Joints, Beer and the Cheating Wife
A short story by Dapharoah69 @ 2006 Copyright





Oblivious to any rational thoughts, my boy and I rode around good ole Miami, in a deep silence. I had a bad craving for some weed. I always have a craving for weed. I smoked on excess of three joints a day, and thinking about it I needed to stop by Whopple Store and buy some Swisher Sweets so I can roll a few blunts. Maybe I should use a Dutch Master. Nah, I couldn't even begin to make a choice. My mind was fucked up. Really fucked up. But I do want to smoke. But I didn't feel like swinging by my cousin Robert's immaculately-fucked-up house in Goulds, Florida to pick it up. I was a little adamant about going. Seemed like twice a week SWAT was busting down his door. I was angry, I felt betrayed and unwanted. And it all had to do with my wife.
My loving wife.
The Slut!!
Devastated, I was driving on I-95, bumping Pretty Ricky. I really didn't want to hear any music. I didn't feel like breathing, shitting or eating right now. My stomach was in knots. I fell out with a receptionist at the Bank of America a few hours ago. I told the bitch to take my wife off my bank account and she looked at me like I was stupid and said, with an attitude, "I need her here."
I frowned. "For what?"
"She has to sign off on the document."
Sign? This ain't a prenup, bitch! "But its my account."
"And it became your wife's account, in conjunction with you, when you signed her on it. So you have yourself to blame."
This Ho really wants me to stomp her ass. In the bank! "Where's your customer service?"
"Sir, I'm talking to you with respect."
"Oh, now I'm sir! Last week and a few months before that you called me by my first name. Now its Sir."
"Please, sir, the bank is crowded and we have to get a move on."
"Ok, then, take my wife off my account. Today."
"Sir, its against regulations--"
"--Listen, bitch!" Everyone in the bank looked at me, all activity ceased. "i don't know what kinda bitch fan club you ugly Hoes are running, but it was my account years before I married the cheating bitch! Take her off, or I'll close this fucking account right muthafucking now!"
Ten minutes later it was closed.
And now I'm driving this big ass SUV, mad with the world. I hadn't felt this way since the day my daddy died.
"Why are you so quiet," my boy asked me. I just remained silent. "Homeboy?"
I looked at him,red-eyed. "Yo."
"We're gonna get through this."
"I don't know."


***


Two hours later.
"My wife left me."
"I know, homeboy."
I loved his gravely, smoky voice. But I'll never tell him that. "Why the attitude my niggah?"
"Because you said that eight times in five minutes. And let's not count the number of times you said it while we drove around Miami in your SUV looking like zombies!"
"Damn, mah niggah, my wife cheated on me."
He huffed and puffed like he always did when he got aggravated. "Goddamn, niggah!"
"I'm getting high," I said. "I can't help it. I gotta get this shit off my mind, I gotta get it out of my head. This ain't cool!"
"I'll tell you what ain't cool, you tripping."
"You are, too! Anyways, niggah, pour me some Henny," I suggested and he flipped the bird at me. I returned the gesture.
"Pour your own shit. I'm not your bitch." He glared deep into my eyes. "And I never will be your bitch!"
"Ok, but first, I gotta tell you something."
"What?" He looked frustrated.
"My wife left me."
My niggah laughs at me, bitterly. And I get pissed. "She wasn't good for you," he informed me, and I ignore him. Sometimes he could be the biggest asshole on the face of the earth. "My wife wasn't either. So much for our double wedding. It blew up in both our faces!" His smile and laughter dies to anger and a frown that shook me a little bit. He sipped his Hennessy, puffing on my joint.
I give him the most confused look. "Why do you always talk down to me?"
"I'm your boy, I tell it like it is."
"And I guess that's what you're doing?"
"Yes, Clive, that's exactly what I'm doing. We both live in the heart of the ghetto, in sunny Opa Locka in Miami, and we have no life, you were married, but your wife was caught sucking on another woman's pussy, a woman who happens to be my loving wife! And you're getting an attitude with me."
"Some friend you are, Kevin. And pass the weed, you're hogging it all up. I paid out the ass for that bag."
"I'll pass it when I'm finish!" My boy wanted to cry, I could see it written all over his beautiful face. A thug at heart, dressed the part and always carried his Glock. He'd shoot a niggah quick. We been to jail together, been to jail for each other. We had the same jobs, hated working for the man, hated politics and the President.
"Come on Kevin! I need to get higher than I am. All I have is a buzz, I'm not a goddamn bee."
He unzipped his stylish, red Echo jacket and passed me the almost-gone joint. Ten minutes ago, when I first got to his house (his stuff packed up in boxes from All Over Moving and Supply) my joint was six inches long, and he gives it back to me damn near an half of an inch. I wanted to kick his ass.
Kevin and I have known each other since high school. We met when the both of us tried out for the junior varsity basketball game. The coach, fat-ass Mr. Samuel, refused to put us both on the same basketball team. He said all we did was talk and run trains on the bitches and he didn't want a "bad influence overshadowing the ethical diversity of his fucking basketball team!" I thought the team belonged to the high school.
I couldn't stand him. And back then basketball was my life, my heart. It was all I ever did, all I ever watched on TV. Michael Jordan and Earving Magic Johnson were my idols. I had everything Michael and Magic on my walls (posters, trading cards collected in my dressers, video games, sneakers). I used to play one-on-one with my Daddy, the Beloved, Late Reverend Henry, until he passed away of a heart attack (after fucking my Mama half to death, and when he had his thunderous orgasm, he died right on top of her). I could still hear Mama's screaming through my bedroom walls after the sexcapade ended.
"MY BABY! MY BABY! WAKE UP! PLEASE, BABY, DON'T LEAVE ME WITH THREE SONS! BABY!"
I was stunned. I held the telephone, high off weed and I was paralyzed. I couldn't move. And when the ambulance wailed onto our drug-infested, dope-dealer-central block, everyone crowded around my house when my Daddy was wheeled into the ambulance, breathing mask on his face, dead. The Emergency workers had grim looks on their faces. I stood there in my P.Js, crying so hard I cracked open. My boys held me together as the red and blue lights from the ambulance and police cars colored my face. I loved Daddy, he was attentive, warm and sincere. He loved people. He didn't have a hate bone in his body. He knew that bible. He loved my basketball skills. He always supported me in my games in junior high school. He was my biggest fan.
And I thought about him when Mr. Samuel told me I couldn't play on the same team with Kevin.
"Why?" I had asked with an attitude. I was one of the handsomest, hardest thugs in school. I had a full beard in the ninth grade. "He's my boy."
"And I need a tam! A reliable team!" He was nice-looking, but he was fat. Talked really dumb. His vocabulary consisted of half-said words and he did a painfully fucked up job using Ebonics.
"Suck my dick, bitch!" I yelled at him. I was so mad! How could he deny my spot on the basketball team when I was the best baller in the school? And he knew that! And I got to that level without his guidance!
Kevin, having my back, flipped him the bird. We were both high on weed. Weed was our life, weed was the shit. I didn't know a niggah in my school who didn't smoke the Chronic.
I went to his office, Kevin behind me. He stamped inside and slammed the door closed. We beat him there. He pointed at me. "How dare you embarrass me in front of my team? You won't play ball for this school."
Kevin beat me to the punch. "Why? Because we're best friends?"
"No." He sat on his desk. "because your reputations exceeds you. Everyone talks about you. How you treat women. How you fuck them and leave them. First impressions is everything. I can't have that on my team, I don't need the bias."
I looked at Kevin. "Leave, homeboy, I'll handle this."
"You sure," he said, mean-mugging Coach Samuel.
"Yea."
And he left. When he did I locked the door and closed the blinds. I unzipped my pants, eyeing his fat ass. I was horny, horny for getting my way, and I would.
"What are you doing?" he asked, standing up, heading for the door.
I stood in front of him. "Give me some head, bitch, and don't say nothing. And when you swallow my nut, make sure me and my boy get on the team."
My boy and I were on the team when he swallowed every drop twenty minutes later. And I fucked his fat ass on his desk for emphasis. I was a thug niggah. I got what I wanted.


***



Kevin and I were the same height (5 foot 9), the same age (28) and from the same hood (where we lived now). We always had each other's back. We both married in the same church at the same time in front of four families. My wife was best friends with his wife. They grew up together and went through thick and thin together.
Liana, my wife and Beatrice, Kevin's wife were inseparable. The warning sings were there in the beginning, when every time I came home from work she was always there. Even after she got married, she wasn't home from her honeymoon for an hour and she was already tearing my door down to get to Liana.
Girl this and that and we went to this and did that. I always left them alone and went over to Kevin's house when she came over. I figured they wanted their privacy.
And now this.
My wife cheated on me, when she was in love with Kevin's wife, even before we married.



***



An hour and three blunts later, Kevin and I were watching Method Man on the movie How High. One of my favorites. We sat in his living room. The big screen flashing in our faces the way those police lights flashed on me when my Daddy died. I was sad now, feeling vulnerable. I loved my wife, we had a good home, even if it was in the ghetto. We had goals of having our own business.
She was my world. I was faithful to her in every sense of the word, never flirted with the Hoes behind her back, always put her first. And she did this to me and Kevin and his wife.
Heartless bitch.
I held in my tears. A thug never cried. I closed myself off to the love I had for her. My boy lit another joint, I'm already bouncing around Mars, looking for red sand and he wanted me on planet Jupiter. Higher. So I went higher.
When I took the joint from him my hand grazed his and he looked at me, his baggy pants under his ass, his Timberland-clad feet propped on the Vibe-holding, dusty low-table.
"All right punk, you ain't gotta touch on my hand like dat. I don't do the freaky-deaky shit. Just get the Dutch and puff puff, mah niggah."
I squeezed his upper thigh and he chopped me playfully. I took the joint. "Niggah, I don't wanna touch you."
"Yes you do," he challenges me. And I accept the battle.
"That's what your wife is for." He gets sadder than he was. High, drunk and sad. I felt bad. My heart sank, and I hid it from my face. I wasn't a ho-ass niggah, but Kevin loved his wife just as much as I loved mine. We were dedicated niggah, turned down pussy for our wives, turned down money and cars. "Mah niggah I'm sorry," I said, apologizing. He just hugged me, held me tight.
"Mah niggah don't let me go," he says, shaking. I felt him trembling. I held him back, welcoming his arms. I felt good in them...
He leaned back and kissed my lips. Softly. Looking into my eyes as I inhaled Hennessy and weed from his sweet,moist breath. He looked so goddamn sexy. I fought myself to not think that way. He had a big ass, nice body. Very young-looking. I lean up to his quivering lips. Give him the tongue action.
"If our wives can fuck then their husbands can fuck, too," he said, taking my pants off. I had on silk boxers, with weed all over it.
He took out my dick and started chopping me up, slowly, sucking my dick the way he wanted his sucked.
I picked up the remote and turned off the TV. He pulled, slurped noisily. My boy sucked dick before , because his teeth didn't graze my shit.
I leaned my head back, opening my legs apart. I had on a brown jacket. I took it off, he kept my nine inch duck in his hot mouth.
"Suck it bitch!" I told him, grabbing the top of his head and fucking that pretty mouth. He gagged and chocked but he kept swallowing the dick. He moaned like a bitch. I slapped his ass, whack, and put my right hand in his pants, playing around with an asshole that had never been fucked.
I pulled my hand out, sucked on two fingers, and put my hand back on the ass, massaging that tight hole. He twirled that ass on my fingers as they slowly entered new territory. His eyes wide, he moaned louder, taking my dick out his mouth and I slapped his face with my big dick.
"Put it back in that mouth, bitch, did I tell you to take it out."
"No mah niggah."
He sucked me so slow, so good. I pumped his mouth. My nuts bouncing. My masculine moans filled the house.
After I came on his face I stood up, turned him around, slapped that ass and made him get in the doggy style position. You know niggahs: when they got their dick sucked, they then wanted to fuck. I spread his ass cheeks apart and sucked that pussy, giving his a thick tongue.
He went crazy. "Oh, mah niggah that feels so good goddamn I shoulda did this shit years ago, you making me feel like a bitch goddamn mah niggah suck that asshole, goddamn!"
I ate his ass, he tasted so good. He turned into a bitch. "Who's my bitch?" I asked him ,demanding an answer.
"You mah niggah." He wore the jacket and the boots only and a do-rag. And nothing but ass in my face.
I then slid up in the hole, giving him all nine inches, slowly, expertly...his hole was so tight, so hot. He, wide-eyed, looked back at me. He couldn't believe it felt like this, so good. I can't believe I never thought about fucking my niggah, my homeboy. Damn he had some good pussy.
I fucked the shit out of him, he was a thug, I told him to take it like a thug. He whimpered, cried, begged me to stop. he said it felt too good, he couldn't handle it, he said the pleasure was too much.
I fucked him harder, putting one leg on the sofa and tagging that ass. His ass jiggled on my dick, his hole loosening and making farty noises. He fell on his face, and I kept tagging that asshole, watching my dick slide in and out so fast it made his head spin... I slapped that ass, over and over and over.
We were drenched with sweat. "This my pussy, bitch?"
"Yea, Daddy!"
"You my Bitch?"
"YES, YES, YES FUCK ME DADDY MAH NIGAH FUCK MY ASSHOLE DAMN MAH NIGGAH YOU GOT SOME GOOD DICK!"
"You ready for this nut?"
"NUT IN MY ASS MAH NIGGAH!"
"You ain't ready for this nut!"
"MAH NIGGAH I"M READY FO DAT SHIT MUFUCKAH!"
We were yelling so loud we didn't give a fuck if anybody heard.
I shot my ball-jolting load in his asshole, letting him feel my dick pumping my preemies. His walls were still tight on my dick, and he began throwing that ass on my shit, and I damn near buckled at the knees. I had him hooked. I was going to fuck this niggah every damn day. He had no damn choice. I was addicted to his ass, and he had some good ass at that.
When I pulled out the front door opened and our wives walked inside, puffing joint, holding Budweiser beer cans.
"Yea, girl, he mad 'cause I sucked that pussy," said Liana.
Beatrice beamed. "Anyways, fuck them! They always together! They never have time for us."
"Girl, it smells like sex in your house."
Beatrice looked at her, clad in a skimpy skirt and a Lenny Kravitz T-shirt. "No it doesn't, probably my carpet in the living room. Its mildewing. My man wouldn't cheat on me. Even though he walked in on us, he wouldn't hurt me..."
They turned to face my new niggah and I kissing. Their mouths fell open in shock. We lay there, smiling, and my boy look at me and say, "Light up another joint. They were just leaving. Revenge is a bitch, ain't it..."
And I smiled victoriously at my cheating wife. "Let's go to Saturn this time."
And Beatrice walked over to us, silent. She sat by her husband. She was taking this all in, I thought she was in a state of shock. She kept rubbing her eyes, looking at us, pinching her skin. She looked pale. I knew she was in pain. The joke was on her. How did she like that? How did she expect us to react? Was we supposed to give a fuck when she'd been fucking my wife for months, probably years? My heart went out to her but the Thug in me wouldn't let it go too far. And my boy didn't give a damn about her feelings. he took off his wedding ring and threw it across the room. it smashed into their huge wedding picture hanging in the dining room, and the glass cracked.
"BULLSEYE!" he screamed evilly, staring at her with the most wicked smile I'd ever seen.. "Got something to say? Feel like bashing me? Are you hurting? Am, I twisting the knife in your back deeper, the same knife you used on me?"
"Baby..."
"I'm not your baby. I'm not your husband. You can try to take my house, bitch, it ain't gonna happen. You committed adultery first! Now bitch try me!"
I touched his arm, looking at him sweetly. "Calm down. No sense in fighting. We all hurt each other. We're human. We're acting like children. And we're making hasty decisions based on hurt and pain. Calm down."
When I pulled on the weed, she said, "Can I get next on the weed? I need it."
And I looked at my boy and laughed so hard I fell off the chair.

Part 2