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Yeah, I already know what it is. You can’t stop thinking about this dick ‘n’ how well I served them holes up wit’ it.
I grin. “That’s wassup, ma. I can’t stop thinking about you either.” Yeah I know it’s all game, but whatever. “Or that fat pussy. I wanna eat that shit, again.”
She moans. “What else you wanna do, papi?”
“I want you to sit on my face and fuck my tongue. I love eatin’ pussy, ma. And I wanna eat yours again.”
“Mmmm. I love my pussy ate. And you ate mine so good. I ain’t had a nigga eat my pussy like that in a minute, boo.”
I grin. I know my tongue game is right. And I know how’ta eat a pussy inside out. “C’mon, ma. You got my dick real hard. Stick a finger in that pussyhole for me. And tell me how wet it is.”
She moans in my ear. “Ooh, Reggie, it’s so wet and slippery. It’s like being in an ocean, waves and waves of warm juices all for you. I can’t wait for you to put your dick back in it. Is your dick out?”
I grunt as the base of my dick swiftly brushes up against my clit. “No doubt. I’m stroking my shit imagining being balls deep in your pussy. Damn, ma. I wanna fuck.”
“Mmm, me too. Stroke that big dick for me, daddy. I wish you’d send me a picture of it so I can have something to masturbate to.”
I blink. She’s sent me several pussy shots over the last few weeks, and has asked me on a few occasions to hit her wit’ some flicks of my shit. But it ain’t gonna happen.
“I really wanna see your dick, boo.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I ain’t with sending cock shots out, ma, unless you my girl, feel me? But I’ma come through and hit you with the real thing again.”
“When, Reggie? When you coming back to Atlanta to feed my pussy some more of that good dick, boo? Every time we talk you tell me you’re coming back out here, and I’m still waiting. Are you married or something?”
“Nah. I tol’ you. I’m single, ma.”
“Mmmph. Then what is it? Do I need to get a flight to come there ’cause I will?”
“Nah, you good, yo. But, dig. I ain’t tryna talk about all that right now.” I don’t know why the fuck I even called this bitch. “I’m tryna bust this nut real quick, yo.”
She sucks her teeth. “Then come out here and see me. You can bust all the nuts you want. I wanna see you, again. But if you’re not interested in spending time with me then say so.”
I sigh, letting go of my dick. Real shit, this broad done messed up my mood, for real for real. “Listen. I’ma bounce, yo. I’ll holla at you later, a’ight?”
“Wow. I’m trying to talk to you about spending some time together and ‘I’ma bounce’ is all you gotta say? Wow. I tell you what. Don’t bother. Delete my number.” The line goes dead.
I shake my head. These fuckin’ broads stay trippin’! I’m horny as shit ‘n’ that dizzy bitch wanna be on some stupid shit. I glance at my watch, then down at my lubed dick.
Fucking bitch!
• • •
10:38 P. M., it ain’t no surprise when I’m in my whip, pulling up into the crowded parking lot to this spot, Club Scandal, in Paterson. It’s my first time here so I ain’t really sure what’s gonna pop off. But some of the straight cats that I work with who’ve been here say that this spot always has some bangin’ bitches looking to get their fuck on up in there. So here I am. Hoping to get up on some cutie who’s liquored up right and horny enough to wanna fuck in the backseat of my whip, or on the side of the building.
I park. Then sit out in my whip for a minute and finish smoking my blunt. I slink down in my seat, gaping my legs open, grabbing at my dick. I get my smoke on. I’m horny as fuck. The only thing on my mind is getting this dick wet. It’s an addiction. Chasing pussy. Straight pussy. Driving up and down the highway to straight bars and clubs, hoping to bang some unsuspecting pussy. It’s a rush for me.
One I ain’t tryna let go of anytime soon.
With my blunt dangling from my lips, I peep my reflection outta the rearview mirror. Real shit, I’ma sexy muhfucka. I reach for my brush, brushing my deep waves. My hairline is piped out, crisper than a muhfucka. My barber is real sick wit’ a set of clippers, and he knows how’ta hook a niggah up right. All I need are some sideburns ‘n’ a mustache and you wouldn’t be able to tell me a muthafuckin’ thing, word up. Shit, you can’t tell me shit now. So you already know what it is. I toss my brush over in the passenger seat, finishing up my smoke. When I’m done, I flick the roach outta the window. Then pull out a bottle of Marc Jacobs from outta the glove compartment, spraying it all over me. Real shit, as much as I dig blazin’, I hate the smell of the shit in my clothes.
Let’s see if I can make thi
s shit pop tonight, I think getting outta my whip, setting the alarm, then making my way toward the club’s entrance. I smooth my hand over my crisp white Polo shirt, tucking the front of it into my pants so that the buckle of my Gucci belt can show. Yo, fuck what ya heard. A muhfucka stays fly, feel me? I cock my Brooklyn Nets fitted up on my head, snapping it to the side, then step.
Two thick-hipped shorties walk by, checking me out. They look a’ight. But definitely nothing I’d wanna fuck unless I had no other options. I mean, real shit. They not mad ugly, but they ain’t fine enough to get my dick hard either. Fuck what ya heard. I don’t give this dick to anyone. You gotta be on point in order for me to wanna fuck you.
I give ’em both head nods. “Yo, what’s good?”
