The week has come and gone, and Friday is here. Crazy thing is, I don’t know why I’m sitting here thinking about my life. Maybe it’s because I finished reading this book, The Sweetest Taboo by this freaky author chick named Risque. OhmyGod, do you know there was a time in my life when I actually entertained the thought of writing about my many sexual adventures in a journal, or perhaps in a diary? For some reason, I had this grand notion that I could one day turn my entries into a book. And sell millions. Oh my God! That shit is so funny to me. I can’t believe I actually considered that mess. Thank goodness I came to my damn senses and quickly dismissed that notion, fearing that what I wrote would end up in the wrong hands. And, baaaaaby, trust…the last thing I want is to risk having the personal and very private details of my sexual life exposed for all to see. Oh, no. Not cute!
I mean, some things are better left unsaid, or unread in this case. Wouldn’t you agree? Then again, I do believe revealing a ho’s innermost secrets could prove to be quite an interesting and stimulating read, to say the least. But on the flipside, exposing the comings and goings of a ho could also disrupt the lives of those who embrace their ho-ish ways like I do. Needless to say, I think allowing men (and some women) access to too much information on the inner workings of a ho, is an absolute no-no. The less he/she knows about how we manipulate and maneuver our way into a man’s boxers, and onto his dick, the better. This is solely my opinion, of course. So, because of that, I refuse to write in anything that could be potentially damaging, or used against me.
My cell rings again, disrupting my thoughts.
I glance at the screen, taking a long, deep, breathe.
“Hello.”
“Hey,” he says.
It’s Wade.
“Hey,” I say back, wondering why he’s calling.
“How you been?” he asks.
“I’ve been doing great. And you?”
“I can’t complain.” He pauses. And in that brief moment, images of his glistening naked body, his thick, shiny dick swinging between his thighs flash through my mind, causing me to shiver as I imagine my head hanging off the bed and him slowly sliding his cock down in my throat, swelling to full capacity, shutting off my airway as he stretches my throat. With each push, I swallow, taking more of him in. He grinds his pelvis nice and slow, then begins to face-fuck me, causing me to gag; forcing tears to escape from my eyes; his heavy balls slapping up against my forehead until they unleash a thick, hot cream.
I swallow hard, gulping down my fantasy.
“So, whatchu been up to?” he asks, shutting off the remainder of my lust-driven thoughts.
“Nothing much,” I offer.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Is that so?” I question, slipping my hand between my legs, cupping my pussy. “And what have you been thinking?”
“How much I miss—”
“Please, Wade, let’s not go there,” I warn, cutting him off.
“Go where?”
I suck my teeth, removing my hand from between my legs. “C’mon, let’s not play games here. You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not playing games. I’m keeping shit real. And if you had let me finish what I was getting ready to say, you’d know that…”
Silence.
“You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here,” I say, sighing. “I’m listening.”
“Now, like I was saying, I was thinking about how much I miss sticking this dick up in you and fucking the shit outta you. You made it very clear that you’re not looking for love or no shit like that. And I can dig it. I’m not gonna front and act like I wasn’t feelin’ some type of way about it, but I’m a man, baby. And I can rock with the best of ’em. So, if all you want is the dick, then fuck it. Let’s let it do what it do.”
I feel my pussy heating. Subconsciously, I shut my legs tight, and fight the urge to press down on my clit. “So what are you saying, Wade?” I shift the phone to my left ear.
“I’m saying I still wanna at least be fuck buddies.”
“And what if I don’t wanna fuck you anymore?”
“Then I’m hoping we can at least still be friends…”
Friends? Is he serious? I have never been friends with any man I used to fuck. Never had any interest before, and I damn sure don’t now. Does he really think we can be friends? Now, if I had never sucked down his dick, or he had never had his tongue shoved up in my ass, then, yes, we could definitely be friends. But a man I’ve fucked? That’s always been a no-no for me.
The notion causes me to remember a conversation I had with a “friend”—again I use that word loosely—I used to work with before allowing Nahdirah into my personal space. The chick was babbling on and on about this male friend she had who she was “falling” for because he was everything she wanted in a man. I could almost hear the violins playing in the background as she spoke about how great a catch he was, how fine he was, how wonderful of a man he was, how special he made her feel, how she wanted to be in a relationship with him…blah, blah, blah. OhmyGod, it was sickening!
Anyway, girlfriend didn’t know what to do about her feelings for him. So, being the friend that I am, I suggested she keep her romantic feelings for him to herself, and strictly focus on keeping him around as a friend. But, noooooooooo, this hyena decides—which was definitely her prerogative—to pour her heart out to him. And…well, are you ready for the grand finale?
Drum roll, please…The chick fucks him. And of course he dug her back out lovely. But, then she didn’t hear from him again for two weeks. He didn’t return any of her phone calls, or respond to any of her emails. Then, finally, he decided to call and tell her he didn’t want a relationship, nor was he looking for one. That she wasn’t his type because she was too clingy and needy. And the bitch had the nerve to be distraught over it. It took every ounce of my strength not to laugh in her damn face.
Of course, my question to her dumb ass was: Did you ever ask him what he wanted or was looking for? No, of course not! That would have made too much sense. Duh! So, there she was all bent out of shape because she felt like he played her.
I checked her real quick and said, “Trick, you played yourself by opening up your damn legs to him without asking questions. He fucked you, and kept it moving. So get over it!”
Unfortunately, girlfriend couldn’t grasp what I had said. So, I asked her if the dick was good. She was like, “Yes…the best I’ve ever had, and I actually had an orgasm, something I’ve never had before with any man. I really don’t think I could ever go back to being only his friend. I’m really in love with him and it would hurt me to see him with someone else.”
Baaaaaaby, listen. I had to blink, then blink again. ’Cause I thought I was looking at a three-headed ho. What the fuck!?! I had thought. So, the ho’s “in love” with her friend, whom she fucked without any conversation about what it would mean after all was said and done; and dude doesn’t want her ass romantically.
He fucked her ass one good time, and the bitch was hooked on the dick because she busted her first nut. And he wasn’t beat for her ass. Poor thing! Well, I was like, “Honey, charge that shit to the game, and chalk it up as an experience. Accept it for what it was: a damn good fuck. And move the hell on. Geesh!”
She had the nerve to say, “That’s easier said than done. I really don’t think I can simply get over it, or him. I love him. But, I’m hurt at how he dissed me. We were friends. Never in a million years would I think he’d do me like he does all those other chicks.”
Well, that was it for me. She knew his track record and pattern with women, and still tried to pursue a relationship outside of friendship with him. I gave her my “Bitch-are-you-fucking-serious” look, shaking my head.
“Well, what made you think he was going to treat you any different?” I had asked, trying not to sound too judgmental, although I was. “Did you think you were going to fuck him into wanting to be with you?”
“No,” she had replied. “But I thought he had mad love for me.”
Yeah, trick, as your friend! I remember thinking.
Right then and there, I knew that bitch was a nut. And from that point on, I looked at her ass sideways. Moral of the story: someone who’s your friend isn’t always supposed to be more than that.
Anyway, now that I’ve digressed, let’s get back to the situation at hand—Wade. Oh, wait a minute. Before we do that, let me ask you this: Do you think a man and a woman can be strictly platonic friends without ever trying to cross the line?
Well, I think if opportunity presented itself and it wouldn’t complicate the friendship, I’d bet my six-hundred dollar heels that somebody’s gonna be fucking before it’s all said and done. Hmmm…they say that best friends make the best lovers. I don’t know if I can agree with that completely. What about you? Do you think friends can become lovers? But what happens when shit falls apart? Now you’ve done lost your lover, and ruined what was once a great friendship. Humph, is the gamble really worth the risks?
And, as far as Wade is concerned—after all the fucking we’ve done, there’s no way I can entertain being friends with him. It’s better to cut all ties and be done with it rather than try to hold onto something that wasn’t based on—or built on—friendship in the first place.
“…Listen. I dig you, baby,” Wade continues. “I can’t even front. But, I respect your feelings. It is what it is, and I’m down for whatever with you. If you don’t wanna fuck, cool. But, if you still with it, then I got a big, stiff dick with your name on it, waiting to put some work in.”
A sly grin forms my lips. I think for a moment, consider his offer. A part of me knew he would acquiesce—or should I say, come to his senses. Whatever chick, or chicks, he’s been fucking doesn’t have anything on me when it comes to handling a dick. Wade, Wade, Wade…what’s a girl to do?
Fuck it, I think, glancing at my timepiece. It’s 7:15 p.m.
I know, I know…I said I wasn’t fucking with him the last time I was with him; that he’d never get any more of this pussy. And I know I probably should leave well enough alone, but damn…I can’t let an opportunity to ride that dick one last time slip away!
Against my better judgment, I say, “I can’t promise friendship. But if you can get here within the next thirty minutes, I can definitely guarantee you some of this good pussy.”
“I’m on my way,” he says, sounding all excited and whatnot.
“If you’re anything over five minutes late,” I state, “don’t bother. And I’m not in the mood for a bunch of chit chat. Just come in, fuck me and go.”
“Oh, word, damn,” he says, pausing.
“Is there a problem?”
“Nah,” he finally says. “I got you, babe. See you in a bit.”
We hang up, and I jump up from the sofa, shaking and popping my hips on my way up the stairs to freshen up when my doorbell rings.
Now who in the hell is this? I think, peeking through the peephole. OhmyGod, nooooo, this pencil dick nigga didn’t just pop up at my fucking doorstep. I squint my left eye almost shut, pressing my damn right eyeball up against the little hole in disbelief. It’s Jarrod. A damn mistake, and a wasted nut, to say the least! I fucked him once—and let him eat my pussy twice, the last time being eight months ago, after meeting him at an outdoor concert at NJPAC, the New Jersey Performing Arts Center, in Newark last summer.
OhmyGod, he was pumping and humping up and down in me like he was in a race to get to an imaginary finish line, jabbing and stabbing up my insides. His only saving grace was the fact that he knew how to stroke the hell out of my clit—causing magnificent waves of orgasms—with his dick while poking me up. Other than that, it felt like he was fucking me to death with an ice-pick. But, being the gracious, dick-loving host that I am, I grinned and bared it, allowing him to continue gouging up my uterus, suffering in sweet agony.
Finally, after twenty-minutes—yes, twenty long, torturousass minutes—of him sweating all over me, grunting like a wounded bear, he pulled out his pogo stick and started jerking it over me. I laid there, staring at him, racking my brain trying to figure out whether or not he had pulled his condom off. I knew I had seen him roll one on, remembered seeing him open the familiar wrapper. But there he was kneeling over me with his skinny dick in his thick hand and, for the life of me, I couldn’t recall if he had removed it—and, if he had, where the hell he had put the damn thing.
I think for minute. Do I ignore the bell and get myself ready for my sexual interlude with Wade, or do I curse his retarded-ass out? The answer comes when he presses down on my bell like he’s being chased by a pack of rabid dogs. I fling open the door, frowning. “Um, excuse me…What. Are. You. Doing here?” I ask through clenched teeth, glaring at him. My hand is defiantly planted on my hip.
“Damn, baby, I guess that means you’re happy to see me,” he says, grinning.
I suck my teeth, rolling my eyes up in my head. “Guess again. Now why are you here?”
“Damn,” he huffs, clearly disappointed that I am not welcoming him with open arms. “Can I at least get a hello, before you start snapping?”
I tap my foot. Count to ten. “Jarrod, I’m going to ask you one more time. Why the hell are you at my door without being invited here?”
He leans up against the frame of the door. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. It’s been a minute since we chilled so—”
“So you thought you would drop by for some pussy,” I say, cutting him off. “Humph, wrong answer, sweetie. I’m not running a whorehouse.”
“Oh, yeah.” He smirks. “Well, I can’t tell.”
“Nigga,” I snap. “Unless you’ve miraculously gotten some extra meat on your dick, I’m not interested.”
He twists his lip, scrunches his face up. “Say what?”
I repeat myself.
“Oh word? But you wasn’t saying all that when I had you twisted up like a pretzel, banging your guts out.”
I laugh. “Nigga, get a grip. The only thing you did was poke around in my pussy.”
“You a real bitch, you know that?”
“Yep, I sure am,” I say, smiling. “But I got some good pussy. And your silly ass will never feel the inside of it again. Now get the fuck away from my door before I call the cops on your delusional ass.” I slam the door in his face.
“Fucking bitch,” I hear him say before, punching my door with his fist.
I sigh, shaking my head. It never ceases to amaze me how some niggas act like bratty, little boys when they don’t get their way, pouting and stomping off, having oversized tantrums.
Now, I’m the last person who likes a bunch of mess in her personal space, and making a scene is an absolute no-no. But this fool has lost his damn mind. I snatch my house phone from off the coffee table, racing towards the door. I swing it open and rush outside, catching him before he gets into his Benz. “Nigga, bang on my motherfucking door like that again, and see what happens.”
“Or what?” he snaps, walking back towards me.
Oh shit, I think. The last thing I want is some nigga beating, no, change that—trying to beat—my ass out here, but I know—well, at least I think—he isn’t crazy enough to put his hands on me. The last thing he wants is to have his spot blown up when he has a woman at home. But a nigga with a bruised ego is likely to do almost anything.
“I know you are not trying to come at me,” I say, pressing the first number for 9-1-1. He stops in his tracks, putting his hands up in mock surrender.
“You know what, take your ass back inside,” he snaps, walking back to his car. “I ain’t beat for your dumb ass.”
I silently let out a relieved sigh. “Good. And make sure you don’t bring your pencil-dick ass around here again ’cause if you do, you’re going to find your ass locked the hell up.”
“Whatever,” he snaps, slamming his car door and starting his engine. “I should have never fucked with your ho-ass in the first place.” He starts backing out of my driveway, then screeches off down the street like a raving lunatic.
I don’t know what the hell is wrong with these niggas out here. I look up into the sky, searching for a full moon. And what do you know? There it is, as bright as day. I shoulda known, I think, heading back into the house. You always got motherfuckers tripping.
Wait a minute. I know what some of you are thinking. You think I could have handled that better; that I shouldn’t have come out of my face like that with him. And you’re right. I could have. But I didn’t. So what! Bottom line, every man I fuck knows from gate that if he ever comes to my house uninvited, he runs the risk of being cursed the hell out. So he had better proceed with caution.
Now before you open your mouth to say something sideways—like he should have punched my grill in; like someone is going to beat my ass; or some other crazy-shit like that. Let’s be clear: I don’t give a damn about any man who can’t follow instructions, especially a cheating-ass one. I’m not going to sugarcoat shit when it comes to my house rules. It’s my home, my pussy, and my damn way! And if a nigga doesn’t like it, he can carry his happy-go-lucky-creeping-ass back the fuck where he came from. And that’s what it is.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some dick to prepare for. I need to make sure the cat box is fresh for tonight’s suck-and-fuck festivities. So, toodles!