Dear Diary
 

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Dear Diary,
Monday

I have never been so embarrassed about moving my mom into my crib. It seemed the right idea at the time, but now that she has been here for about seven months she has been driving me up the wall. I’m actually embarrassed because in a person’s mind, when something is about to happen, you put expectation on top of expectation on it, this is going to happen and that won’t happen and she will be like this and she will do that and when it doesn’t happen it fucks you up and you wind up embarrassed because your dumb ass shoulda known it would NEVER be the way you planned it. Yet there’s a saying that says, Failing to plan is planning to fail. Um, ok. Every time I plan it fucking falls through, so boom there goes that corny bullshit.

Dear, Diary,
Tuesday

Before Mama moved in, I could walk around naked, eat at my dinner table naked, take food into my room. I could clean at my leisure, since I wasn’t a nasty dude I cleaned regularly, on my own time table. My light bill was about $120 a month, period. My grocery bill was about $110. I only had one mouth to feed. But now. I walked around naked when she first got here. I’d totally forgotten other people lived with me. You get used to being by yourself.



Dear, Diary,
Thursday

Sorry, Diary. I didn’t write in you on Wednesday. Because, I mean, can a niggah be candid with you? I didn’t mean to sound like a female writing in her diary, but what prevented me from coming to these empty lines, turning the pages and writing my detailed account of life was because of a thug. Damn, he was fine. 6 feet tall, sagging pants with not that much ass but homeboy had a phat dick and he came over to me when I was getting my car washed and he said, “Sup, Homie?”

Putting up a front I said nothing at first, hoping he’d go away. I was on the low, low, really down low. The type of low that hid deep in the closet of your brother’s house while keeping your own personal closet stocked with expensive clothes and shoes, to deter the suspicious. That’s how low I was. Yet it was hard to ignore ole boy. He was Hood. Check. All the car wash boys adored him. They either slapped palms with him when they walked by and the females were whistling at him.

“Damn, Devin. Sup, niggah. Where your Baby mama at?”

“And your son is so cute, Devin!”

He looked deep into my eyes. I shuddered but I faintly smiled, keeping it cool. I wasn’t a hoe ass niggah.

“Can I help, you, Playa?” I asked.

“You got an attitude, dog. That’s hot.”

“What’s so hot about a niggah with an attitude?” I stood up, and moved to the opposite seat. He sat by me, and pulled out his cell phone, leaning back in the chair, his legs spread open. He looked SO HOT SO HOT SO HOT! “Damn, baby Mama calling me,” he said off handedly. “Dog, how those hoes look over yonder, the ones calling my name and shit. You’d beat?”

“The one on the right I fucked before.”

His eyes wide. “You fucked Krishna?”

“Yup. Last week.”

“Damn, dog. She just told me last night that she hadn’t been fucked in three months.”

I was laughing. “Well she lied to you. Pussy curves to your dick. She can’t take it all, claims its in her stomach. She hates to be fucked in the doggy style. She cries like a little girl when you put her in the reverse cowgirl.”

He slapped my shoulder, then took my hand, forcing me into a handshake. “Yea, you fucked her. That’s her all the way, Pimp. Hoes lie, I tell you…”

I was still uninterested.. I pulled the thug in me to the side and let the goon come out. A Goon let these niggah know the drill. I had on a Coogi outfit. Fresh Nikes. Glittering ice in my ears, freezing any other ear lobe within a twenty mile radius.

“Do I know you?” I had a mean mug on my face but I had my hard dick pressed against my boxers. I was about to cum at any moment. He said, “Mind giving me a ride to the City?” I said, “Sure, you got gas money?”

He looked into my eyes. He had hazel ones, looked so goddamn handsome. Yet he wasn’t a pretty boy. He looked tough, acted tough and I loved my men built FORD tough. Unlaced boots, pants tucked in them. He grabbed his dick and said, “I’ll spot cha, homie. I just can’t rely on the buses, and see my Chevy over yonder,” he went on, nodding. I saw it by the bushes. Nice rims on it. “It cut off on me, and I don’t have fam down here.”

I said, “I’ll take you.” After my car was finished, I took him. But when I got on the turnpike, horny as hell, wanting all his dick stuffed in me like turkey, we were caught in traffic. “It’s hot in here, homie. Mind if I take off my shirt?”

“Nah, you cool. Go ahead.”

He took it off, exhaling. Breath smelled like Popeye’s chicken and weed, with a hint of something sweet. Turned me on. He was sweating profusely. I looked at him, damn, boy. “Are you alright?” I asked.

“Nah,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I got to come out these pants, its hot, my niggah. But I don’t want to disrespect you like dat.”

Against my better judgment, I said, “Go ahead.”

He looked at me. “Word?” He was rubbing his dick slowly, gripping his nuts through the lowered zipper…I pretended not to notice. What was I about to do?

I am about to pull this car over and let this pervert out on the street. He didn’t know me and I didn’t know him. Who did he think I was? My hole was priceless and a niggah had to work a 9-5 to get it. I didn’t support broke niggah who flirted with a high maintenance niggah like me just to get my money to pay his cell phone (with a hundred other niggah’s numbers store in it), and to supply his weed and to give him a bed to rock my pretty ass in iut every time baby mama pissed him off. They are controlling little bitches and I didn’t have the time nor the resourced to deal with a Thug Niggah. Thug and Niggah, two entities in themselves that, for the moment, kept my legs closed and my eyes on the details of my 401 (k)

“Yes,” I said, smiling. My eyes sparkled. “Word.”

“You aren’t gay are you?”

I was taken aback. “Hell, naw, Homie…”

Those hazel eyes gleamed with my earrings. “Good. You act and look Hood. I like that. We might be cool.”

He slowly took off his pants. His boxers fit him nicely. He had a huge dick. It fell through the hole and settled on my seat. Traffic moved a tiny bit but stopped. Ambulances raced on the outer parameters of the roads. Meant there was an accident. We would be there for a while.

His abs were steel. His lips, pitch black, thick and luscious.

He said, “Click your hazard blinkers on.”

I did so.

“Pull off them pants, let me taste that ass.”

“I took them off, happy as hell. He turned me on my stomach and he chewed around, all over and through my booty hole until I came on the seat. He was stroking his dick, his tongue deeply inside me. He could feel my walls pulsate on it when I came. He took my come and lathered his dick, stroking himself, his hips turning in circular motions. He stuck his finger in my ass, sucked it off. Stuck it in. Sucked. It. Off. Two fingers. He wiped my hole around his lips like lipstick and he ate me some more, sucking my hole, stoking that monster. His thighs jiggling, cars passing by us. I had tinted windows, didn’t worry.

“Damn, boy. I love a clean ass.” He pulled out a small bag of weed. Kissing it, he said, “I’m about to go 4/20 on that ass.”

“Damn, dog,” I mumbled, making the booty cheeks shake. He smiled boyishly, opening the weed.

“I know this ass gotta be good, I’m about to take some weed to the head in a way I never have.” He tongued my hole, spit everywhere. He poured the weed into his hands and pressed it against my hole. Air was causing my hole to open and close. “Damn, baby. Pretty hole. Sucking this weed up in it, hell yea.” He began to feast, sucking the weed into his mouth, gripping my ass cheeks so tight it hurt but that tongue, the feel of the weed crumbs brushing my hole was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. He swallowed every crumb of weed, smacking his lips. “That was so good, dog. I think I’ma buy some blunt paper to stick to that ass while I stick this hole.

“Keep tonguing me, baby.”

“I want this ass to be mine…” The humidity rose in the car, felt like we were baking in an oven and I loved it. The smell of his dick and old spice, mixed with this clean ass was enough to give me a heart attack. He kissed both cheeks, and his stroking increased. His breathing heavier, his eyes narrower. He bit my right ass cheek, while hi used his thumb to pound me. He had a thick thumb, my legs trembling, tears racing from my eyes.

“Damn that ass got motion, dog.” Smack. “Damn, Niggah.” He got behind me and slowly slid up in my ass. I was taking it like a man, he was humongous. My hole swallowed it up.

“Damn, dog…ummm, yea. Where’s your Jimmy.”

“Shut up, and take this pole, Ho.” He pulled out a black permanent Sharpie marker. Huge marker with a thick tip, He said, as he wrote each huge letter on my ass cheeks, “D-E-L-V-I-N’-S A-S-S..” He grinded the rest of his pole inside me, tapping it, making it shake, shake, then tremble, quiver and shiver. He gripped my neck, grabbed my afro with his left hand and got rough, fucking the dog shit out of me. I looked back in the rear view mirror. DELVIN’S ASS gyrating. The words mesmerized my eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. “Damn, my name shaking on all that phat ass…” I could barely take it. I normally didn’t let anybody fuck me without condoms, but fuck it.

He twirled those hips. His ass wiggling, those nuts slapping. I lost it again, I began to come.

“Damn, bitch. You know how to make yourself come without touching yourself. That’s hot…”

I dug my nails into my seat, ripping my expensive leather.

“I’m bout to nut to, bitch.” He pulled out, slapping my ass over and over with his rope while clouds of cum spurted in my hear, neck, ass cheeks, hole, leather seats, back windshield. He was slapping, slapping, slapping that good dick.

When it was over I crawled into the back seat and I lay down, tired, drained, spent.

“I got you, baby,” he said, getting behind the wheel and he drove to his crib.
I slept on the back seat.