The Man Handler

by Cairo

  Shit, hol’ up…let me introduce myself to ya’ll, first, before I start suckin’ the nut outta this broad’s fuck-box. Aiight, check it. I’ma six-foot-four, 215 pound—lean and solid, for the record—slightly bow-legged cat with dark-brown eyes, thick full lips, a chiseled chest, strong muscular back, and big hands. My government name is Alexander Maples. But my mans ’n ’em call me Alley Cat, ’cause a nigga like me is always prowlin’ ’round for some new pussy. However, on some real shit, I shoulda been named Hershey ’cause I’ma dark chocolate nigga that melts in ya mouth and all up in ya guts. Yeah, that’s right. I’m ya sweetest, most dangerous addiction. And I’m here to feed ya cravin’s—one stroke, one slurp, at a muthafuckin’ time.

  So I’ma let you know from the gate. I’m the type a cat who loves to fuck—all day, e’eryday. Just like the U.S. Postal Service, I’m always ready to deliver. Rain, snow or sleet, I don’t care if it’s in ya face, ya mouth, or ya muthafuckin’ ass, I’m ready to skeet. That’s not to say that e’ery chick I get at is willin’ to give up the pussy after seein’ all this beef hangin’. ’Cause eight outta ten times, the ho’s gonna run scared. But, for the hoes who do try, it definitely doesn’t mean that they can actually handle all this dick. It only means they done bit off more dick than they can chew—or fuck, I should say. So they usually grin ’n bear, beg ’n pray, or cry ’n scream, hopin’ their well-fucked, over stretched pussies snap back for them average dicked niggas they fuck wit’.

  However, for those ambitious freaks wit’ them bottomless, unlatchable pussies, the ones who take e’ery inch of this dick, they call me Daddy Long Stroke ’cause I gotta long, thick, chocolate stick that heats up and beats up the pussy. Nice ’n slow, long ’n deep, fast ’n hard, all muthafuckin’ night long—anyway, anywhere, anyhow you want it, I give it. Ya heard? You want it rough, you want it rugged. I’ma slay ya muthafuckin’ ass ’til ya shit-hole starts to smoke. You want it slow, you want it gentle. I’ma rock ya box ’til ya eyes cross, real talk. Fuck wit’ this dick if ya want, a nigga like me’ll have ya ass crawlin’ ’round tryna find ya way home. Have ya soakin’ ya swollen pussy lips overnight. So, I’ma tell ya some real shit. Fuck at ya own risk. And be prepared to get rocked inside out ’cause I’ma slam it, grind it, and wind it, all up in ya. Deeply, savagely, tenderly—whatever, this dick is made for stretchin’ that sweet, tight, wet pussy to the limit. And there you have it.

  Anyway, back to the bitch I got in front of me. I have her legs up over my shoulders, my face is buried between her thighs, and I’m tongue-fuckin’ the shit outta her pussy, alternatin’ between eatin’ her pussy and lickin’ her asshole while jerkin’ my dick. I got her wrigglin’ and squirmin’ and moanin’. “Oh, yes…ah… ah…oh, yes…ohmyGod, you gonna make me cum…aaaah… aaaaah …oh, shit…I’m cuuuuu—” Now guess what the fuck she does while she’s creamin’ on my muthafuckin’ tongue?

  This nasty bitch lets out a loud, hot-ass fart! And it’s one of them rotten-ass, lingerin’ kind. Now I don’t know ’bout you, but this kinda shit ain’t acceptable. Keepin’ shit real, a few times I’ve had a chick fart while suckin’ on my dick. But, I have never—and I mean muthafuckin’ never—had no shit like this happen. It feels and tastes like I’ve just sucked in a mouthful of horse shit. This bitch is lucky I’m not into smackin’ up a chick, ’cause if I was… man, listen, I’d peel her muthafuckin’ skull back. I can tell she’s embarrassed. But I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck. I’m sorry, it’s a wrap. Game over! This bitch has to go!

  “Yo, what the fuck?!” I snap, yankin’ my head back and jumpin’ up. “You’se one nasty ass bitch for real, yo. How you gonna bust off in my muthafuckin’ face like that?”

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, apologetically. “Sometimes I cum real hard and, when I do, I pass gas unexpectedly. I tried to hold it in, but it crept out. You had me feeling so good. I really didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  Crept out? Nah, fuck that. Who the fuck she think she’s talkin’ to? I done fucked her pussy inside out, makin’ her nut ’til she shakes. And not once did this bitch ever bust outta her ass. But, okay, maybe she does cum hard and farts at the same time from time to time. Yeah, whatever! If that’s the case, then why the fuck didn’t the slut warn a muhfucka? Crept out, my ass! This bitch is literally full of shit—word up. The way that fart roared the fuck out, the bitch pushed it out purposefully, feel me?

  “Well, why the fuck didn’t you tell me to move outta the way, or somethin’, instead of havin’ a nigga’s face all pressed up in your ass like that, suckin’ in ya funky-ass fumes?”

  “I got caught up in the moment,” she offers, sittin’ up. “And wasn’t thinkin’.”

  “You wasn’t thinkin’?” I repeat. She tries to keep from laughin’. But, a muhfucka like me don’t find shit amusin’ ’bout someone bustin’ they ass in ya muthafuckin’ grill. Stupid bitch! “Well, guess what? You not thinkin’ done got ya funky ass put the fuck out. So, get ya shit on, and get ta steppin’.”

  She looks at me like I have boogers ’n snot hangin’ outta my nose or some shit. But fuck what ya heard. I ain’t the one. She frowns. “Are you serious? I said it was an accident.”

  “Yo, I’m dead-ass. Get the fuck out.” I walk over and start pickin’ up her clothes and tossin’ ’em at her.

  She gets up offa the bed and starts snatchin’ her shit up. “That’s real fucked up. You know that, right?”

  “Bitch, I don’t give a fuck,” I hear myself sayin’ in my head. But I igg the ho instead; stare at her as she puts back on her bra. I pick up my cell, scroll through my address book ’til I get to Carla’s number. I hit the call button, then wait for her to pick up.

  “Hey, boo,” she answers. “You finally got around to calling me.”

  “Hey, baby, what’s good?”

  “You,” she coos.

  I cut my eye over at Shakeeta. She got the nerve to be icegrillin’ me while gettin’ dressed. I keep my eyes locked on hers. Stare her down. Stupid bitch! Who the fuck names their child Shakeeta any damn way? Fuckin’ ghetto-ass bird.

  “That’s wassup, baby. Yo, you feel like suckin’ this dick tonight?”

  “Always,” she responds. “Just let me know when.”

  “Bet. I’ma swing through as soon as I toss out this trash.”

  Shakeeta slams her hand up on her hip. Her neck starts rollin’. “Nigga, I know your black ass is not tryna call me trash. And how the fuck you gonna call another bitch up and I’m standing right here…”

  “Who’s that in the background?” Carla asks. “Sounds like—”

  “I’ll see you in a half-hour,” I say, cuttin’ her off and snappin’ my phone shut.”

  “…That’s some real foul shit, nigga, for you to disrespect me like that,” she continues as she puts on the rest of her shit. “But, not to worry, muhfucka, I ain’t hard-pressed for no nigga, or his dick, especially yours. Trust me.”

  I laugh at her ass. “Mighty funny ya ass is always blowin’ up my line talkin’ ’bout how much you need this dick, how much you love this dick, how much you don’t wanna stop gettin’ this dick. But now you ain’t pressed. Yeah, okay. That’s what ya mouth says.”

  “Fuck you!” She yells, swingin’ open the bedroom door, and stormin’ down the stairs. I follow behind her, holdin’ my breath, hopin’ like hell pops ain’t here to hear this shit. That’s all I need right now. “You ain’t shit, nigga, for real.” She gets to the front door, swings it open, then stops before walkin’ out. She turns to face me. “I shoulda shitted in ya motherfuckin’ mouth.”

  “Ho, get ya stankin’, bum-ass on up outta here.”

  She gives me the finger. “Fuck you, nigga! I’ve been thrown outta better places.” She storms out, leavin’ the front door wide open.

  I walk over and shut the door, lockin’ it. Then stand in the middle of the livin’ room for a minute, listenin’ to see if I hear pops stirrin’ ’round up in this piece. I can’t front, a nigga’s relieved that it’s quiet.
Pops done warned me hundreds of times ’bout bringin’ this kinda shit up in his spot, and the last thing I need is for him to walk in on it. Dude would be up in here snappin’ fo’ sure. Nigga, you know you shoulda handled that bitch better than that, I think, headin’ back up the stairs to slip on some sweats and a tee-shirt. What if she woulda started bustin’ shit up up in here? How the fuck would you ’splain that?

  I take the steps two at a time, goin’ upstairs to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and tongue, starin’ into the mirror. Even after I’ve scrub my gums ’n shit, I still taste her rotten ass in my mouth. I brush my tonge again, then rinse my mouth out wit’ Listerine. Fuck that nasty, skank-ass bitch, I think, shakin’ my head. I rinse my mouth, again, then shut off the lights. She just mad ’cause I tossed her ho-ass out wit’ a throbbin’ pussy, and gypped her outta a nut. I grab my cell, then redial Carla’s number as I’m headin’ back down the stairs. “Yo, baby, I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll see you when you get here,” she says. “I hope you gonna eat this pussy, too.”

  I frown. This bitch must be crazy. Not after the shit I just went through. I sigh. “Nah, baby. Not tonight. I wanna lay back and get this dick serviced.”

  She sucks her teeth. “Damn. Well, am I gonna at least get my pussy fucked?”

  “Listen, baby, I wanna feel ya pretty-ass dick washers wrapped ’round my dick and watch you suck out this hot, creamy nut, that’s it. Can I get that? If not, I need to find me someone who has no problem wettin’ up this dick wit’out all the extras.”

  She sucks her teeth again. “Are you gonna at least stay the night?”

  I think for a minute. I got a lotta shit to do early tomorrow so this bird is gonna haveta settle for a drive by. “Nah,” I tell her. “I got shit to do in the mornin’, but I can swing back through later on to hit you up wit’ a dose of this heavy dick, aiight?”

  I can see this ho smilin’ in my head. “And eat my pussy, too, right?”

  “No, doubt,” I lie. Fuck outta here. I’m not lickin’, kissin’ or eatin’ a muthafuckin’ thing.

  “Well how ’bout we wait until then? This way you don’t have to rush, and we can chill.”

  What the fuck?! Don’t no ho plan my muthafuckin’ time. She got the game fucked up. “Nah, I want my dick sucked now, not later. If you ain’t wit’ it, then let a muhfucka know now ’cause you wastin’ my time.”

  “But—”

  “But nuthin’. You either throatin’ this dick, or you not. You know what, fuck it! I’ma—”

  “I already told you yeah, so why are you getting all nutty on me?”

  “’Cause a muhfucka’s tryna bust this nut and you wanna be on some bullshit.”

  Silence. The bitch knows if she doesn’t wet this dick tonight it’s a wrap. I’m cuttin’ her supply off. And I know like she does, that’s the last thing she wants. “When you leaving?”

  I laugh to myself. “Now. So have them dick suckas wet ’n ready.”

  Two hours later, I’m back home, steppin’ outta the shower. I’m refreshed, relaxed, and ready to take it down when my cell rings. I glance at the screen. It’s this broad I’m ’posed to get up wit’ tomorrow. I met her up on Blackplanet, where I meet most of these broads I’m smashin’. She had hit my Daddy Long Stroke page up a few months back after peepin’ my body flicks on it. Then she started visitin’ my page e’ery damn day, leavin’ me comments on my guestbook, and hittin’ me with notes, and gifts ’n shit—like all the other broads I meet on there. Word up, it be live and poppin’ on that site. Alotta them Blackplanet hoes be some real thirsty asses. Fuck what ya heard. The economy may be all fucked up, but trust and believe, there’s a surplus of pussy out here, and a nigga wit’ a good stroke game will never go broke.

  I look over at the digital clock. It’s 1:22 a.m. What the fuck she want this time of night? I think, pressin’ the talk button. “Yo,” I say into the phone.

  “You still coming up here tomorrow?” she asks.

  “We still fuckin’, right?”

  She sucks her teeth. “Is that the only thing you interested in?”

  “Hell yeah. You gotta problem wit’ that?”

  “Well,” she says, pausin’, “I was hopin’ we could grab a bite to eat, then maybe catch a movie or something, first.”

  I frown. For the last few weeks, fuckin’ is all we been talkin’ ’bout. Now all of a sudden this ho wanna be on sum lets-grab-a-bite-to-eat bull, like she tryna go out on a muthafuckin’ date. Fuck outta here! I think, do I tell this ho what she wants to hear, or do I keep shit real? I decide to give it to her straight, no chaser. “I’m tryna get this dick wet, baby. That’s it. You can save the extras for sum other cat.”

  Silence.

  “Yo, you still there?”

  “Yeah,” she says, soundin’ annoyed. “I’m still here.”

  I feel myself ’bout to spaze out on her dizzy ass for callin’ here this time of night wit’ this stupid shit. I take a deep breath, spark up the half-smoked blunt layin’ in the ashtray on my nightstand, then take two long, deep pulls, holdin’ the smoke in my lungs ’til I calm myself down. I blow it out. “So, what’s good? We fuckin’ or not?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, aiight, then. That’s what it is. What, you done talked all that shit over the phone and now you gettin’ scared ’n shit?”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Then why you call here tryna front on a muhfucka?”

  “I told you. I was hoping we could go out somewhere, first.”

  I take another pull offa my blunt, then slowly blow it out. “Nah, baby, it ain’t that kinda party. You been talkin’ a lotta good shit, now it’s time to show ’n prove. Let a muhfucka see if you really know howta throw that pussy up on a dick. ’Cause, on some real shit, I’m tryna snap ya spine.”

  She starts laughin’. “OhmyGod, you real funny.”

  Funny hell. Ho, I’ma rip ya muthafuckin’ back open. “Yeah, go on and get ya laugh on, baby,” I warn her. “I’ma be up there tomorrow. Lets see if you gonna be laughin’ then.” She giggles some more, then gets quiet after I tell her she betta take her ass to bed ’cause she’s gonna need all the rest she can get. ’Cause on some real shit, after I’m done wit’ her she’s gonna need the paramedics. A muhfucka’s comin’ through to dig her ass out.