Daddy Long Stroke

I guess livin’ in a house wit’ a drunk wasn’t all bad, though. For one, Pops didn’t stress me ’bout no bullshit-ass rules like my moms did. As long as I followed my curfew and took my ass to school, it was all gravy. I could bring chicks to the house and crack this nut up in ’em anytime I wanted. I played varsity ball in high school—all four years, which kept the bitches on my dick. And I even got offered scholarships to play at St. John’s, Syracuse, Howard, Norfolk State, and Hampton. Of course a nigga went to Hampton, and flunked out after two years ’cause I was too busy tryna major in pussy, instead of takin’ my ass to class. But don’t get it fucked up; a nigga ain’t stupid.

“When’d you get in?” I ask. “I didn’t hear the alarm chirp.”

He’s standin’ in front of me wearin’ a white Norfolk State University T-shirt with the green and gold emblem on the front, faded blue jeans and a crisp pair of white-on-white Air Force Ones. I can tell he’s been to the barber today. He’s sportin’ a fresh shape-up, and his mustache and goatee are neatly trimmed. The one carat in his left ear is blingin’. He even got on some smell-good. I bet he got some pussy lined up for tonight.

“Of course you didn’t. You were too busy up there tryna rip that gal’s guts out. I’m surprised she didn’t shatter all my windows with all that damn yelling and screaming she was doing.” He stares at me, shakin’ his head. “I thought you were up there playing opera at first with all that damn ear-splitting screeching going on.”

I laugh, ploppin’ down onto the leather sofa. “Pops, you crazy.”

“Boy, I ain’t laughin’. You gonna have to stop bringing all them screeching-ass women up in my house, like this is some damn cathouse.”

“But what ’bout all them broads you used to have runnin’ through here?”

He tilts his head, raisin’ a brow. “Nigga, the last time I checked, I paid the bills here, so I can have as much pussy as I want comin’ in and outta here. But, you, on the other hand, can’t. Besides, that was then. And this is now. And right now, I’m not on it like that. At some point, a man needs to grow up, get anchored, and decide what he wants outta life, then live by it.”

I scratch my head, lookin’ at Pops like he has three heads or some shit. He’s soundin’ like a black Doctor Phil. “Pops, you sound like you ready to turn in ya playa card.”

“The day your mother put me out, my card had already expired. I was just holding on to it to keep from crying.”

“I hear you. But you were the one always tellin’ me that a man should always have more than one bit…uh, woman on his team.”

“Yeah, fool,” he says, walkin’ over to me and playfully poppin’ me upside the head, “but I didn’t say bring ’em up in here. You got your own place; fuck ’em there. Besides, that was my belief back then when I was young, dumb and ignorant.”

I pretend like I’m hurt, rubbin’ the side of my head. “Owww,” I say, jokin’. “You know I ain’t down for havin’ none of these broads knowin’ where I rest.” And that was on some real shit. I’m not beat for havin’ a bunch of bitches bringin’ drama to my doorstep. And I ain’t wit’ that cop shit either. I copped me a slick two-bedroom condo in Pier Village down by the beach in Monmouth County. And since I only fuck wit’ chicks from up the way, I don’t havta worry ’bout none of ’em drivin’ way down there tryna bring the bullshit. I can sit out on my balcony at night, smoke a blunt, stroke my dick—if I want, and stare out into the ocean on some chill-out shit wit’out a bitch all up in my ear. Dig what I’m sayin’?

“Well, you need to make some other kinda arrangements ’cause all that sticking and moving gotta stop. I don’t want another repeat of what happened over at your mother’s happenin’ here, and at the rate you going…”

I nod, knowin’ exactly what he’s talkin’ ’bout. I was fifteen—a young hard-headed cat wit’ a hard, hot, horny dick, and was constantly sneakin’ bitches up in my room when my moms wasn’t home. Moms was cool ’n all, but she didn’t play that fuckin’-in-her-house shit. But a nigga like me wasn’t beat to follow house rules, so I was gettin’ it in e’ery chance I got, havin’ them dick-hungry hoes climb through my window ’n shit. So, dig, I’m up in my room diggin’ this eighteen-year-old Spanish mami’s guts out when this bitch, Jasmine—who was like twenty, comes ’round to the back of my house, and lifts up my bedroom window for a dose of this dick.