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“Well, I want a new handbag.” I ask her what kind and she says she’s peeped a new Louis bag she’d like to have. I tell her we can go out to Short Hills and pick it up one day next week. “And I want some sex toys. You promised me two years ago you were gonna buy me some, and I’m still waiting for ’em.”
I burst out laughin’, lyin’ back on the bed. “Ma, you serious? I was only jokin’.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“I said that when I thought you was single. But you and Pops gettin’ it in now, so you don’t need that mess now.”
“The hell if I don’t. Your father may be holdin’ it down, but I still want a lil’ extra in the bedroom. And if he knows like I know, he’d want to sit, or lie back and watch.”
Ugh. I try to shake the visual outta my head. “Ma, aiight, aiight. I don’t need to hear all this. I’ll just give you the money so you can go buy whatever freaky gadgets you need.” My cell phone beeps. It’s Cherry. “Hey, Ma, I gotta go. I have another call I gotta take. I’ll hit you up later on in the week.”
“Okay, go ’head. I’ll talk to you later.” We say our good-byes, then I click over.
“What’s good, pretty baby?”
“Is there a reason why I haven’t heard from your sexy ass?”
“Nah,” I say, slippin’ into a pair of gym shorts, then goin’ back downstairs. I stretch out on the sofa. “My bad, baby. I’ve been meanin’ to hit you up.”
“I want to see you before the holidays.”
“Damn, baby, I’d love to. But…”
“No ‘buts.’ Can you make time for me or not?”
I sigh. “When you wanna see me?”
“Now,” she coos into the phone. “I need you to come to me, right now.”
“Oh, word? You want me to come, or do you want me to cum?”
“Both.”
“Well, I think I can handle that. Is there anything else you want?”
She bursts into song. “Santa, baby, you’re all I want for Christ-maaaaaas.”
I laugh. “Oh, that’s wassup. So you want Santa to come ride ya sleigh?”
“I want him to ride my sleigh, slide down my chimney, and unload his gifts deep inside me.”
“Oh, word? Well, dig, baby…I think he can handle that,” I tell her, tuckin’ my hand down into the waistband of my shorts.
“Good. Can you come this weekend?”
I slide my hand all the way down into my shorts, play wit’ my balls. Damn, although I was just there a few weeks ago, I could definitely go for another dish of her hot, sweet cherry pie. I stroke my dick. “Tell me when, and I’m there.”
“Perfect! I’m online as we speak booking you a flight.”
“Daaaamn, baby, you wanna see big daddy bad, hunh?”
“Yes. I’ve been a bad, bad girl. And I need daddy to come spank this ass up, ASAP.” My dick jumps. She books me on a flight for Thursday night, and has me returnin’ on the Sunday night red-eye.
I grin, squeezin’ my dick. “That’s wassup. I’ll see you Thursday night.”
I go down into the kitchen, open up the ’fridge and pull out some leftover baked chicken and string beans from Boston Market, then put the plate in the microwave. I pour a glass of grape juice, then roll a blunt while I’m waitin’ for the food to heat up. I spark it up, decidin’ I had better roll four more for later.
I take my plate, drink and blunt out into the livin’ room. I flip on the television, decidin’ to check out that flick Pathology on DVD ’bout a buncha sick muhfuckas who work down in a morgue butcherin’ up already dead bodies. Thirty minutes into the movie, my cell rings.
