Daddy Long Stroke

’Cause you are. I hear Betty Wright’s old joint, “You’re A Hoe” playin’ in my head. I shake my head, rememberin’ my Moms playin’ the hell outta that shit. Sometimes she’d leave it on one of Pops’ jump-offs’ answerin’ machines. Other times, she’d call one of his chicks up, and start singin’ the shit to ’em, then hang up. I laugh, thinkin’ ’bout some of the other crazy shit Moms used to do to get at some of Pops’ chicks. Like drivin’ ’round lookin’ for his car. Then when she found it, she’d knock on all the doors or ring the doorbells, askin’ to speak to her husband. If she found exactly where he was, which was usually nine outta ten times, she’d leave a message for him to get home before his clothes were packed. Other times, she’d drag the chick outta her house and fight her. Or she’d sit on the hood of Pops’ ride, blastin’ her tape player to songs like, “I’m His Wife, You’re Just a Friend” or “Homewrecker,” waitin’ for him to come out. And she’d always drag my lil’ ass out wit’ her. Yo, real talk, Moms was a certified mess, back then, word up. But, on some real shit, them singers back ’n the day used to get wit’ each other real quick on vinyl like it wasn’t nuthin’, ’specially them chicks Shirley Brown and Barbara Mason. Them broads would go at it.

“Nah, baby,” I say, lowerin’ my voice, tryna get my sexy on. “I ain’t on it like that. I’m just sayin’. After our last phone epp ’n shit, you had a nigga ready to beat sumthin’ up the other night, feel me? You was talkin’ like you really ’bout it. Like you was ready to put some work in. You tryna give me some of that goodie-goodie or what?”

The dumb bitch giggles. “Yeah. I’m about it. I already told you what it is. It’s whatever.”

“That’s what it is, then. I’ma be down there tomorrow afternoon. So I’ma see what’s really good wit’ you.”

“For real?” her squealin’ ass asks, soundin’ all excited ’n shit. “How long you gonna be down here?”

“A few days, maybe a week. It depends.”

“Who you staying with?”

“I gotta room,” I lie. But, if I know her like I think I do, before we hang up, she’ll be beggin’ a nigga to squat at her spot. I always like to let a chick think she’s the one comin’ up wit’ the ideas, when it’s really me pullin’ the strings, manipulatin’ her puppet-ass into givin’ me what I want.

“A room?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s not like I know anyone there. I’m comin’ to chill to see how I’ma like it if I decide to move out there, feel me? Besides it’s my birthday weekend, so I’m tryna get into sumthin’ different, and let it do what it do.”

“Wow. I thought you were only talking when you said you might move out here. What day is your birthday on?”

“It’s Saturday, baby,” I tell her, slippin’ my hand over my dick, then massagin’ my balls. A nigga’s ready for some more pussy, real talk. “Why, you tryna throw me a party, or sumthin’?”

She laughs. “Maybe, you never know. It’ll be a surprise.”

“Well, just so you know, baby. A nigga like me loves surprises. So, you got all weekend to amaze me.”

“OhmyGaaaawd, I really thought you were joking.”

“Nah, baby. A nigga like me keeps shit real. If I say I’ma do sumthin’, then that’s what it is. And I’m hopin’ to dig that back out while I’m out there, you feel me?”

Silence. The dick-hungry bitch’s thinkin’.

“Yo, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Um, I was just thinking.”

I smirk. “’Bout what, baby?”

“About you staying here instead of a hotel.”

“So, whatchu sayin’?”

“Why don’t you stay here? You don’t need to be up in some hotel all by yourself.”

I grin. “Damn, baby, I’m sayin’. I can’t do you like that. I don’t wanna put you out, feel me?”

“No, it’s cool. I’m off the rest of the week, so we could spend the whole week together, and do something really nice for your birthday. I can even take you sightseeing, or we can just chill or whatever. Besides, I know this really nice restaurant we could go to for your birthday.”

Yeah, the “whatever” bein’ me showin’ ya ass howta spend ya checks. “Well, check this out. The only sights I’m tryna see while I’m there is that big, fluffy ass of yours bent over wit’ this dick goin’ in and outta ya pussy. Then I wanna see you down on ya knees wit’ my balls smackin’ ya chin while you suckin’ on this dick, real talk, ya heard?”

“Ooh, that sounds good to me.”

“Then that’s what it is.”

“What time does your flight get in tomorrow?” I give her the flight details. “Okay, I’m gonna pick you up at the airport, so cancel your rental.”

Hell, I didn’t even have one, but I go along wit’ it anyway. “You sure? ’Cause I can just drive out to you?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I told you I’m off, so it’s not a problem.”

“Aiight, then, bet. I hope you ain’t gonna front on a nigga.”