Brick (Double Dippin') (18 page)

I let go of Fawn and reluctantly break the kiss. I glower at Munch’s retarded ass. Damn, can’t he see I’m tryna get my mack on?

No doubt about it, Munch is cock-blocking, and he don’t give a fuck. Greedy bastard. I feel like putting a muzzle on this mufucka. If he wants to act like a mangy dog, then he needs to be treated like one.

The sluggish and wobbly way he’s crawling looks so fucked up, I have to shift my eyes away from him. He’s disgusting. But a noise draws my attention back to Munch.

“Watch where you going, man!” I yell as Munch bangs into the TV stand and then a floor lamp, nearly knocking it over. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Munch is drunk from all of that pussy juice he’s been guzzling.

I can’t believe the timing of this dude. Why he gotta come over here fucking with us? I was
this c
lose to persuading Fawn to play with my dick. I might’ve been able to get her to suck it.

Fawn pulls away from me and gazes down at Munch. He’s
brushing against her leg. I swear to God, I’ma smack Munch upside his head with a rolled-up newspaper if he rears up and starts humping on Fawn’s leg.

When Fawn bends a little and brushes the side of his face with the back of her hand, I realize I might have to switch chicks. I turn around so I can check out Tillie. See if she’s worth fucking. But that broad is sprawled out in the chair, sleep. Or maybe she’s unconscious. Or dead.

For somebody who’d been acting terrified of Munch, Fawn is now extremely bold. She grabs the handle of Munch’s collar and guides him to the couch. She lets go of the handle and starts pulling up her skirt. Before she can sit down, Munch has his face buried in her pussy. I notice his pussy-eating pace has changed. He’s slowly gliding his tongue up and down, between her pussy lips. I can tell he’s really enjoying it by the way he’s turning his head from side to side, making sure he’s licking that coochie from every possible angle.

Fawn slides down to the couch and wraps her legs around Munch’s neck. I walk over to the couch to get a closer view. I want to be in close proximity, with my dick in my hand, as soon as Munch finishes eating.

I squeeze my Johnson as I observe Munch alternate sucking Fawn’s clit and lapping between her cunt lips. This is fascinating. Got me swiftly hand-stroking. I’m not gon’ front, this freaky shit has me horny as a mufucka.

I’ve been watching porn on cable since I got out of the joint. At first I was caught up, but now that crap seems corny compared to watching the real deal. Yeah, I love this scene.

“Eat all that pussy up,” I encourage Munch.

Fawn moans louder after I add my two cents’ worth. My dick is straining under the pressure of all this freakiness.

I grab the loop of his collar and yank it. “Yo, that’s enough, Munch. Save me some of that. Let me get in there.” I got my dick in my hand, tryna force it between his lips and into her pussy. But Munch won’t stop. He’s still lapping; his tongue accidentally flicks against my dick as he savors her juices.

That nigga’s slippery tongue sends a couple of electrical jolts up my spine, and now I’m backing away. I’m not with any homo activities. I’m not in jail, anymore.

So I’m beating my meat to the rhythm of Fawn’s melodic moaning. Munch is mercilessly lashing her pussy with his tongue.

Blood is rushing through my veins. I’m getting dangerously close to poppin’ off a geyser of dick juice. A spur-of-the-moment decision has me walking fast toward flat-nosed Tillie. She’s still sprawled out, but I don’t care. I give her pimply face a hard blast of hot jism.

Startled, Tillie jumps out of her sleep. She sits upright, flailing her arms and struggling for breath. She snorts, gurgles, gasps, and pants. If you ask me, she’s overreacting. She’s basically carrying on like she’s a victim of drowning.

“What happened in the kitchen?” Evette wants to know when she gets home from work.

“I was mad about something,” I mutter as I aim the remote at the TV.

“You put a giant hole in the wall and you dented the fridge!” she exclaims. “What happened to the dishes?”

“I broke ’em,” I say, dryly.

“Why?”

“I didn’t break all the dishes. There’s a few left,” I mumble without interest.

“Kaymar! Even the Aunt Jemima cookie jar is cracked. That belonged to my great aunt; it’s an antique!”

“Yo, Evette. Stop all that complaining, and let me watch TV in peace.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m just trying to understand—”

“Ain’t nothing to understand. I’m in here starving, and you’re worrying about a few lousy dishes and a dumb-ass cookie jar.”

Evette comes in the living room. “What are you in the mood for? I can heat you up some spaghetti.”

I roll my eyes. “Man, I don’t want that crap. How many nights in a row are you gon’ keep feeding me leftovers?”

“Baby, listen, the only thing in the freezer is pork chops and ribs.”

“Throw that shit out! How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t fuck with pork?”

I’m feeling extra surly because Fawn wouldn’t give me her number. There’s something about that chick. I dig her. But she’s playing hard to get. Talking about I can get in touch with her through her friend, Tillie. That’s bullshit and she knows it. Tillie can’t stand me. Ol’ bitch acting like a little bit of protein almost killed her. On some real shit, my dick sauce probably helped her bumpy skin condition.

“Money is low,” Evette says. “But I can probably squeeze out enough to buy you a cheesesteak.”

“That’ll work,” I say, cheerfully. “Make sure they put some fried onions, sweet peppers, and ketchup on it.”

“Okay. I can eat the leftover spaghetti or I can fry some pork chops for myself,” Evette says, thinking out loud. She’s still standing in the living room, and her presence is irking the shit out of me.

“Aye, get to stepping, Evette. Go get your future husband some grub!”

Evette laughs as she slings the strap of her purse over her shoulder. She crosses the room and gives me a kiss on the cheek. She knows I don’t play that kissing on the lips shit.

Once Evette is out of the house, I go in the kitchen, grab the house phone, and call Blake. “Yo, I need to get in touch with that chick, Tillie.”

“Man, I’m with my baby mom. Hit me up later. We’ll discuss it when I have some privacy.”

Blake disconnects. I don’t want to discuss anything. I just want the broad’s number. Shit, I’m not on Blake’s timeline, so I dig out a scrap of paper with Munch’s phone number. I’ve never called that fool before, but I’m desperate.

His mom answers. I’m annoyed because I called Munch’s cell; I wasn’t expecting to have to go through his mom. “Can I speak to Munch?” I ask in a respectful voice.

“Who is this?” she asks, irritably.

“This is Kaymar.”

“I don’t know who you are, Kaymar. But you need to know the rules. In this house, my son’s name is Owen. I don’t know how he picked up that horrible nickname, but I don’t acknowledge it. In the future, don’t call my son’s phone asking for anyone named Munch.”

Damn, Munch’s mom got a lot of mouth on her! She needs her ass whooped.
“Oh, my bad, can I speak to Owen?”

“Hold on.” She sounds real pissed off when she tells her son that he has a phone call. I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for Munch to pick up the phone.

When he finally takes my call, he sounds out of it, like he just woke up. “Yo, Munch,” I say in a cheerful tone. “I need Tillie’s number. Do you have it?”

“Tillie?”

“Yeah, the chick you brought to the crib with Fawn.” I wanna say, ‘the bitch whose pussy you gobbled until she passed out.’

“Oh, yeah? I just woke up. My head’s a lil’ fuzzy. But, um…why do you want Tillie’s number? Didn’t I hear you tell Fawn you want to get with her?”

“Yeah, but she said I have to go through Tillie.”

“Fawn left her number with me. She told me to give it to you.”

“No shit?” My face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Yeah, man. She said she wants to try you out.”

“That’s whassup.”

“So, when are you tryna see her? I can’t get out tonight; my mom got a long list of shit for me to do. But I can help you with
Fawn tomorrow. You know…get her in the mood, so she’ll be ready for you.”

“Nah, I’m good, man. I don’t need your help.”

“Aye,” he says. From his tone, I sense Munch doesn’t think I can satisfy Fawn without him starting her off with his special skills.

“So what’s the number?” I ask, irritably.

As Munch rattles off Fawn’s phone number, I quickly scribble it down on a napkin. I’m cheesing like I hit the jackpot. I wanna ask him why his mom picked up his cell, but fuck it…that’s Munch’s problem.

I have to hurry up and make this call to Fawn before Evette gets back from the deli. Evette gon’ have to get me a cell. It’s ridiculous to have to sneak around like a criminal fucking with this house phone.

I call Fawn and she picks up on the first ring. I ask if we can hook up tomorrow, during the day. I don’t tell her about Evette; I don’t wanna say anything that might chase her away. She agrees to swing by around eleven. If my money was right, I’d take Fawn to a nice hotel. Or out to lunch. I don’t know what it is about this chick, but she got my dome spinning.

“Is Munch gon’ be at your house?” she asks.

“No, it’s a private party. Just me and you.”

“Oh.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’ma be up front with you because I don’t wanna waste your time or mine.”

“Whatchu saying?”

“I’m saying, I can get a fuck off anybody. But after the way Munch put it on me, I can’t settle for below-average oral sex.”

Damn, Fawn is blunt; no beating around the bush with this
chick. I scratch my head, not sure about how I should respond to her question. I’ve never eaten pussy before, and I don’t plan on starting. At least not in the near future. She has me in a tight spot.

“The way you’re hesitating makes me think we need Munch to get it poppin’. I’ll try you out after he gets me in the mood,” Fawn states. There’s no shame in her game. These new breeds of females demand what they want. Fawn acts like she doesn’t wanna give up any pussy unless I can eat pussy to her satisfaction. I’m not comfortable with her requirements.

On some real shit, I don’t know how to eat pussy. But I’m so attracted to Fawn, I’m too scared to admit it. I don’t want to blow my chance to get up in that hot box. I’m gon’ have to string her along.

“Nah, we don’t need Munch; I gotchu,” I say in a voice I hope sounds convincing.

“You sure? Don’t make me come all the way to West Philly only to find out your oral performance is whack.”

“You’ll see,” I boast. “My head game is tight!”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

I laugh. Fawn has a pleasing way about her. She can easily get a smile out of me.

“By the way. My pussy is addictive. The average nigga can’t get enough of it,” Fawn tells me. Then she does this cute, playful little giggle.

Teasing her back, I say, “Munch sucked on your friend’s pussy much longer than he licked on yours. I think your friend must be the one with the good stuff.”

“Trust. This pussy of mine ain’t nothing to play with.”

“Yeah, aye, shawty. We’ll see about that.”

I pace for a good five minutes after I finish talking with Fawn.
I’m excited about her coming to see me tomorrow, but I’m also nervous about going down on her. I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve watched enough porn to know the basics of pussy-eating. And I had a bird’s-eye view of Munch lapping up her juices. But seeing it and doing it are two different things.

I might need another lesson before I’m ready to take the plunge. Maybe I should let Munch come over and start Fawn off. I can probably fake it by licking around her coochie a little bit after he does all the heavy lapping. But then again, I don’t want to put my mouth on anything Munch has been slurping on. That saliva-dripping mufucka is a regular at the free health clinic. I’m not tryna catch hoofing-mouth disease.

I’m sitting on the couch, deep in thought, when Evette comes home with my cheesesteak. Evette goes into the kitchen and places it on one of the few plates left after the fit I threw this morning.

She brings my food to me in the living room. Sets the plate in front of me, with a tall glass of Pepsi. She likes playing house and doing domesticated shit. It makes her feel good about herself. On some real shit, though…she could’ve handed me my grub the minute she walked through the door. A nigga is hungry and don’t need a plate.

Evette watches me bite into the cheesesteak. She’s wearing a proud, lopsided smile, as if she prepared the food with her own hands.

“I’m just gon’ warm up that spaghetti for myself. I’m too tired to fry those pork chops,” she says, absently.

I murmur a sound, letting her know I hear her, but I’m too busy killing the cheesesteak to get involved in a discussion about what she’s gon’ fix herself to eat.

She goes back into the kitchen, leaving me in peace. As I’m tearing up my Philly cheesesteak and guzzling down Pepsi, I’m
feeling concerned. I don’t think I can bullshit my way through a pussy-eating session. I may have to seriously consider letting Munch come over tomorrow. But I’m not gon’ eat behind his dirty ass. Hell, no!