Cairo - Deep Throat Diva

“Hmmph. Ya nasty ho-ass is still my girl. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya trick ass.”

“Bitch, you make me sick. I don’t know why I waste my time even fuckin’ wit ya ugly ass.”

“Oh, get ova it,” I say, crackin’ up. She gets quiet. I musta hit a nerve. “Oh, so now you wanna be on mute? Let me find out you on some sensitive shit. I’ma fuck you up myself.”

She sucks her teeth. “Kat, lick my ass. Ain’t nobody on mute nuthin’. I was doin’ sumthin’.”

I take another pull off’a my blunt. “Oh, aiight. ’Cause I was about to say.”

“Puhleeze. The only think you need to be sayin’ is when you gettin’ here so we can shut shit down. I ain’t got all day to be fuckin’ wit’ ya snotty ass.”

“Trick, I just saw ya ugly ass two months ago when you came out here. I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you like that,” I tease. Although I wasn’t plannin’ on goin’ back home ’til the summer, it’s been a minute since a bitch popped these hips so I might make a special appearance. “When’s this shit?”

She tells me it’s the last weekend in April. Then says I should probably stay ’til after Memorial Day weekend so we can party in Miami. “Ho, don’t be tryna plan my time.”

“Oh whaaateva. It ain’t like you punchin’ a clock where you at. Besides, ya ass misses these east coast niggas, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t miss ya ugly, yellow ass,” I say, takin’ another pull. “Look, hit me up later. You fuckin’ up my high. You know a bitch don’t like to make plans ’til after I done sparked a fatty.”

“Ooooh, save me some.”

“Bitch, take ya fiend ass somewhere and go suck a dick.”

“Fuck you, wit’ ya monkey ass.”

I choke on weed smoke. “Ho, drink bleach. You smell like you been lickin’ the back of a garbage truck.” We bust out laughin’ poppin’ mad shit back ’n forth ’til we finally hang up. I walk over to the glass doors and open them, walkin’ out onto the balcony. I take in the bangin’-ass view of Mt. Tam and the San Francisco Bay. Breathe in the crisp air. Not bad for a bitch from da hood , I think, takin’ two deep pulls off’a my blunt. Never in a million years would I think I would be someplace like here. Quiet. No drama. No stress. No bullshit-ass niggas and family. I could get use to this. But, Chanel’s right. I miss the east coast. I miss the hustle ’n bustle of the city. I miss the swagger of the streets. I miss home. I take two last tokes of my blunt, tap out what’s left, then toss it over the railin’.

For some reason, talkin’ to Chanel’s ass got me thinkin’ ’bout summertime in New York. How that shit be live ’n poppin’ wit’ mad niggas and bitches gettin’ they shine on, flossin’ and flexin’; stereos blastin’ the hot beats; muhfuckas gettin’ they smoke on; hoes stuntin’ on da dick; young cats poppin’ off, bringin’ heat to the streets. Whew, a bitch’s pussy is startin’ to overheat just thinkin’ ’bout it. Yeah, Cali is cute. This quietness and scenery is real special. But it’s time for a bitch to step back on the east coast scene ’n shake shit up a bit, then dip.

I walk back into the master bedroom, pullin’ off my wife beater, then removin’ my panties. I lift open my Louis trunk, searchin’ for the perfect toy to take the edge off. Sumthin’ that’s gonna stretch this pussy out. Sumthin’ aggressive; sumthin’ raw. I pull out the Slugger—a ten-inch, thick, jet-black dildo. Oh, yes, I’ma ride the shit outta you, I think, pullin’ out its harness. I walk over to my closet and drag out my stool, strap the harness over the seat, then attach Slugger. I position the stool in front of the wall mirror. I wanna watch myself gettin’ off. A bitch don’t even need any Wet ’cause my juicy pussy is already leakin’ wit’ anticipation. I’ma ride this shit like I’m ridin’ the streets of New York, fast ’n furious and full of power. I hit the remote for the stereo.

As soon as Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind” comes on, I climb up on top of the stool, lower my hips down onto the head of my rubber companion, then slather Slugger wit’ all of my creamy juices. I match my rhythm to the beat of the music. Imagine I’m on the top floor of the Empire State buildin’ fuckin’ a nigga named New York. A nigga whose as mean and as gritty and grimy, and as rough as its streets. “…These streets will make you feel brand new…the lights will inspire you…let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York…”

“Oooooh, yes, New York … fuck me … aaaah … mmmm … beat this pussy up, nigga …” I buck my hips, slam my hips down onto Slugger; take it balls deep, rock back ’n forth. Scream out, “Newwwwwww York!” Then, just as I’m nuttin’, a bitch falls off’a the muthafuckin’ stool, bangin’ her dome. I bust out laughin’ as my juices spurt outta me. “Bitch, you done bust ya ass tryna get that nut. What’a mess.”

I get up, wipe the cream runnin’ down the inside of my thigh wit’ my hand, then lick my fingas. Pussy cream this damn good should be bottled and sold on the streets ,” I think, climbin’ my ass back into bed. I pull the goose comforter up over me, closin’ my eyes wit’ thoughts of New York, where paper is made and bitches are paid. The big city of delicious dick and muthafuckin’ sweet dreams.

P.O. Box 6505

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2011 by Cairo

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

ISBN 978-1-59309-301-3

ISBN 978-1-4391-8405-9 (ebook)

LCCN 2010940495

First Strebor Books trade paperback edition March 2011

Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com

Cover photograph: © Keith Saunders/Marion Designs

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