Daddy Long Stroke by Cairo

pull of my blunt, then blow out a cloud of confused smoke, before puttin’ the shit out. I glance back up at the house, shakin’ my head. It’s not ’til I peep the light flick on in Moms’ bedroom, that it hits me. “Oh, shit,” I snap. “These two are fuckin’.”
    I get outta my whip—yeah, a nigga gots his own shit. What, ya asses thought I was one of them bum-ass niggas that borrowed chicks’ rides ’cause I didn’t have my own wheels? Nah, I ain’tthat nigga. I just don’t let e’ery bitch I’m smashin’ know how I’m doin’ it. When I’m on the prowl, I either ride another broad’s ride to get my creep on, or I push a hoopty, feel me? After Racquel— some ho I was fuckin’ from Pasaaic—keyed up my shit, smeared dog shit on my windshield, and flattened all four of my muthafuckin’ tires two summers ago, a nigga like me isn’t gonna let another broad get the opportunity to put in work on my shit again; I put that on e’erything I love.
    Shit. I had to file a complaint on her nutty ass, word up. Lucky for her, I was lookin’ to get some hot shit any-damn-way, so she did me a favor. Otherwise, a nigga woulda probably choked her ass out. Yo, hol’ up! Not that I would ever push a ho’s biscuit in (unless she puts her hands on me—
first
), but I damn sure woulda choked her to sleep. And now wit’ that Jazmine Sullivan chick poppin’ shit ’bout bustin’ windows ’n shit, I really ain’t beat. Fuck that. These silly hoes can fuck each other’s cars up if they want. But they ain’t fuckin’ wit’ mine.
    What the fuck!
Tamera texts me again.
Why you fuckin’ iggin’ me nigga?
I sigh, decide to text back.
Suck my dick!
I slip my phone back in its holder, then shut and lock my door, makin’ my way up the stairs to Moms’ house. I ring the doorbell, since my key privileges are still revoked. Moms still doesn’t trust me to not bring hoes up in her spot when she’s not home. That shit cracks me the hell up. But, hey, it’s her spot, her rules.
    I reach for the bell again, but the door opens up before I can press down on it. I smirk. I’m standin’ face to face with Pops. His eyes widen. I can tell gettin’ busted wasn’t on tonight’s agenda. But it’s all good. “What’s poppin’, playboy?” I ask jokin’ly.
    He lets out a nervous-ass chuckle. “Oh, hey…uh, what are you doin’ here?” he asks, fumblin’ wit’ his keys, and steppin’ back so I can come in.
    â€œRaynard, who’s that at the door?” Moms asks. She’s in the dinin’ room area.
    â€œIt’s ya son,” I say, grinnin’. I wink at Pops, brushin’ past him.
    Moms comes into the livin’ room, tryna cover herself. She’s wearin’ a flimsy-ass robe, probably buck-ass naked underneath. Her hair is all over her head.
Yeah, they been gettin’ it in, fuckin’ hard,
I think, smilin’.
    â€œOh, hey, baby. Glad to see you.” She runs her hand through her tangled hair.
    I smirk. “I bet you are,” I tease, lookin’ over at Pops, then at her.
    She rolls her eyes. Pops grins. “Your father stopped by to bring me something.”
    I tilt my head. Give her one of those “come again” looks. “Unhhuh, I’m sure he did. Sumthin’ hard and dark, right?” Pops shakes his head, chucklin’. I walk over and give her a hug. I sniff her, then the air.
    â€œOh, boy, stop,” she says, swattin’ at me.
    Pops opens the door. “Alice, I’ma get going. Alex, I’ll talk to you later.”
    â€œAiight, playa,” I joke. “I’ll holla.”
    â€œGet home safe,” Moms says, watchin’ him walk out the door. She smiles at him. He smiles back, then shuts the door behind him.
    I plop down on