I guess even after I’ve broken the shit down for you, some of you are still scratching and shaking your heads, wondering what type of woman would willingly spread her legs and knowingly fuck another woman’s man. What kind of woman would stoop so low that she’d purposefully disrespect another woman’s relationship? Well, I’ll tell you again who she is. She’s unscrupulous, scandalous, devious, and merciless. She’s the harlot, the whore, the slut, the tramp, the trick, the skeezer, the strumpet, the skank, the jezebel, the ho; she is your neighbor, your friend, your sister, your mother, your aunt, your cousin, your coworker, your enemy. She is the type of woman who doesn’t give a fuck about you or your relationship. That is the type of woman who will fuck your man.
You fear her? So you should. Your man has been in her bed; she may have been in yours. He has licked her in places that should have been reserved for only you, has fucked her in every position imaginable, has tasted her, explored her, enjoyed her, then has come home to you. She has hooked him by the balls and has conquered him. She stands boldly in your face or silently behind your back, smiling, lending you a shoulder to cry on, lurking in your shadows, anticipating the moment when your man becomes weak, when she crumbles his resolve, then fucks him relentlessly.
So before I move on, I have one thing to say: Listen up! For all you chicks without a clue, no man wants a woman who can’t suck dick, can’t take dick, and is downright scared of dick. And he damn sure doesn’t want a dry, lazy pussy. You’d better learn to drop it like it’s hot, and make that shit do what it do: Snap, crackle, and pop! ’Cause if you don’t, it’ll be a freak like me who’ll turn his ass out.
And for the love of sweet, black dick, women, keep the kat house clean and the hairs clipped and trimmed. Having a wild, musty, damp jungle between your legs is not chic. You don’t know how many of your men I’ve heard complain about how nasty some of your snatches are. Or that your sorry ass has on mismatched panties and bras. The only thing I can do is shake my head. See, that’s exactly what a man gets when he deals with you low-budget, Conway, Dots, and Walgreens bitches. ’Cause it’s a two-dollar ho who doesn’t care about her pussy hairs being wrapped around the edges of her panties or nothing matching. But a classy chick or a chick who takes pride in her look and hygiene (even if she’s a ho) is always going to step out of her clothes with her pussy on point and a sexy, color-coordinated set of undergarments. Believe that.
Well, since I’m on a roll, here’s something else to think about: When it comes to women and sex, men want the whole package in a woman. Otherwise they’re most likely going to go out looking for everything she lacks in someone else. So if your head game is serious but your sex is whack, your man is going to be looking to fuck someone who can slay the dick. If your sex game is tight, but your slob job is weak, he’s going to be out looking for someone who can handle a skull-fucking. Bottom line: In order to be a great fuck, you have to be good at everything, or damn near close to it. You need to know how to be a classy chick in the streets, and a slutty freak in the sheets. Of course, some will dispute this, and that’s fine and dandy. Again, this is the opinion of a certified ho who has probably fucked enough men to know what it is they want and don’t want—whether they’ll openly admit it or not.
Since I’m sharing, I might as well tell you some of the many things men love about me, the things that keep them coming back for more. Men love it when I get on all fours and slowly crawl toward them real sexy-like, with a come-hither look, enticing them, urging them to lie back and allow me to indulge their fantasies. They love it when I lick my lips, whine, and beg them for the dick. They love it when I make my fat, perfectly round ass dance for them, one cheek at a time, clapping and popping. They love it when I taunt them and tease them, slowly, sensually, rotating my hips and thrusting my pelvis at them. Or when I wildly toss my hair, pout my lips, and swing my hips toward them. They love it when I narrow my eyes into seductive slits and sensually suck on my fingers, or when I peel the skin off a banana, then swallow it whole, pretending it’s their dick going deep down in my throat. They love it when I use my warm tongue to lick all over their balls. Men love it when I moan and make slurping noises while sucking their dicks. They love it when I bend my knees and slowly spread open my legs, teasingly pulling open my pussy while licking my lips. They love it when I whisper and whimper for them to “fuck this pussy;” when I tell ’em in low, chant-like groans to “make my pussy cum.”
These sexual gestures cause their dicks to swell and ache in anticipation of what they want the most: to taste this sweet, wet pussy and to feel their dicks engulfed in its warmth. Some of you should try it sometimes. It might keep some of your men from straying.
You see, while I’m fucking a man, I make him believe that I care about his needs and wants, even if there’s no truth to it. I stroke his ego, and do whatever it takes to make him feel important; to make him feel special. For that moment, I become his healer. I release him from his frustrations. I unlock his imagination and take him places mentally and sexually where most women dare not venture. I give him the illusion that he is in control. But we both know it is the vise-like, suction grip of my thick pussy that forces him to weaken at the knees and bust his nut against his will. And when I’m done with his ass, he leaves out of here with a smile on his face, feeling like he can conquer the world.
Men also love the fact that I’m positive, confident, beautiful, and extremely comfortable in the skin that I’m in. They love it that I know what I want and how I want it, and that I’m not afraid to demand what I want. They love it when I tell them to fuck me from the back, to pull me by the hair, and slap me on the ass. They love it when I tell them to talk dirty to me. When I taunt them, incite them, to fuck me harder. When I look over my shoulder and gaze at them, licking my lips. They love it when I slam my pussy back at them and say, “What, is that all you got?! When you gonna fuck me? When you gonna make me feel the dick, nigga? When you gonna bang this pussy up, huh? Why you teasing me? When you gonna put it in and give me the dick, huh?”
Oh, it drives them over the edge when I challenge their ability to fuck, when I make ’em feel like they’re not slaying the pussy right. All the while, I’m smiling inside, watching their faces contort with pleasure, purpose, and exhaustion all at once.
Yes, men love it when I make them work for the pussy, when I make ’em work for that nut. No matter how many times I make a man feel chumped, he wants more, he needs more, he craves more. By the time I’m done fucking him, he walks out of here feeling like a champion of the pussy, no matter how much of an illusion it is.
Not to brag or anything, but I’ve been told by all the men I’m fucking, or have fucked, that my pussy is “da bomb.” They love how hot it gets, how wet it gets, and how tight it grips. So that should explain the line of men wrapped around the corner trying to get a ride in this pussy.
I also believe that who I am as a woman is what drives men crazy. Men are usually already turned on by my physical beauty way before I ever spread open my legs and pull them into my love cove. I seduce them mentally. So by the time I give them a taste of what’s between my legs, they’ve already worked themselves into a sexual frenzy. The fact that I make it my job to help men realize (and oftentimes maximize) their “fucking” potential—or at the very least, expose them to new experiences—is a big part of why they keep wanting more.
I am not the least bit surprised when my doorbell rings at almost midnight, and I open the door to find Mitchell standing there with a silly-ass smirk on his face. I can tell by the glassy look in his eyes that he’s been drinking. Wrong answer!
Besides, the last time he was supposed to come through, his sorry ass was a no-show, no-call. But it was all good. I sweat no man. Believe that. As far as I’m concerned, what one man is unable to do, another will. And when all else fails, I keep my bullet and a vibrator on standby, charged and ready to take the edge off.
I sigh, swinging the door open. “Why are you here?” I ask, holding the door and blocking the doorway to keep him from coming in.
“Damn, baby, a nigga can’t get a hello? You gonna let me in or what?”
“No, I’m not letting you in,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You were supposed to come through two weeks ago when I called your tired ass. But you didn’t, so you’re shit out of luck. Go ring someone else’s bell.”
“C’mon, baby,” he whines. “Why you gotta be hard on a brotha. Ole girl’s been on her bullshit lately ’bout me hanging out…you already know my situation.”
I glare at him. “Nigga, you have me confused. I don’t give a fuck about your situation. You only get one time to stand this pussy and ass up; then you’ll never get another sniff of it again. I mean that. And you knew this from the gate. I have no time for any of the lame excuses, and there’s no need to give any because you ain’t my man, and will never be. The rule is and has always been you come when expected, not when you feel like it, or you get the ax. I don’t care how good the dick or the tongue is. There are no rain checks. And I’m not offering up no drive-thru pussy where you can place your order whenever you get around to it. So your black ass has been scratched off the list.” I let out a disgusted grunt. “Then you have the nerve to ring my damn doorbell this time of night like you got it like that.”
“Listen, baby,” he says, trying to get up in my face. “I had to wait until my girl took her ass to bed before I could sneak out. I’m sorry ’bout the other week. I know I shoulda called, but I got caught up. I’m here now and I promise to make it up to you. But I only got thirty minutes or so, so instead of you standing here wasting most of it, stop playing games and let me in.”
“Um, excuse me,” I say, putting my hand up to stop him from getting too close. I feel myself about ready to scream on his ass. “I’m hardly playing games with you. I’m being real as hell. Now, what the fuck you think you gonna do with me, or for me, in thirty damn minutes?”
“Eat that pussy, baby,” he boldly replies, gliding his tongue across his bottom lip. “I’ve missed all that sweet, juicy pussy.”
Now under different conditions, I would have eagerly swung open the door and let his happy ass in without blinking an eye ’cause Lord knows he can eat the hell out of some pussy. But thirty minutes? He can’t be fucking serious. Besides, my mind is already made up. Like everyone else I choose to fuck, he knows the house rule. Call first. No exceptions. I don’t do walk-ins. This pussy is by appointment only. What the hell is wrong with these mofos, thinking they can waltz in and out of here like they got it like that? Just because I’m fucking you on a regular doesn’t give you any special privileges. See, that’s why I like one-night stands. Everyone plays their position without all the damn extras. There are no expectations. No questions asked. I get what I want. They get what they want. I go about my business. They go about theirs. And we’re all happily fucked.
I twist my lips up. “Humph, so you’ve missed this deep, wet pussy, huh?” I ask, fucking with him.
“Don’t play, girl,” he says, grabbing at his dick. He has on a pair of sweats and I can tell he isn’t wearing any underwear. “You know what time it is.” He glances down at his hardening dick as he stretches it through the fabric of his sweats.
“Yeah, I know what time it is,” I respond, smirking. “It’s too bad you don’t.” He tries to come in, and I quickly push him backward with the palm of my hand. “Oh, hell no,” I snap. “You done banged your damn head. If you think you gonna come up in here and get some pussy, you are out of your retarded-ass mind.”
“Look,” he starts, “I ain’t come here to beef. I’m sorry I haven’t called. And you feel neglected. But like I said, shit’s been hectic. You know I’m always thinking ’bout you. It’s just that sometimes my girl is on my back ’n shit so I gotta stay close to home to keep the peace.”
“Beefing? Nigga, I have no emotional ties to you to beef with you. So who said anything about me feeling neglected?”
“You didn’t have to. That’s the only thing that explains your shitty attitude.”
“Nigga, please,” I say, laughing. “You are not my man, nor will you ever be. So trust me, the last thing I have is an attitude. But for you to think you can roll up over here with a stiff dick in your hand and I’m supposed to drop down and wet it for you is a bit much.”
“It’s not like that,” he says. “I’m not here for you to wet this dick. I can get it wet at home, if I want.”
“Oh okay,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So, then, why are you here, again?”
“I told you. I wanna plant this tongue up in that tight pussy. But you on some other shit, tryna beef ’n shit.”
“Mitchell, the last thing I’m doing is beefing with you. I don’t beef with nobody else’s man, baby, trust me. I dismiss ’em.”
“So, then why am I standing out here going back ’n forth with you instead of being inside wetting that clit up?”
I tilt my head, smiling. I love it when men think that they are the masters of the sex game, and are the ones to plot on the pussy instead of it being the other way around.
We know that it is really the woman who chooses the man. She knows the minute a man walks into the room whether or not she wants to fuck him, marry him, or strictly be friends. She has already sized him up; already checked out the competition or lack thereof. And has already made up her mind how she wants to proceed. To fuck, or not to fuck! Too bad most men missed or overlooked the memo. It would probably cut down on a lot of unnecessary foolishness.
I blink, blink again. I sift through the series of questions I typically ask a man before I ever fuck him, and wonder if I might have missed a few with Mitchell prior to squatting over his face and lowering my sweet pussy down on his mouth. I recall each question I asked him, and his responses: Do you eat pussy? Yes. Eat ass? Yes. Love your dick and balls sucked? Hell yeah! Are you circumcised? Yes. Can you fuck more than one round? Yes. Well, most times. Ever fuck a chick in the ass? Nah, not yet, but can’t wait to try. Can you give it to me freaky and nasty? Most definitely.
Truth be told, when I ask these questions, if the answer is “no” to more than three, there’s no further discussion. If he answers “yes” to at least three, then I might take his number, depending on what he looks like. But, if he answers “yes” to all seven, then nine times out of ten, I’m going to fuck him on the spot, or at least within the first two weeks, depending on when my last dose of dick was. In Mitchell’s case, I fucked his tongue on the spot because that’s what I wanted from him. To eat this pussy like it was going to be his last meal on earth. And that’s what he did.
Speaking of which, when a man eats my pussy, I typically prefer the sixty-eight because it gives him full access to my pussy and asshole. I also like it when he lies on the bed with his head back over the edge and I straddle his face and smear my pussy all over his lips, which is how Mitchell usually loves to eat me.
However, there are other times when I enjoy the standing sixty-nine. This is another position in which Mitchell is skilled at delivering his tongue game. It always gets me off quick. There’s something about being hung upside down, swallowing a dick, that drives me wild. Although I did have a bad experience a few years ago when the mofo I was serving got the shakes and his knees buckled. Next thing I knew, I had hit the floor. The fool dropped me on my damn head. I had a headache for days behind that. Needless to say, I never fucked or sucked him again after that.
But tonight, standing here remembering how wicked Mitchell’s head game is does nothing for me. My clit doesn’t jump at the thought of having him between my legs, so I know for certain he will not get in. Period! At this very moment, he disgusts me. And I am certain he is officially axed from the fuck squad.
“Uh,” I finally answer, looking him dead in the eyes, “because the last time I checked I paid the mortgage here, and I let who I want up in here, when I want them up in here. And tonight, you are not welcomed. So I suggest you take your hectic ass back home to your little wifey and wet her, ’cause this pussy is not available to you, not tonight or any other night. I suggest you call first the next time you catch yourself trying to creep.”
He stares at me with a dumb-ass look on his face. He stands there for a few minutes just looking at me, then swipes his big hand over his mouth, and pulls at his chin hairs, realizing what I’m saying. “Oh, shit. You really not gonna let me in, huh?”
Oh my God, this nigga is dumber than I thought. “No. Now have a good night.” I shut the door in his face, leaving him standing out in the night air. He rings the doorbell again. I shut off the porch light, then the lights in the living room.
“Fuck it, then,” I hear him say as he stomps down the sidewalk to his car. “Crazy bitch!” I watch him from the window and laugh at his ass as he slams his car door and speeds off. Niggas, I think, closing my curtains and making my way upstairs to my bedroom.
Ugh, let me tell you something else about men before I go to bed. Most men don’t appreciate any damn thing they obtain too easily. Believe that. If you want to keep them interested, then you have to stimulate them mentally and learn to give them a challenge. Trust me. Men love a challenge. If you give in to their temper tantrums when they don’t get their way, or their threats to move on to the next chick, then they’ve won. You’ve opened the door to being manipulated into doing any and every-damn-thing they want. The more they want, the more they’re going to demand. The more you give, the more they’re going to take. And once they know you can be manipulated, they know they have you wrapped around their finger. And guess what? At the end of the day, they’re not going to have one ounce of respect for your ass.
However, if you’re a woman who is like me, a chick who’s simply doing her thing, a chick whose only interest in a man is to fuck him, suck him, and send him on his merry motherfucking way, then you can truly not care less about what he thinks about you when it’s all said and done. He ain’t playing you, and he ain’t manipulating you into doing jack you don’t already want to do. I have messed plenty of niggas’ heads up by fucking them, then dismissing them all in one breath. I’ve even gone as far as acting like I don’t know ’em when I run into ’em on the street.
I remove my clothes, then go into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. When I am done, I pull my hair back, stare at my reflection for a minute, then shut off the light. I climb into bed, wondering what would happen if every woman in the world went on a pussy strike. Basically shut down all fucking and sucking for one year. Oh, hell no! That’s too damn long. Okay, maybe for sixty days. Well, maybe for a month. Okay, okay, let’s start out with two weeks. Anyway, what would men do?
Perhaps masturbate until they got dick burns on the palms of their hands. Or go on a raping spree. ’Cause most men can’t live without pussy. Not for long. So the clincher would be that every woman would be strapped and loaded, and if a mofo tried to bum rush her for some pussy, he’d be shot on the spot, or at the very least be pistol whipped and castrated. The mere thought is quite entertaining. I think men would literally lose their damn minds if they couldn’t get their dicks wet. If women had the will to shut their legs, seal off the pussy, and let a nigga know who really has the control, he’d act like he had some damn sense. Imagine that.
The thought cracks me the hell up for almost two minutes. But then reality sets in and I suck my teeth, knowing it’ll never happen in this lifetime ’cause there are a lot of women who’ll cut a chick for some dick, who can’t live without the dick. Humph, I think, cutting off the lamp on my nightstand, women better start realizing the power of that wet box between their legs, and learn how to fuck a man into submission.