “Hello?”
“We need to talk.”
Fuck! “Yo, I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you,” I tell her. Akina’s been hittin’ me up for the last two days and I’ve been iggin’ her. But today she got on some slick shit and called me from another number. “There’s nuthin’ else we need to say. You said what you had to say, then you fucked up and put ya hands on me, so it’s a wrap, boo.”
“Nigga, you put ya hands on me, too.”
“Bitch, are you on crack or some shit? I was fuckin’ tryna get you off of me. I wouldna punched the shit outta you, if you weren’t tryna bite my damn arm off.”
“And you grabbed me by the throat.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And? Nigga, you coulda killed me.”
Yeah, I tried to snap her muthafuckin’ windpipe. Once she bit my arm up and I saw blood, it was a wrap. I’ve never put my hands on a chick, and I have never allowed one to put their hands on me. So why this bitch thought she was gonna be an exception is beyond me. I shake my head. These hoes kill me. They jump up in a nigga’s face, hookin’ off on a muhfucka, then don’ think they should get the shit beat outta them. Fuck what ya heard. Don’t put ya muthafuckin’ hands on me, and I won’t put mine on you. I’m not down wit’ that shit. But, be clear. If you bring it, then all bets are off. You gonna get lumped the fuck up. And that’s what it is.
“Then I guess you woulda got what ya ass deserved.”
“Are you fucking serious? You think I deserved having my neck snapped?”
“You put ya muthafuckin’ hands on me, hell, yeah. You lucky I didn’t break ya damn face.”
“Well, you shoulda never lied to me.”
I shake my head. “So I lied. And?”
“And you should feel fucked up about it. I thought we were better than that. You know I woulda done anything for you. All you had to do was kept shit real. But, noooo, nigga. You had to be on some extra shit.”
I sigh, rubbin’ my chin. “Yo, listen. You right. I shoulda kept it real wit’ you. But I didn’t.” She wants to know why. And on some real shit, I don’t know. “Because I felt like it,” I tell her. She sucks her teeth. Asks if I’m gonna at least apologize. “Listen, what I did to you mighta been fucked up, but I’m not gonna apologize for it. I did what I did ’cause I wanted to. Just like you put ya hands on me ’cause you wanted to. And that’s what it is.”
“So basically fuck me, right?”
“Your words, not mine,” I say, endin’ the call.
