The Man Handler

by Cairo

  Then there are women who aimlessly sit at the feet of their men, who come to them by command and not by choice, forced to be slaves to the men’s egotistical, self-centered, selfish whims; to be prisoners of lies and mind games. Many of these women are aware of this, and yet they stay, making excuses and justifying their men’s actions. There are still others who are stuck in deep-rooted denial, blinded by the illusion of love, and will willingly ignore and/or pretend, making choices that keep allowing their men to violate and disrespect them. And that’s their business. But, make no mistake, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever allow myself to be lured into believing that I have to idly sit, and take whatever bullshit a man feels compelled to dish out. I’m sorry, boo-boo, I know women have their reasons for why they do what they do—even if it appears out of desperation, but I cannot sympathize with any of ’em. And I damn sure can’t wrap my mind around why they’d compromise themselves or allow themselves to be victimized. Fuck that! I will never allow myself to stay in a fucked-up, miserable situation with a man, hurting, just for the sake of saying he’s mine.

  Trust and believe. I’d rather keep rotating dick and have peace of mind, than have a piece of a man and have to put up with a bunch of his bullshit and be stressed the fuck out, losing mad weight with my hair falling out and bags under my eyes. No, no, no…not gonna happen, trust! ’Cause at the end of the day, when it’s all said and done, with all of his cheating and lying and manipulating, is the motherfucker really yours? Better yet, is he really worth all the damn trouble? And if you’re going to answer, let’s be perfectly real about the shit. Unfortunately, most of you know like I do that many of you won’t be able to keep it funky with the truth because your dumb asses are so damn stuck in denial, and blinded by your own emotional neediness. But I’m not one to gossip.

  Anyway, when I bring a man into my bed, at least I already know who the hell I’m sleeping with. And, most times, it’s somebody else’s man. Someone I would never consider keeping in my life. And I accept it for what it is: a stiff dick and a wet tongue to be used at my discretion. So, the question is, do you really know who’s in your bed? Now, you don’t have to answer that with me, but it’s definitely something to think about.

  My cell phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. I walk over to the dining room table to get it. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually answer calls that come up on my caller ID as blocked, restricted or private, and I’m not exactly sure what compels me to start today, but I do. I press the green phone button and accept the call, walking back over to the sofa. I plop down.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Bitch, how long you been sucking my man’s dick?”

  “Excuse you? Who’s this?”

  “Your worst fucking nightmare,” the voice on the other end snaps. “And trust me. When I find out who the fuck you are, I’m gonna beat your slutty ass, bitch!”

  See. This is the only downfall about fucking another woman’s man. You have to expect shit like this to happen from time to time. Some dick whipped bitch, talking out the side of her neck about what she’s going to do to me when she catches me. Sometimes I entertain the calls; other times, I hang up. But, today’s this chick’s lucky day. I feel like playing. What cracks me the hell up is that some of these women really think they done snatched up the door prize. The shit is hilarious to me, and, at times, downright sad.

  I shake my head, and say, “Is that a promise or a threat?”

  “Both, bitch!” she snarls.

  I laugh, which only incites this crazed woman more.

  “Bitch, what the fuck is so funny, hunh? Let’s see how funny you think shit is when I got you picking up your damn dick-sucking jaws, you trifling bitch!”

  “My, my, my…aren’t we mighty hostile,” I say, taunting her.

  “Hostile my ass!” she snaps. “Answer the question, bitch. How long you been fucking my man?”

  I sigh, shaking my head. I clear my throat. “Um, ’scuse me, boo, but would you be so kind as to tell me what man has you so stressed out, calling my home making ridiculous threats, and accusing me of fucking him?”

  “Don’t fucking worry about all that,” she snaps. “Just stay the fuck away from my man. He’s mine, so go out and find yourself your own, and leave mine the FUCK alone, bitch!”

  I laugh again, sitting back on the sofa. “Oh, trust, sweetie, the last thing I’m worried about is a man, especially yours. And maybe you should learn how not to as well.”

  “It’s bitches like you,” she huffs, “that make it easy for men to cheat.”

  “Wrong answer, sweetie,” I say, crossing my legs. “It’s bitches like you that make it easy for men to cheat by constantly taking their cheating-asses back, denying that shit in your relationships ain’t right, and for always blaming everyone else but the men you dumb ass bitches keep letting fuck you over. So, don’t call me with your bullshit, bitch. I’m not your problem. Your mother-fucking man is.”

  “You fucking, slutty-ass ho, who the fuck do you think you talking to?”

  In my mind’s eye, I can see this bitch foaming at the mouth like a pit bull. I must have really struck a nerve.

  “You, you dizzy bitch,” I snap, getting bored with this little phone game I’m playing with this chick. Although I’m really not mad at her, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a bitch call me talking shit and I don’t check her ass. I don’t give a fuck if she does think I’m fucking her man. If she wanted to confront me about him, she should have come at me some other way. All this extra shit is uncalled for. And now that I’m thinking about it, I should hang up on her retarded ass. But, I won’t. “You called me with your fucking sob story,” I continue. “So obviously I’m talking to your dumb-ass. Now, what is it you want from me again?”

  “I want you to stay away from my man,” she states. It almost sounds like the bitch is begging. “If he calls you, hang up. If he comes by, don’t let him in.”

  “Oh, okay. And how is it you know that it’s me he’s fucking?”

  “’Cause I know.”

  I roll my eyes. “Bitch, you don’t know shit. You think you know; that’s what the fuck it is. So, let me tell you what I think. I think he has a slew of numbers in his phone and has probably cheated on you more times than you can keep count, and you keep taking his ass back. And now, once again, you think he’s creeping on your ass. I bet your miserable ass went through his phone, checking his messages and calling up and confronting chicks, to catch him out. But, I wasn’t one of the bitches who left him a message. You just happened to stumble upon my number in his address book, so your jealous ass thought you would reach out and touch. Bitch, please!”

  Silence.

  I continue, “So, let me ask. How many chicks confirmed they were fucking him?”

  “Bitch, what the fuck you all worried about that for? How many times you fuck him?”

  “Sweetie, you’re delusional if you think I’m worried about who your so-called man sticks his dick in. The fact of the matter is you’re the one stressing about it. You’re the one calling up chicks, practically begging—”

  “I ain’t begging no bitch about shit,” she snaps, cutting me off. “I’m warning them, including you.”

  I give her an exaggerated laugh. “Whew, you one funny chick,” I say. “But, girlfriend, don’t get it twisted. You’re not warning me about shit. You can ask me, and if I choose to respect your relationship, then I will. But, make no mistake. You’re definitely not going to make me do nothing with threats. ’Cause at the end of the day, you stupid bitch, I’m gonna fuck who the hell I want, including your man—if I so choose to. I don’t love him, and I damn sure don’t admire him. I’m fucking him. I don’t want him, sweetie. You do. So, you can make all the threats you want. He’s your headache, not mine. And that’s exactly how I like to keep it.”

  Silence again.

  For a moment, I think I hear sniffling, but I can’t be sure with the noise in the background. Why the fuck am I even e
ntertaining this nutty-bitch? I think, shaking my head. Who’s crazier? Her for being so damn stupid, or me for sitting here, listening to her dumb ass? And I still don’t know who the fuck she’s accusing me of fucking!

  “So, who is it again, you think I’m fucking?” I decide to ask, becoming increasingly disgusted with this shit.

  “Seth, bitch,” she finally says. “Don’t play stupid. You knew who the fuck I was calling about.”

  Seth, I think, sifting through my mental Rolodex. In my head I scream, “Bitch do you know how many men I have fucked and sucked, and you expect me to remember a motherfucking Seth?!”

  It takes me a minute to remember who the hell she’s talking about. But then it comes to me. Six-feet, three inches, one-hundred-and ninety-eight pounds of thick, seven-inch, dark-chocolate dick, complete with big, smooth balls filled with thick, white cream. Yes, Seth. I met him almost two years ago. Fucked him four times, then sent him on his merry way. What the fuck is he still doing with my number in his phone? Dumb ass!

  “Are you fucking serious?” I snap. “You mean to tell me, you’re calling my motherfucking house about some dick I fucked over a year ago. You stupid bitch! You could have saved yourself the dime.”

  “Who the fuck you calling stupid, ho?”

  “You,” I say, “calling me with this bullshit. If you were calling me about some current dick, then your ass might have had a legitimate reason to be calling here. But to be calling me about some shit that’s old news. Bitch, get a life!”

  I hang up.

  The bitch calls back. And I only pick up to fuck with her one last time.

  “Yes, dumb ass,” I say.

  “You know what?!” she yells at the top of her lungs. “I don’t give a fuck if it is old news. The fact that you fucked him is still news to me. And trust me. I’m going to beat the shit out of your cum-sucking ass if I ever catch you!”

  I let her scream on and on and on about what she’s going to do to me. “You don’t know who the fuck I am…I’m gonna smash your windows out…I’ma slash your motherfucking tires…” Blah, blah, blah. The true signs of a dick-crazy bitch.

  Humph. I really feel sorry for pathetic women like her. Constantly fighting over some man. Poor thing! I wonder how many other women she’s had to call and threaten, and beg for them to leave her precious man alone; the one who she lives and breathes and shits for. For some reason, that female group MoKenStef’s “He’s Mine” starts playing in my head. I start humming. He’s mine…you may of had him once, but I got him all the time…

  “Bitch,” she continues, “do you hear me talking to you? What the fuck you humming for?”

  “I’m humming ’cause he may be yours, but I’ve had him, and more than once. And I bet when he’s with your nutty ass, he’s somewhere still thinking about me, which is probably why he kept my number in his phone. While he’s fucking you, I’ll bet it’s me he still craves, remembering how this tight, wet pussy wrapped around his dick, how he loved eating out my sweet ass, and smearing my pussy juice all over his cheating-ass face before coming home to your dizzy ass. But, make no mistake. I’m not the other woman, and I’m damn sure not trying to fuck him into loving me enough to leave you, or break up your happy little home. Good night, sweetie.”

  I hang up, singing, “Never fall in looooooove with a man who don’t love you …” Stupid bitch, I think.

  My phone rings again. I glance at the caller ID. This time, I let it go into voicemail. When it beeps, I know the miserable bitch has left me a message. Ten minutes later, I receive a text message:

  What’s good? Listen. My girl is spazin’ the fuck out. She’s been going through my phone calling up chicks like crazy. Shit’s real hectic right now. If she hits you up with the BS, tell her she got the wrong number.

  Too late, I text back. You need to put a muzzle and a leash on her ass.

  I hope you didn’t tell her no crazy shit.

  I stare at the screen before responding back, shaking my head. This dumb fuck can’t possibly think I would cover for his ass. Yeah, I did.

  Damn! He replies back. Now she’s gonna be tryna put my ass out.

  Oh, well. That’s what the fuck you get for having my number in your damn phone. Why the fuck do you still have my number in your phone anyway? It’s not like I plan on giving you any more of this good pussy. I hope she fucks you up for being so damn stupid, nigga!

  Three minutes go by, no response back; ten minutes pass, still no response. She’s probably fucking him up, I think as I go upstairs to my bedroom. I hope her dumb ass cuts her losses and figures out how to move on with her life. I walk into the master bathroom, turn the water on, then pour in bath crystals. I strip off my clothes, and when the water has filled the tub, I step in, then slowly lower my body down into the steamy bubbles. Ian really did a number on my ass, I think, leaning my head back and closing my eyes, clenching my asshole muscles. Oh my God, my hole is still burning.

  I hear the sound of my cell ringing. But I think I am dreaming. It is not until it starts ringing again that I realize that I have fallen asleep in the tub. I open my eyes, looking around my marble bathroom before jumping out of the water that has now turned cold.

  My nipples harden from the assault of cool air that whips around them. I wrap my wet body in a plush white towel, then quickly step out of the tub, tracking the floor with water into my bedroom. I glance at the clock. It’s eleven-fifteen.

  I pick up my cell off the nightstand, noticing I have six missed calls, and three voice messages. Damn, I was really knocked out, I think as I listen to them. One is from Ian; the second one is from Jamil; and, the third is from Mitchell—all three wanting some pussy.

  I roll my eyes, shaking my head. When I am prompted to save or delete, I erase them. I’m not interested in fucking any of them—not tonight anyway. I go back into my bathroom, grab my Vaseline cocoa butter body oil, pour some into my hand, oil my body up, then slip into a white silk teddy. I shut off all the lights and climb my silky-smooth body into my bed, drifting off to sleep.

  The morning comes—fast. It’s five a.m. And I awake feeling surprisingly refreshed, and horny; ready to serve my pussy up on a platter to someone looking for a breakfast treat without wanting me to wet his dick, unless I absolutely have to. Otherwise, I only want to lay back, spread open my legs and watch a nigga feast on my cunt juice.

  A smile forms on my face as I flip open my cell and press the speed dial for Nelson’s number. Oh, so what. I know it’s early, but oh well. The nigga said he was riding solo so there shouldn’t be any problem. He picks up on the fifth ring.

  “Yo, speak,” he snaps into the phone, sounding groggy. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Janaye,” I say in a sweet, seductive voice.

  “Oh, hey,” he says, softening his tone. “What’s good? I was hoping I would hear from you since a nigga can’t get at you.”

  “Well, today is your lucky day, big daddy.”

  “Oh, word?”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” I purr into the phone. “My pussy wants to feel your tongue in it.”

  “Oh, yeah? Is that all your pussy wants?”

  “For now,” I say, slipping my hand between my legs, then squeezing my thighs shut. I move my hips in a nice, slow grind. “Come through and eat my pussy for me.”

  “And what you gonna do for this stiff dick in my hand if I come through there?” he asks, sounding wide awake now.

  “Well, I’m not looking to fuck” I tell him, not wanting to get his hopes up. “I only wanna feel those soft, juicy, pussy-eating lips all over my clit and that long, thick tongue deep in my pussy.”

  “Nah, baby. If you ain’t tryna fuck, then you gonna have to suck on this dick or something ’cause I’ma wanna bust this big nut.”

  Damn him, I think, pursing my lips. Who the fuck is he to tell me what I’m gonna have to do in order to get my pussy sucked?

  “Wrong answer, boo. I suck dick only when I’m in the mood to stretch my neck. And today ain’t the day.
This morning I want my pussy ate; that’s it.”

  “C’mon, ma,” he whines. “You gonna have all that fat pussy up in my face, and I’m gonna be eatin’ the hell out of it…” He sighs. “Yo, you killin’ me, baby. I have no problem with helping you get that nut, but I wanna get mine, too.”

  Humph. I roll my eyes. Take a deep breath. Consider hanging up on him. But, I compromise instead. “I tell you what,” I offer. “Come over, let me straddle your face, and I’ll wet that dick up nice, and slow for you.” With a nice hand job, after I plant my nut on your tongue.

  “Yeah, baby. Now you talking,” he says, sounding all excited and whatnot. “What time you want me to come through?”

  I glance at the clock. 5:37 a.m. I have to be at work by nine today, nine-thirty the latest. “How fast can you get here?”

  “Give me like an hour.”

  “An hour?” Nigga, please, I think. “Oh, no, big boy…no can do. I want to feed this pussy to you now. Not in an hour. I want you here with your face in between my legs and your tongue lapping my clit in less than thirty minutes. And if you eat this pussy right, I might change my mind and let you fuck it.”

  “Oh, word?” he says, chuckling. “I tell you what. I’m on my way.”

  “I hope you plan on showering first.”

  “No doubt,” he says. “I ain’t no slouch, baby. I keeps it fresh all day, every day.”

  “Just making sure. See you when you get here.”

  I hang up. Although I showered before going to bed last night, I still jump out of bed, then race into the bathroom to rinse off last night’s dust.