Daddy Long Stroke (48 page)

“Yo, what's good?” I ask the minute they walk past.

No response.

No, these bitches didn't disregard me like I'm some crab-ass nigga.
Mike looks at me, smirkin'. I frown. “Aye, pretty ladies,” I say, gettin' up and followin' behind 'em.

The Egyptian goddess tosses her hand up in the air, not botherin' to look back at me. “Beat it,” she says.

I hear Mike laughin'. “I told you, man,” he says. But I ain't the one to be dismissed or easily deterred when I see sumthin' I wanna get at. I get up behind them in the revolvin' door. “Oh, word. It's like that? A muhfucka speaks to two beauties and he can't even get a simple hello?”

“What, nigga, you want some pussy?” the light-skinned broad snaps, cuttin' her eyes at me.

I smile, flashin' my pearly whites. “Now we're gettin' somewhere. Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. But for now, a simple hello will do.”

She stops, smacks her lips, pullin' her Louis V shades up over her
head. The Egyptian goddess walks off as if I don't exist, bouncin' her hips toward the parkin' lot. I try to keep from starin' at her ass shakin' 'n bouncin'. The beauty in front of me, stares me down. Although she's not who I have my sights on, I decide if I can break the ice wit' her, eventually, I might be able to get at her peeps. “What's good?” she says wit' much attitude, eyein' me.

“There you go,' I say, grinnin'. Shit, she's sexy as hell.
Stay focused, nigga.
“Was that hard? Where ya'll from?”

“Brooklyn,” she says, shiftin' her Dolce & Gabbana bag from one arm to the other.

I laugh.

She raises her brow, ice-grills me. “I say sumthin' funny?”

“Nah, baby, I'm laughin' 'cause wit' all that attitude ya'll got goin' on, I shoulda known.”

She smirks. “Whatever.”

“So, sexy lady from Brooklyn, you gotta name?”

“Chanel,” she says as her peeps pulls up, pushin' a shiny bronze CLK550.

“And ya peeps, she gotta name?”

“That's for her to tell you. And from the looks of things, she ain't interested.”

“Damn, it's like that?”

The Egyptian beauty rolls down her window, and yells. “Bitch, will you come on? That nigga's all dick, and no dollars. And he smells like trouble. Let's roll.”

“See,” Chanel says, smirkin', “told you.”

I laugh, watchin' her sashay her juicy ass over toward the passenger side. “Damn, baby,” I say, throwin' my arms open. “You done sized me up all wrong. Now, what's up wit' that? I ain't no killer, baby.”

“Yeah, well, I am,” she says, rollin' up her window, then peelin'
off. And for some strange reason, my dick starts to stretch down the right side of my leg.

Four hours later, we're at Scottsdale Fashion Square mall down at the food court chillin 'n shit, people watchin' while we eat. I'm killin' a vegetarian sandwich on multigrain bread and two bangin' cream cheese brownies from Paradise Bakery & Café. There's muhfuckas and hoes e'erywhere.

“Man,” Mike says, pointin' up to the second level, “look at Akon's dumb-ass wit' all them muhfuckas walkin' 'round wit' him.” Dude is here walkin' 'round and goin' into stores 'n whatnot, but wasn't buyin' shit. And he had 'bout fifteen to twenty heads rollin' wit' 'im. Then when peeps try to snap flicks of 'im, he's tryna act like he ain't beat to stop and pose up wit' 'em. “That's the corniest shit I've seen today; you up in the mall, walkin' 'round just to be seen.” He shakes his head. “That nigga just want some attention.”

Gee adds, “Yo, that's some clown shit, for real.”

“Yo, whatever,” I say. “Let that nigga do him. I don't listen to the cat's music, so who gives a fuck.”

The rapper Young Buck swaggers by all iced-out and whatnot on some solo-type shit. If he had a crew wit' him, they weren't all up on him. I watch a buncha white kids run up to him, hittin' him up for his autograph. They couldna been no more than eleven, maybe tweleve, but they knew who he was.

Two local chicks grab a table next to us. I overhear one of 'em say she's never seen so many fine black men in one place before. The other agrees, then says how Phoenix isn't used to all this excitement; that they're probably scared to death of so many blacks in one place. They laugh. I chuckle to myself, lookin' 'round.
And we spendin' major paper up in this muhfucka, too!
Yeah, they
mighta not been used to us bein' here, but I bet they're sure glad we came through this bitch to boot up the economy.

“Aye, yo,” Mike says, tappin' me on the arm, “there go them fine-ass hoes from the hotel.”

“Where?” I ask, tryin' not to sound all thirsty 'n shit.

He points straight ahead over in their direction. “Right there, gettin' ready to go up the escalator.”

All eyes follow where he's pointin', zoomin' in on the view. And there they are, fine as ever, carryin' a shitload of shoppin' bags. Gee says, “Gotttttttdamn, they fine.”

Glenn agrees.

Mike laughs. “And they stuck up as hell. Yo, this nigga here”— he points at me—“tried to holla at 'em this mornin' when we were waiting for ya'lls dumb asses, and they played the shit outta him. The one bitch threw her hand up at him like he wasn't shit.” This nigga is crackin' up.

“Yo, whatever, muhfucka.”

He's still laughin'. “Yo, dawg, am I lyin', though? Keep it gee, nigga. That ho played you, son.”

Gee and Glenn shake their heads, laughin' wit' his dumb ass.

“Now the light-skinned one,” Mike continues, “seemed like she was a little more approachable 'cause she did stop and give you some rhythm. But that other one, whew…man, listen. That ho is a problem.” Instead of him deadin' it, this muhfucka keeps the shit goin'. “Yo, ya'll shoulda seen how she played him like a real crab.”

“Damn, yo, she did you like that?” Gee asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” I say nonchalantly, “she was on some funny-style shit. But it's all good.”

“Yo, the shit was funny as hell. And instead of this nigga leavin' it alone, he gets up and follows 'em out the hotel. They was probably thinkin' ya ass was a real nut, yo.”

“Damn, yo, get up off my dick,” I snap. Listenin' to him talk 'bout it got me feelin' some kinda way. I don't usually get straight igged like that. But her evil ass made my dick bulge earlier wit' her slick talk. And a muhfucka ain't gonna be satisfied 'til I can get at her. Fuck what ya heard. I don't give up easily. I keep my eye on 'em, watch which direction they walk in.

He laughs louder. “Damn, son, let me find out you bein' all sensitive 'n shit.”

I laugh it off. “Fuck outta here. I'm just sayin'. Give it a rest, damn. Ya'll niggas come out here to shop or bullshit?”

“Both,” Gee says, crackin' up. I see these muhfuckas wanna be on some extra shit. I get up and toss my trash into the garbage can, then bounce.

“Peace, I'm out,” I say, throwin' up two fingers. “I'ma get at you niggas later.”

“Aye, yo. Where you goin'?”

“I got sum shoppin' to do.”

They all start laughin'. “Yeah, right, muhfucka. The only thing you tryna do is get ya feelin's hurt.”

“Whatever, yo,” I say, headin' toward the escalator. “Hit me up when ya'll niggas ready to bounce.”

When I get to the top of the escalator, I turn in the direction the two Brooklyn beauties went, then slowly walk past stores 'til I spot 'em. After 'bout nine stores, I still don't see 'em so decide to head down to the first level. I stroll by a few stores, and still no sign of 'em.
Nigga, what the fuck are you doin'? Ya ass is buggin' for real, yo. Chasin' behind a piece of ass. Nigga, you better get ya mind right.

“Fuck them hoes,” I mumble, dippin' into the 7 For All Mankind store. I browse 'round, try on two pair of jeans, and then six hundred dollars later, I walk up outta there.

Right as I'm 'bout to hit up my niggas to let 'em know I'm ready to bounce, I spot the two Brooklyn beauties comin' outta a store
and walkin' in my direction. The light-skinned one sees me and says sumthin' to her peoples, then starts laughin'. As soon as I get up on 'em, I grin, stoppin' in front of 'er peoples, blockin' her path.

“Chanel, right?” I say, lookin' at her. She gives me a phony smile and nod.
Is this bitch bipolar, or what? This mornin', the bitch spoke. Now she's actin' brand-new.
I turn my attention to her girl. “Why you so mean?”

“Why you all in my face?”

Her girl snickers, shakin' her head.

“I'm tryna get ya name.”

“Why? You tryna stalk a bitch or sumthin'?”

“Nah, I ain't on it like that, baby.”

“I can't tell,” she snaps.

“Kat, will you please give this fool some rhythm so he can be on his way?”

“Kat? Damn…I like that.”

She cuts her eyes at her girl, suckin' her teeth. “Ugh, bitch, you make me sick.”

“Whatever. The nigga's fine and you know it. So stop frontin' and let's be done wit' it. I'ma be over in the Aveda store.” She grins, shootin' me a look, walkin' off. The beauty in front of me stares me down. I grin.

“What the fuck's so funny?”

I shake my head, still smilin'. “You're too damn fine to be so damn evil, baby. All a cat's tryna do is get ya name, but you actin' like I'm the muhfucka who broke ya heart.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, lets her Dior bag hang in the crook of her arm. “I'ma tell you this only once, so get it right or get got. First, I'm not ya baby. So, don't call me that shit. Second, I don't give a nigga the chance to break my heart, trust. And, third, whatever it is you sellin', a bitch like me
ain't fuckin' buyin', so step.” She brushes past me, but I ain't havin' it. This bitch is too damn bad for a muhfucka to let get away that easy.

I walk up alongside of her. “Yo, check this out. I'ma follow you all 'round this muhfucka 'til you talk to me. And if I gotta stand outside ya door at the hotel, I'ma do that, too. But you not gonna just dismiss me like I'm some bum-ass nigga.”

She stops, raises her eyebrow, then grins. “Nigga, you wanna talk, then let's.”

I flash her a wide smile. “See, baby, that's all I'm askin'.”

“Nigga, you already fucked up. I told you,
once
, I'm not ya baby, so don't call me that. And you do the shit, anyway. Obviously, you don't listen.”

“I can't help myself, boo,” I tease.

“I ain't ya fuckin' boo, either.”

“Well, maybe I wanna make you both.”

She shakes her head. “Nigga, you can't
make
me nuthin'. I know ya kind. And it ain't what I'm lookin' for.”

“Oh, yeah…and what's that?”

“A nigga I would haveta put a bullet in.”

I laugh. “Yo, ma, you funny as hell wit' that.”

She ice-grills me. “Nigga, I ain't laughin'.” I keep my smile plastered on my face, but on some real shit, a muhfucka almost believes her. The tone in her voice, the look in her eyes, tells me this sexy-ass bitch is a loose muthafuckin' cannon. But a nigga like me likes livin' on the edge. I feel my dick gettin' hard.

“I'll take my chances,” I say, grinnin'.

“Then ya ass is dumber than I thought.”

I laugh. “Nah, I'm just a sucker for a beautiful woman.”

She smirks, licks her lips, steps up in my space, lowers her voice and tells me to lean down, so she can whisper sumthin' in my ear.
“And I bet you a sucker for good pussy, and a bitch who can suck down ya dick and lap at ya balls, too…” I grin, noddin'. I let her keep talkin'. “…Well, guess what, muhfucka? I'm
that
bitch, be clear. Fine, fly, fabulous and freaky wit' a pussy 'n throat game, so ill it'll make a nigga sick. But, guess what, muhfucka?”

I can't front, this bitch talkin' all slick 'n greasy, got my shit on brick. “Wassup?”

She steps back, stares me up and down, locks her eyes on mine, then back down to the bulge in my pants. She steps back up in my space. “You all dick and no dollars.”

“Oh, word? You think?”

“I
know
. And like I said, I
ain't
the one. So do ya'self a favor and beat it.”

“So what, you a gold digger?”

“No, boo-boo, don't get it twisted. I got my own paper. I don't need a nigga for shit. But I know what wets my clit. And a broke nigga ain't it.”

“Good, then we on the same page 'cause I don't need a nigga for shit either. And I don't have a clit.”

She smiles, shakin' her head.

“Damn, underneath all that meanness, you gotta pretty smile.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere wit' me.”

“Will it at least get me ya number?”

“For what? It's not like you gettin' some pussy.”

Damn, I wanna snap her muthafuckin' back in.
“Yo, ma, check this shit out. I'm standin' here tryna rap to you 'cause you fine as fuck, but don't get shit twisted. I ain't pressed for no ass. I get that wit' no effort, so don't get it fucked up. But what I
want
to do is get to know you. Maybe take ya sexy ass out to dinner, then, maybe, to a show. But you on some extra stuck-up shit.”

She glances at her frosted timepiece. “It's been real,” she says, as her girl approaches us, “but ya time's up.”

I laugh. “Yo, it's all good, ma. But know this. I'ma be at ya door tonight.”

She sucks her teeth. “Bitch, let's go,” she says to her peoples. “This nigga right here is crazy.”

I laugh. “Ya'll be easy.”

“Whatever,” Kat says, walkin' off. Her girl smirks at me, shakin' her head, followin' behind. I watch as they get lost in the sea of shoppers, pullin' out my cell. I see I have six missed calls and five voice messages. I hit Mike up and tell him I'm ready to bounce, then head toward the other end of the mall to meet up wit' 'im. I listen to my messages as I'm walkin'.