Man Swappers (22 page)

I really don’t want this night to end without getting what I came here for. “A good fuck!” Persia would say, “Fuck, it. Ditch the dick.” Paris would say, “Let’s help him maximize the experience.”

I smile, reaching for his sticky, condom-wrapped dick. It is flooded with nut. My mouth starts to water, wanting to slurp every drop of it out. If I knew him better, I would. I feel myself getting the shakes. “I’m thinking about sucking on this dick.” He grins. “I really hope you can get it up again.” It is a plea disguised as a request. I pull off the condom, careful not to spill its contents.

He shifts his body, lying on his back. “Oh, I definitely think The Beast can rise to the occasion.” I lick my lips. Stroke him, slowly. Within seconds, his dick springs back alive. He folds his arms in back of his head. “See. It’s all yours, baby.”

I position myself between his legs, taking his cum-stained dick in both hands. I lick its underside, then each side in slow, wet tongue strokes. I glance up at him. He’s looking down at me, his bottom lip pulled in.

“Do you know anything about Kegels?”

He nods, looking at me with confusion on his face. “Yeah, they’re the exercises women use to keep their pussy tight.” I take his cock into my mouth. Swallow down to the base, lapping at his balls every so often, then pull it out. I swallow in the scent of my ass and the salty remnants of his nut. I clean his dick with my mouth, lips, and tongue. “Aaah, shit...”

“You ever tried them?” I ask in between sucks, slurps and gulps.

He opens his eyes. Looks confused. “Tried what?”

“Kegel exercises?” He tells me no. Tells me he thought they were only for women. I spit on his dick, stroking it as I explain to him how men can also benefit from them. I put in plain words what he needs to do. Let him know I came here to be fucked. Not by a damn bunny rabbit, but by an African warrior. I tell him I want a pussy slayer. Not a damn minute-man. “And we’re not leaving here until you deliver.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t get offended. “Daaaaamn, it’s like that?”

I give him a blank stare, then tilt my head, raising a brow. “Oh, trust me. It’s
exactly
like that. You will not...” I pause, licking his dick all over, then stop. “...not fuck me the way I need to be fucked. No, tonight, buddy, I wanna be
fucked
rough and dirty. But, not quick.”

He glances at the clock, then down at his hard dick, then back into my eyes. “I have nowhere else to be.”

“Good,” I say, cupping his balls in one hand and jerking his dick with the other, “’cause I had no intentions of letting you leave. Now let me show you how it’s done.”

I inform him he is not to nut until I say he can. Instruct him to close his eyes and focus on his body, on the sensations. Tell him to let me know when he feels himself about to explode. I make him repeat back what I’ve said. When he does word for word, I take him back into my mouth and suck him, stopping him along the way, edging him.

“Uhhhh...uhhhh...ohhhh shit...”

“Relax,” I coax, slowing my hand strokes. “We have all night.” I get up, walk over to my bag and pull out another condom.

He catches his breath. “Damn, baby, you’re a beast in the sheets; fucking insatiable.”

I climb back in bed. “And I’m not leaving here unsatisfied.” I roll the condom onto his dick, then straddle him. I lean forward, place my right nipple up to his lips, then guide him inside me. “Now let me show you how I need to be fucked.”

Persia
CHAPTER TWENTY

“
H
i, Daddy,” I say into the phone, smiling. “How are you, handsome?” Hearing his voice always puts a smile on my face. The one thing I love about him is the fact that no matter what he did in the streets, no matter how many times he fucked other women he never slighted me, or my sisters. And he never treated us any less special. All three of us were his “little beauties” as he called us. He still does to this day. I remember being a little girl and every Saturday he’d take us out to breakfast, leaving our mother home. He’d tell her that was
his
time with his girls. Then he’d take us shopping. And we’d get back to the house loaded down with shopping bags, filled mostly with toys and dolls we didn’t need or would play with only once because we had so many to begin with. That didn’t matter to him. Seeing smiles on our faces was all he cared about.

From school plays, track meets and dance recitals, he made it his business to be there to cheer us on when he wasn’t on the road. And when he and our mother drove my sisters and me down to D.C. the summer of our freshman year at Howard, he broke down and cried. His baby girls were growing up. I remember overhearing our mother one time on the phone, when I was like fifteen—telling one of my aunts how she felt like he cared more about us than he did her. “He treats
them
better than he
does me,” she had said. “And I’m the one who’s
supposed
to be his wife!” I heard the resentment in her voice. Sometimes saw it in her eyes. Oh, well. That’s not my issue.

He chuckles. “I’m good, beautiful. How’s my baby girl doing?”

“I’m doing wonderful now that I’m talking to my favorite man in the whole world,” I tell him, picking up the crystal picture frame of him flanked by my sisters and me. I hold it in my hand, staring at it as we talk. My smile stays painted on my face. “Are you working today?” He tells me he is, but will be off all of next week and wants to take all of us to a show and dinner in the city. “Awww, Daddy, we would love that. Have you spoken to Paris and Porsha?”

“No. You’re the first one I called.”

I sit the picture frame back on my desk. “Okay, well, hold on and let me get Paris and Porsha on the line.”

“Okay, baby girl.” I place him on hold, then call Paris. She picks up on the fourth ring. I tell her I have Daddy on the line, then click over, bringing her in on the call.

“Hi, Daaaaddy,” she coos into the phone. “How you feeling today?”

“I’m fine, baby girl. How are you?”

“I’m great. You just made my morning.”

In my mind’s eye, I can see him smiling. “Aww, shucks. You girls sure know how to pull at ya old man’s heart strings.” She tells the both of us to hold on while she calls Porsha. A minute later the three of us are on the phone with him acting as if we haven’t spoken to him in weeks, when in fact it’s only been since yesterday. He tells them what he told me about taking us into the city.

Porsha and Paris excitedly say in unison, “I can’t wait.”

“Say when,” Porsha adds. “And we’re there.”

“Is Mom coming?” Paris asks.

“No, this is our night.”
Good
, I think, silently sighing.
The last thing we need is her ruining the night with her bullshit.
“I told your mother I had a date with three beautiful young women.” I smile. Ask what she said when he told her that. “She said, ‘Well, have fun.’”

“Wow, I’m surprised she didn’t start fussing about wanting to go,” Paris states, knowing how much she likes going into the city. And, sadly, how much she loathes him having time alone with us.

“Well, she’s gonna be in Vegas,” he informs us.

“Vegas?”
the three of us ask, surprised.

“Yeah, your Aunt Fanny has a timeshare out there, so they’re all going out there for a week.”

“She didn’t mention anything about going away when I met her for lunch a few weeks ago,” Paris says. “And I’ve spoken to her on the phone regularly since then.”

That’s because she was too busy being her messy self, stirring shit up with you
. Of course I keep this to myself. Between you and me, I’m still surprised Paris went off on her the way she says she did. That’s so unlike her. But, of course, Paris being Paris, she did in fact call her to apologize. And our mother, in true fashion, made her feel guiltier than she already did. I’m sorry, mother or not, she needs to learn boundaries. And she needs to learn when to keep her comments to herself.

“This is one of them last-minute trips,” Daddy explains. I laugh to myself, realizing he’s taking his vacation while she’s on hers. Porsha asks who is all going to Vegas. “Well, let’s see. It’s gonna be Lucky, Fanny, your mother, and I think Penny is flying out.” He chuckles. “I overheard your mother on the phone saying something about Penny saying she wouldn’t be able to stomach more than three days with all of them sitting around talking about everybody so she’d fly out toward the end of the week. That way she can miss most of the gossip.”

We laugh, knowingly. “I can only imagine what Mom had to say when she said that.” He laughs, telling us he heard her say she needs to keep her prissy, uptight-ass home then.

“Sounds exactly like her,” Porsha says, still laughing. “I can see them now, making faces and giving Aunt Penny the finger when she isn’t looking.” We crack up with laughter, knowing exactly how messy Lucky and Fanny can be after tossing back a few drinks. We start reminiscing about the time they had all been drinking at Fanny’s fiftieth birthday bash and one of them had said something that wasn’t to Aunt Penny’s liking so she picked up Fanny’s birthday cake while our mother was lighting the candles and smashed it into Fanny’s face. The two of them got to fist-fighting, swinging each other all around the ballroom. It took my father and four uncles to pry them two apart. Aunt Fanny’s titties were hanging out of her fancy party dress and she had cake and frosting all over her face. It was a hot mess! They didn’t speak for months after that.

“Let’s hope and pray they all get along and don’t end up tearing Vegas up while they’re out there.” We all agree. We talk and laugh a few minutes more before finalizing our plans to spend the day with our father. We decide to go into the city on Wednesday. Paris says she’ll close the boutique early that day. And Porsha and I indicate we will clear our schedules for the whole day to ensure nothing comes up to keep us from spending time with him.

“Your old man loves you beauties.”

“Aww, Daddy,” we coo in unison. “We love you, too.”

“Talk to y’all tomorrow,” he says. We give him kisses through the phone, then wait for him to disconnect.

“Can you imagine the four of them in Vegas together without getting into it about something?” I ask, laughing.

Paris laughs with me. “Not with booze around; that’s for sure.”

“The only one any of them have an issue with is Aunt Penny ’cause she doesn’t entertain their messiness,” Porsha states.

“Oh, don’t get it twisted,” I say. “You know Lucky and Fanny go at it, too.”

Porsha agrees. “Yeah, true. But not as much as they do with Aunt Penny. They act like they can’t stand her sometimes.”

Paris laughs. “Girl, it’s the other way around. You know Aunt Penny isn’t having it.”

“Promise me,” I say, getting up from my desk and walking out into the hallway to go downstairs to the kitchen, “we don’t end up like them when we get their age; talking about any-and-everybody, minding everyone else’s business but our own. And fist-fighting each other.”

“Oh, puhleeze; shoot me and put me outta my misery now,” Porsha says, laughing. “Listen, y’all, if I didn’t live with you hookers, I’d stay on the phone with you all day, cackling. But I have appointments up the ass today, so I gotta get cracking. I’ll see y’all tonight.”

“Ohhhh, noooo, Miss Lady,” I say. “Wait one minute. Don’t think I didn’t notice you tiptoeing in at five in the morning with your hair tossed all over your head. And I
know
you weren’t bumping pussies with Angel, either.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t tiptoeing. I was limping. If you’d been paying close attention, you would’ve seen I had one shoe on and one off. And, no I wasn’t laid up with Angel. What the hell you doing spying on me any-damn-way? Ya nosey-ass shoulda been in bed asleep.”

“Hooker, I wasn’t spying on you. I happened to be looking out of my window when you pulled into the driveway.”

“Mmmhmmm, lies. Tell me anything. But to answer your question, Miss Nosey Ass, I was out test driving some dick.”

“And the outcome?” I ask.

“Yes, do tell,” Paris chimes in.

Porsha sucks her teeth. “Look, I gotta go. My appointment is here. You hookers can get the scoop when I get home to—”

“Well, damn,” I say, cutting her off. “Don’t leave us hanging. At least let us know if he tore the pussy up. Geesh.”

“Let’s just say, ‘I think I can, I think I can.’ His fine-ass was The Little Engine That Could.”

Paris and I laugh. “Oh, Lord. This sounds like something we should discuss over drinks tonight.”

“
Exactly
. Now, leave me the hell alone so I can make my money. Talk to y’all heifers later.”

“See you tonight,” Paris and I say in unison. She hangs up.

“Her ass is a mess,” I say, thinking about her comment. I laugh. “I’m dying to hear all about her night out with the Little Engine That Could.”

“Girl, I can only imagine. He either had a little dick or...”

“He nutted quick,” I finish for her, laughing.

She joins in my laughter, adding, “Or both.”

I gasp. “Girl, that’s grounds for a Man Down call.”

She continues laughing. “Pull the trigger; lay his ass down.”

“Exactly. Leave his ass butt-naked, sprawled out in the middle of the bed for all to see.”

She adds, “With a note attached to his forehead, saying, ‘Had to shoot him down for having a little-ass dick and for coming too quick.’”

We crack up. “Ohmygod, girl, you know we we’re going to hell, right?”

“I know,” she says, still laughing. “Ohmygod, I can’t. We’re dead-wrong. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, Father.”

“Well, he’s dead wrong for tryna fuck somebody with his little piggy dick.”

“Girl, we need to stop. We haven’t heard what Porsha has to say about him, yet, and here we are dragging the poor man for having a little wee-wee. And that might not even be the case.”

I laugh. “And don’t forget, for being a Johnny-cum-quick motherfucker, too.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Well, it’s one or the other,” I say, sliding my mouse around on the mousepad to bring my computer back to life. I check work emails. There are several inquiries for web services. I decide to respond back later. I click open the box for my Yahoo account. “And we’ll hear all about it tonight over mojitos.”