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“Let’s just say over ten,” I tell her, decidin’ she doesn’t need to know the exact number.
“And out of all of those you’ve slept with, were there any who you considered being exclusive with?” I tell her no. Ask her why. “Do you think you might be addicted to sex?”
“Hell no, baby,” I say, laughin’. “Sex is addicted to me. It won’t leave me the fuck alone. E’ery time I turn ’round, it’s yankin’ my damn dick.”
She laughs. “OhmyGod, you’re a hot mess. But seriously, do you think you might be?”
“Nah, I’m not. Pussy isn’t the only thing I think ’bout. It’s one of the things, but not the only thing.”
“Okay, then answer me this. What’s the longest you’ve gone without having sex? And that includes getting head.”
Damn! Is this broad serious? Okay, okay, she got me. I love to fuck and be sucked. Does that make me some kinda addict? Hell no. I ain’t consumed by the shit, feel me? I try to remember the longest I’ve gone wit’out gettin’ this dick wet. “Does masturbation count?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says.
“What about usin’ sex dolls?”
She laughs. “No sex, silly, means no sex. No fucking, no sucking, no cumming. Nothing.”
“Well, shit, if that’s the case, I plead the Fifth,” I say, laughin’ wit’ her.
“Exactly what I thought.”
Since she wants to play Twenty Questions, I decide to flip the script and ask her the same shit. “What ’bout you? How many dicks you ride down on last year?”
“One,” she answers.
“One other besides mine?”
“No. One as in only yours.”
“Oh, word? Why?”
“Because sexually, you’ve been all the man I’ve needed. Besides, it’s too risky out here. God forbid, I ever catch something. I need to know exactly who I need to confront. I don’t want to be running around trying to figure out or guess who gave me shit. My body, my pussy, I have to be responsible for. Not you or anyone else. But it would be nice to one day be able to give myself to a man without using condoms; to be able to feel him cum deep inside of me and him feel my warm wetness all over him. Sometimes I fantasize about that someone being you, but then I laugh, knowin’ that’s the craziest shit to entertain.”
“Why you say that? Anything’s possible.”
She laughs. “Alley Cat, please. I might be many things, but I will never be delusional. You know like I do that you’re the type of man who is always going to want, maybe need, multiple partners. And unfortunately, there’s not going to be too many women who are going to accept that for what it is. At some point, they are going to want more from you. And get frustrated when they can’t have it.”
That’s their problem, not mine, I think, chucklin’. “Damn, you got a muhfucka all figured out, huh? Are you speakin’ for ya’self?”
“Not at all. I know there will never be a shortage of pussy for you. And I’m not bothered or concerned about it.”
I ask, jokin’ly, “So tell me, pretty baby. Are you addicted to the sex or to me?”
“Neither,” she says, laughin’
I laugh wit’ her. “Yeah, right, don’t front.”
“Let’s just say you’re my guilty pleasure. I’m very clear on our arrangement. Like I told you before, it works for me because it’s what I want for now. Everything I do for you, and with you, is because I want to. Not because I need to. The minute this thing we got goin’ on no longer works for me, then I will walk away. And you can do the same. No hard feelings.”
Outta nowhere I say, “Not if you have my baby.” I’m not sure if the trees got me talkin’ sideways, or if it’s the fact that I’ve been kinda thinkin’ ’bout her proposition; sorta wonderin’ what my seed would look like; tryna imagine what kinda father I’d be. I never really gave havin’ kids much thought ’til she asked me to give her one.
“Excuse me? OhmyGod, did you say what I think you said?”
Silence. Damn, nigga, what the fuck you thinkin’? Ya ass is buggin’, for real. I knew I shouldna bought my smoke from that nigga, Storm. He probably got my shit dusted out; got a muhfucka talkin’ crazy ’n shit.
“Alley Cat?”
