Daddy Long Stroke

I get outta my whip—yeah, a nigga gots his own shit. What, ya asses thought I was one of them bum-ass niggas that borrowed chicks’ rides ’cause I didn’t have my own wheels? Nah, I ain’t that nigga. I just don’t let e’ery bitch I’m smashin’ know how I’m doin’ it. When I’m on the prowl, I either ride another broad’s ride to get my creep on, or I push a hoopty, feel me? After Racquel— some ho I was fuckin’ from Pasaaic—keyed up my shit, smeared dog shit on my windshield, and flattened all four of my muthafuckin’ tires two summers ago, a nigga like me isn’t gonna let another broad get the opportunity to put in work on my shit again; I put that on e’erything I love.

Shit. I had to file a complaint on her nutty ass, word up. Lucky for her, I was lookin’ to get some hot shit any-damn-way, so she did me a favor. Otherwise, a nigga woulda probably choked her ass out. Yo, hol’ up! Not that I would ever push a ho’s biscuit in (unless she puts her hands on me—first), but I damn sure woulda choked her to sleep. And now wit’ that Jazmine Sullivan chick poppin’ shit ’bout bustin’ windows ’n shit, I really ain’t beat. Fuck that. These silly hoes can fuck each other’s cars up if they want. But they ain’t fuckin’ wit’ mine.

What the fuck! Tamera texts me again. Why you fuckin’ iggin’ me nigga? I sigh, decide to text back. Suck my dick! I slip my phone back in its holder, then shut and lock my door, makin’ my way up the stairs to Moms’ house. I ring the doorbell, since my key privileges are still revoked. Moms still doesn’t trust me to not bring hoes up in her spot when she’s not home. That shit cracks me the hell up. But, hey, it’s her spot, her rules.

I reach for the bell again, but the door opens up before I can press down on it. I smirk. I’m standin’ face to face with Pops. His eyes widen. I can tell gettin’ busted wasn’t on tonight’s agenda. But it’s all good. “What’s poppin’, playboy?” I ask jokin’ly.

He lets out a nervous-ass chuckle. “Oh, hey…uh, what are you doin’ here?” he asks, fumblin’ wit’ his keys, and steppin’ back so I can come in.

“Raynard, who’s that at the door?” Moms asks. She’s in the dinin’ room area.

“It’s ya son,” I say, grinnin’. I wink at Pops, brushin’ past him.

Moms comes into the livin’ room, tryna cover herself. She’s wearin’ a flimsy-ass robe, probably buck-ass naked underneath. Her hair is all over her head. Yeah, they been gettin’ it in, fuckin’ hard, I think, smilin’.

“Oh, hey, baby. Glad to see you.” She runs her hand through her tangled hair.

I smirk. “I bet you are,” I tease, lookin’ over at Pops, then at her.

She rolls her eyes. Pops grins. “Your father stopped by to bring me something.”

I tilt my head. Give her one of those “come again” looks. “Unhhuh, I’m sure he did. Sumthin’ hard and dark, right?” Pops shakes his head, chucklin’. I walk over and give her a hug. I sniff her, then the air.

“Oh, boy, stop,” she says, swattin’ at me.

Pops opens the door. “Alice, I’ma get going. Alex, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Aiight, playa,” I joke. “I’ll holla.”

“Get home safe,” Moms says, watchin’ him walk out the door. She smiles at him. He smiles back, then shuts the door behind him.

I plop down on the sofa. “Damn, Ma, you ’n Pops really up in here gettin’ it in, hunh?”

She laughs, flickin’ her hand at me. “Oh, please.”

“Oh please nuthin’,” I mock, grinnin’. “Ya’ll up here gettin’ buck wild ’n nasty. You got Pops wide open, Ma. So, spill it. How long Pops been fuc…uh, makin’ it clap?”

She raises her arched brow at me. “Makin’ it clap? What in the world? Your father hasn’t been making shit clap over here.”

I stare at her, not believin’ her. “C’mon, Ma, keep it gee. How long you been lettin’ Pops rock ya box?”

She rolls her eyes and laughs. “I’m not lettin’ your father rock nothing. And I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Lies,” I kid, shakin’ a finger at her. “But, it’s all good. If you wanna keep secrets from ya only child, then so be it.”

“Secrets, hell,” she says, wavin’ me on. “You just too busy tryna be all up in my Kool-Aid. What me and your father do or don’t do behind closed doors ain’t none of your business.”

I laugh, knowin’ she’s gonna spill the beans, anyway. “Yeah, aiight. I see ya work. But, it’s all good. Um, I thought you couldn’t stand him.”

She bucks her eyes. “I can’t…” she says, tryna sound all indignant ’n shit. But it’s all a front. She has that fresh “I-just-got-my-fuck-on” glow, and the way her eyes are twinklin’ ’n shit I already know what it is. Pops served her up a dish of stiff dick. She pulls her belt tight ’round her waist, “…outside of the bedroom. But, in between the sheets…” she pauses, fannin’ herself.

I cover my ears, gettin’ up from my seat. “Aiight, aiight. I get the picture. Pops does his thing-thing, and got you strung out, huh?”

She laughs. “What can I say, Good sex is hard to let go of. And your father got…”

“Okay, Ma, chill. I got you.”