I got ninety-nine problems, and a big dick ain’t one.
Ain’t nothing like a jumbo dick. Now, imagine two jumbo dicks attached to two different fine, ass Dominicans from New York City, one from Brooklyn and the other from Uptown. Yes, in the name of our Beloved Tupac, I thot around.
Miguel lived in Washington Heights. Juanito lived in East New York. I fucked them for two different reasons. Well, maybe three. The third is, I am a heaux.
Migue (MEE-gay), as I affectionately called him, was papi chulo; your typical, fly, high yellow Dominican with curly hair. You know, the type who stays fresh, goes to work every day, comes home to wifey, gives her money and bomb dick. that step-and-repeat type of nigga. He was dead set on pleasing his girl in every way, and he pleased me lovely.
Juanito—or Jay as he liked to be called—was a thoroughbred nigga from the streets. He was a fine-ass, caramel-skinned nigga with a baldy that came with two kids and a babies’ mama. I didn’t even know he was Dominican because he was a straight Timberland, saggy jean, gold chain-wearing, Yankee-fitted hat-type jawn who only spoke Spanish when necessary. The streets was his bitch, but when I caught his eye, he wasted no time hollering or spending his money.
Migue and Jay were like night and day. Migue was attentive and sweet. We didn’t even fuck until the sixth date. Jay was sweet when he wanted something but a lovable asshole, nonetheless. By the end of our first date, he was balls-deep in this pussy.
Both niggas had a righteous dick game. Neither one of them Latin Kings came up short. However, they were distinctly different when pleasing this pussy.
My uptown Papi was incredibly particular about the places we swung our episodes. Our sessions almost always went down in the bedroom. Papi chulo was aware of his massive, 11-inch man meat when he put in that dick work. The head alone was a fucking monster: big, fat, thick, and juicy. It made my chocha drip just enough to receive every centimeter. Still, Papi was always careful not to hurt me.
He breathed heavily into my ear and made my nipples stand at attention when he whispered shit like, “Eres mia?” which means are you mine? in Spanish. He’d make me say “Sí, Papi,” and if I didn’t, he’d threaten to stop fucking me. I’mma heaux so—yo lo dije.
Migue had no issues with intimacy and preferred to be on top as he pressed my legs firmly at my shoulders. And if I had to be on top, he’d want me to lean into him so my tetillas fell directly at his tongue and so I could control how much of that horse dick went inside me. Papi was good in that way and never nutted before me. After these good fuck sessions we’d fall asleep with our bodies intertwined afterward.
Gracias a ese hombre.
Jay’s lovemaking skills were quite the contrary. His dick was slightly smaller in size, and he lacked Migue’s awareness of how prepared a girl’s pussy had to be to get pounded. Not just any girl’s pussy, but my pussy. He didn’t give a fuck about time or place. When the mood struck him—we were fucking.
By the time I finished deepthroating that curved jackhammer, I was getting that bitch shoved in me, whether I was ready or not. This arrogant, sexy muthafucka would literally say, “Regulators. Mount up.”
I always mounted up, though.
I mean I am a dick-loving heaux.
He never said it, but Jay’s dick would get harder the more I winced from him beating the box. I swear his cock could cut concrete. He was an ass man, and since I have an abundance of it, his choice position for boning me was doggy style. Each time, that nigga would blow my back out. My ego wouldn’t allow me to moan or scream even as he annihilated this punani. He’d throw the dick and I willingly threw that ass right back to get him to bust off even quicker.
Jay talked cash shit when we fucked because he knew he had some bomb ass dick. He made sly remarks while my ass bounced from every thrust.
“You ain’t going nowhere ‘cause you love this dick, mami.”
I couldn’t find the lie, but I responded with “Boy, you know love this pussy. Este toto ‘ta divino.”
I was correct in that assertion. He wouldn’t say it, but Jay never missed a date he planned with me or the chance to fuck my face off. Not even when the streets called.
The initial six months of dating, and juggling my two Dominican dicks was a cakewalk.
Migue was always available. Jay would visit the kid, bang my guts out and go on his merry way.
I figured a few days between the two was enough time for my cooch to recover especially after sessions with Jay. Sometimes, we would go so hard and long that I had to ice my box to bring down the soreness and swelling. I loved that shit though. I’mma heaux.
One Friday night, Jay spent the night after our weekly fuck off. He chilled naked in the bed while I took a shower. It hadn’t occurred to me to take my phone into the bathroom with me.
Migue texted me expressing how he was falling in love and it was time to take our relationship to the next level. Jay read my damn messages.
When I came out of the bathroom
He looked at me like I called his mama a bitch and asked, “You fucking another nigga?”
“You live with your babies’ mother and you fuck other bitches,” I replied. “I don’t ask you no fucking questions.”
“You ain’t me.”
And then nothing, but awkward silence.
“I do what I do, but you’re my girl,” Jay finally said. “And you don’t need to be fucking with no other niggas.”
His typical, cocky swag gave way to vulnerability that made me feel uncomfortable. Afterall, we were just fucking … and I’m a heaux.
Jay gazed at my naked body and whispered, “Come on, baby. Give daddy what’s his.”
I looked at Brooklyn bae like he was a complete stranger. I didn’t know this man who was begging me to love him. Was that my ego talking or was he that into me?
Jay grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back on top of his rock hard meat. He kissed me full in the mouth. We never kissed. I mean he, masterfully, sucked on my titties, but kissing wasn’t our thing.
Between riding his dick, and tongue-ing me down, he whispered, “Eres mia, verdad?”
I froze. The nigga was acting real different, speaking in Spanish and whatnot. My reaction apparently snapped him back to reality. The next thing I know he grabbed me by the throat and said “This my pussy. You and that nigga done, right?”
It was more of a demand than a question.
I lied. I moaned. I said “Yes.”
That night, Brooklyn bae fucked me like I had to pay reparations for fucking another nigga. My pussy paid for it in pain. I came so much I nearly blacked out.
With every luscious stroke, the top of my dome smacked the fuckoutta the headboard. I didn’t give a fuck. I’mma heaux, remember?
Then he buried his face in my titties, gripped both my hands together, and restrained them over my head …
—he fucked harder
—and faster
—and longer
—and stronger
—and he released every drop of his dick milk. The muthafucka came inside me.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he moaned breathlessly as he tightened his grip on my wrists. He banged his last strokes into my pelvis.
Jay and I never used condoms. I either swallowed the nut or he let off on my boobs. He broke the code with this bullshit.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
He ignored me at first; then pulled out of my pussy, fell back onto the bed and sparked a Newport.
“I told you… you’re mine,” he said, breathing heavily.
Yo.
I had a stupid ass look on my face that he also ignored while he we headed to the bathroom and showered. Once done,
Jay got dressed and headed for the door.
I jumped out of bed still dripping cum and sweat from my naked body.
“Wait, I thought you were spending the night?”
“Yeah, I was until that hoe ass nigga texted you,” he said dismissively. “I ain’t sweating your ass. Call that nigga.”
I felt a wave of anger rush over me.
“Have fun on your little date tomorrow. You’ll be calling me in a month to tell me you’re pregnant,” Jay smirked.
“Fuck you.”
He laughed, and left.
Jay didn’t call back that night, nor did I call him. That nigga ain’t the only big dick on the block. And I don’t love that heaux.
The next day, my date with Papi chulo went off without a hitch and so did the relationship. I had pretty much written Jay off, and I agreed to be his mami.
That night, Migue went all out. When we walked into the house, there were rose petals all over the floor leading to his bedroom.
He took me by the hand, led me to the room, and began to kiss me slowly.
Mmmm. Strawberries. His lips tasted like strawberries.
My breath quickened as he continued to suck and lick my lips and neck. I was already sopping wet so I undid three buttons on my shirt. He grabbed my hands and kissed them and whispered, “I gotchu, Mami.”
That nigga undressed me, then picked me up and laid me down on the bed.
I closed my eyes and felt his warm, wet mouth suck the rest places. Migue’s head was out of this world. His rapid-fire tongue made my toes curl and body squirm. I squealed with delight.
Then 1, 2, 3…
”Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”
He climbed on top of me with his fly open and dick out. My pussy didn’t have a chance.
I felt happy and loved by Migue and began spending more time with him. Jay’s punk ass still hadn’t called. I figured he moved on and so had I.
Fuck him.
The following month, my period came. Albeit, lighter than usual. I didn’t think anything of it. I was elated to have one—Period. However, a month later it never showed.
Then, the fear set in. I bought 5 different pregnancy tests and raced home to take them. I drank a gallon of water in 30 minutes. An hour later, I had five equal results. Pregnant.
What the hell am I going to tell Migue? I thought as I tried to keep it together.
Migue called to see if I had made it home. I sent him to my voicemail and shot him a text that I was ok.
I got my bearings, rinsed my face with cold water, threw the used pregnancy tests in the trash and bolted for the door.
When I arrived at Migue’s house, he had already made dinner. God! He’s a sweetheart.
For the next two weeks, I carried on like normal, as if I didn’t have Jay’s baby inside me. Although I was sleeping more than usual and I had morning sickness, our sex life was magnificent. I gave some bullshit excuse about food poisoning, and Migue bought it.
That weekend, I got up the courage to call Jay. I was so nervous, my hands were shaking. He picked up after a few rings, and it almost sounded like he was smiling through the phone.
“What’s up, chula? Long time no speak. How’s the belly?”
I began to cry. Between snot and stuttering I managed to say, “What am I going to tell Migue? I need money for an abortion.”
He asked where I was, and told me he was on his way.
Fifteen minutes later, there he stood in a blue Yankee fitted baseball cap, looking better than ever.
He didn’t even wait for me to invite him in. This cocky negro pushed past me and headed straight to my couch. He removed his jacket, sat down and told me he wasn’t giving me money for an abortion.
“Yo. Fuck that nigga. That’s my baby, and what the fuck you talkin’ bout abortions for, huh? We gonna have a family and that’s it,”
I asked him about his children’s mother and the other women.
“All that shit’s dead. I moved out of the crib a month ago,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about none of that. Just take care of my baby.”
“This isn’t how I wanted my first pregnancy to be, nigga,” I exclaimed through tears.
“You shoulda been let that nigga go,” he replied haughtily. “You’re mine.”
Real talk, I was lowkey turned on and frantic at the same time. I knew what kind of nigga Jay was, and I didn’t want Migue to have drama because of my bullshit.
I told him I would end things with my boo thang. Begrudgingly, I promised him I would.
Without going into the gory details, I broke Migue’s heart two days later. I cried a lot. And although Jay made it a point to visit every day, he didn’t stay the nights like I needed him to. I had keys to his place, but I could never come over unannounced.
Apparently, he thought fucking my brains out would make me get over Migue.
It didn’t, but I never told him that. I attributed my weepy, emotional outbursts to being hormonal and pregnant.
Outside of the bedroom, Brooklyn bae was cold and nonchalant. He tried to be a mushy nigga, but it just wasn’t in him. He rubbed my belly sometimes but never went to the doctor with me. I craved affection.
This was some bullshit. I traded down.
I yearned to talk to Migue, but decided against it. Being with Jay was insane. We fought, made up and fucked.
Step and repeat.
Jay was still just a nigga from the projects. Taming him wasn’t in the cards. He is who he is. We had our baby girl in the fall of last year. He loves his daughter with all his heart.
But quite frankly, I have been duped. I traded the Dominican of my dreams for a hard rock Dominican who has nothing but street dreams. Aside giving me the greatest gift in the world, my baby girl, all he delivered was a hard fuck and heartache.
If ever you’re caught between two dicks and a hard spot, never give up one for the other and always choose you.
Got a freaky AUNTIE AFTER DARK story you wanna share? Hit us up here: AUNTIE’s MAILBOX
RELATED CONTENT: The D Wasn’t Big But It Was Murderous
