The Man Handler

by Cairo

  1). “Love You Down” by Ready for the World

  (I love having my legs up and knees bent while a dick is slowly, deeply, moving in and out of me, brushing up against my clit with each stroke.)

  2). “Woman’s Work” by Maxwell

  (I love my pussy eaten to this song!)

  3). “Who Can I Run To?” By the Jones Girls

  (I ain’t running to a damn soul for love, but, baby, I’ll run down a stiff dick.)

  4). “Moments in Love” by the Art of Noise

  (I love this song for deep-thrust fucking!)

  5). “Remember the Rain?” by the 21st Century

  (Oh, how I love the rain!)

  6). “You Are My Starship” by Norman Connors

  (I like closing my eyes and listening to this song while I’m riding up and down on a dick. Makes me feel like I’m riding waves.)

  7).“Tender Love” by the Force M.D.’s

  (I like being fucked on my side nice and slow to this song while his hand is playing with my clit.)

  8). “’Cause I Love You” by Lenny Williams

  (Oh my God! This song makes me want to swallow a dick whole.)

  9). “Reasons” (the live version) by Earth, Wind & Fire

  (Baaaby, this song makes my pussy extra wet and hot.)

  10). “Silly” by Deniece Williams

  (No, sweetie. Silly of you for sitting home wringing your hands while your man’s face is between my legs with his tongue stuck in my pussy.)

  11). “Fire & Desire” by Rick James and Teena Marie

  (Oh, yes, this song calls for a slow, deep-grinding fuck.)

  12). “Magic Man” by Robert Winters & Fall

  (Humph…)

  13). “Golden Touch” by Rose Royce

  (Baby, this song was playing the first time Derek, my first love, kissed me, then bust my cherry. I cried!! Every time I hear it, it makes me think of him.)

  14). “Ooh Child” by The Five Stairsteps

  15). “She’s Got Papers on Me” by Richard “Dimples” Fields

  (As if I really care!)

  16). “I Who Have Nothing” by Linda Jones

  (My God, this heifer could saang! When I play this song, it makes me want to fuck a man down into the ground, straight to his grave.)

  17). “Very Special” by Debra Laws

  18). “Betcha By Golly Wow” by the Stylistics

  19). “Children of the Night” by the Stylistics

  Before I can continue playing my song list in my head, I am once again snapped out of my reverie by the pesky, annoying sound of my alarm. I blink, staring at the clock. I can’t believe that it is almost eight o’clock. I am shocked that I have been lying in bed daydreaming and reminiscing when I should already be on my way to my office.

  “Fuck ’em,” I say out loud, reaching for the phone. I call out from work. This is the second time I’ve called out because I spent all night sucking and fucking.

  But between you and me, sitting at a desk today would be downright torturous. Ian tried to rip me a new asshole last night. Now I’m paying dearly for it. Ugh! I should have never let him stick that thick dick in my ass. My hole is aching something fierce! On top of that, I think I have the beginnings of what feels like hemorrhoids. My ass is on fire!! The only thing I plan on doing today is soaking in a tub of Epsom salts and applying ice to my ass to quench these damn flames. There’ll be no further digging out this hole for at least a month. Believe that! Thank goodness I have two other holes that are still functional. Ugh, damn him! But, oh, baby…that dick was so damn good.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Hey, baby.”

  For some reason, hearing those words, hey baby, the way he says it, the way it rolls off his thick tongue—low and sweet, dripping with innuendo, causes my chest to tighten. I’m not sure why, but hearing his voice today and the happiness in his tone makes me nauseous. For a brief moment, my breath gets caught in the back of my throat. I feel myself getting light-headed as I imagine his large hands wrapped around my neck, twisting the life out of me, strangling me. Eyes bulging, gurgling sounds seeping from the back of my throat until my body goes limp. I gulp a deep breath, fighting for air, my eyes darting around the room as I attempt to break free from his grasp.

  Coming to my senses, I blink the thought away.

  “Garrett.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s after eleven and I am still in bed, naked underneath the covers. I can’t believe I have slept most of the morning away.

  “Yeah, baby,” he says thoughtfully. “I haven’t spoken to you in a while so I thought I’d call to check in on you; you know, see how you were doing.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You sound like you’re still in bed.”

  “I am. I’m playing hooky today.”

  In my mind’s eye, I can see him smiling, licking his lips. “You up for some company? I’d love to stop by and help reenergize you.”

  “No, I’m too exhausted,” I reply, bursting his bubble. “Besides, didn’t I see you a few days ago?”

  “Yeah, and? Can’t a man call a special friend to see how she’s doing and want to spend more time with her?”

  Friend? In the three or so years I’ve been fucking Garrett, I have never really placed a label on the two of us, except for maybe…fuck buddies. But, friends…uh, that would be stretching it a bit. Outside of sex, there is no exchange of information between us that is usually shared between two people who consider themselves friends. There are no secrets shared, or nights out on the town; just pure, unadulterated, sweaty fucking. So how the fuck does he come up with this friends shit? Humph.

  “I guess so,” I offer halfheartedly. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah, everything is fine. I was thinking about you, and wanted to hear your sexy voice and let you know you were on my mind. That’s all.”

  I roll my eyes, shaking my head. I know I should be touched by the gesture, but I’m not. The last thing I want is for him or any other man to be getting all mushy and shit on me. That is not part of the arrangement. I know, I know. I can’t control how someone else feels about me. Nor can I prevent them from feeling what they feel. However, I still don’t have to like it, and I definitely don’t have to subscribe to it.

  I inhale deeply, then slowly exhale. “Thanks,” I say, trying to sound sincere. “I appreciate that.”

  “Do you?” he asks.

  I suck my teeth. “Didn’t I already say I did?”

  “But did you mean it?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “C’mon, Bianca, you know, like I do, that sometimes what a person says and what they actually mean aren’t always the same. So I’m gonna ask you again, did you mean it?”

  “Okay, Garrett. You want the truth?”

  “Yeah,” he replies, sounding annoyed. “That would be nice.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then why’d you say it?”

  I frown. Who the fuck does he think he is questioning me? “Excuse me?”

  “I asked you why you said it, if you didn’t mean it.”

  “What is this, an interrogation?” I’m feeling myself becoming agitated.

  “No, it’s us—two people who spend time together—having a discussion, and me asking you a question for clarification.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say.

  “I don’t ever want there to be any misunderstandings between us,” he adds.

  “Well, I said it because it felt like the right thing to do, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Baby, check this out,” he says. He pauses, then continues. “You can’t hurt my feelings if you keep shit real with me. I’m not gonna lie to you or mislead you, and I hope you won’t either. Just because I feel a certain way, that doesn’t mean I expect you to feel it too. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would like you to. But I’m smart enough to know that’s not how the world moves. All I ask is that you keep shit real. Is that cool?”

  “
Garrett, I’ve always been straight up with you.”

  “Yeah, aiight,” he says, sounding skeptical, “if you say so. Sometimes I think you got me confused with some of those little-ass, confused boys that you have swarming around you. I’m a man, baby. I know what I want. Believe that. Look, I gotta get going. I’ll call you a little later, alright?”

  For some reason, I feel like he’s just finished checking me, and is now dismissing me. I consider giving him a good piece of my mind, letting him know that he isn’t running shit with me, but…instead, I acquiesce and allow him to think he is. Hell, I am still exhausted from my night with Ian, and don’t have the strength or energy to waste on Garrett with this mess. Not today. “That’s up to you,” I finally say.

  I hear, click.

  I know he didn’t hang up on me, I think, getting out of bed and sliding my feet into my slippers. “That motherfucker is really losing his damn mind,” I say aloud as I shuffle into the bathroom to relieve myself. “And I’m crazy for letting him get away with it.” When I am finished pissing, I wash my hands, then retreat back to the comforts of my bed.

  I don’t awake again until after one o’clock, and by the time I finally decide to get out of bed, it’s already going on two in the afternoon. At almost four o’clock, I still haven’t showered. I’m sitting here in my silk robe listening to my girl Syleena Johnson’s CD Chapter 3: The Flesh. I love her!

  She has this song titled “Phone Sex” that I’ve played three times today. Whew! I love me some nasty, freaky phone sex. Mmmph. Baby…let me tell you. There’s nothing like it. How many women and men do you think get off on phone sex, or have even tried it? I personally think it helps keep things exciting.

  There is so much power in mind-fucking, sexually speaking that is. To create the mood, to be able to role-play fantasies, to be able to bring someone to the edge of an orgasm by taunting and sensually teasing them. Then when they’re about to cum, you make ’em slow down or stop, then start back again. Bring ’em to the edge again, and again, making them stop each time they are about to nut. Torture them in sweet, delicious whispers until they can no longer take it; until they are begging you, moaning and groaning, for the real thing. My God!

  For anyone who hasn’t tried it, I say shame on ’em. And for those who can’t get into it, I say humph. Boriiiiiiing! Of course, I know there are some people who would only become sexually frustrated with phone sex, especially men. I had a man tell me he’s cool with it (and with foreplay) for a while. But after thirty minutes or so, he was ready to fuck. I was like, ohhhhkaaaaay. Click. There was no need in trying to go any further with him. No man is going to short-change me when it comes to foreplay or role-play. And any man who can’t open his mind to phone sex, or lacks a creative imagination, is not for me. End of discussion.

  Anywaaaaaaay, moving on, let me ask you something: Does having sexual fantasies about being with the same sex mean I’m a budding lesbian? Or does it simply mean I’m curious? ’Cause let me tell you, the last few days I have been fantasizing about having a woman eat my coochie while I’m sucking a cock. I’ve had fantasies in the past where it’s strictly me and another chick, and I’m fucking her with a double-headed dildo. Other times, it’s with me, another chick, and a dude. Chick is riding him reverse cowgirl—with her back toward him, for those of you who might not know. His legs are spread open and hers are draped over his and I’m on my knees between both of their legs, rubbing her clit, sucking his balls and licking her pussy juice as it drips down the shaft of his dick. It gets me off every time.

  But as of late, my fantasies consist of me lying flat on my back with my head hanging off the bed. My legs are bent and my knees pulled up to my chest and a cute little cat licker is between my legs lapping and nipping at my clit, then tongue-fucking and sucking my pussy voraciously while a tall, dark-chocolate daddy is skull-fucking me with his fat, juicy dick, stretching my throat and slapping my forehead with his balls. Whew, baaaaby, listen…there’s nothing like a good dick-swabbing. OhmyGod, the thought gets my pussy juice boiling every damn time. And now it has me wanting to slam down on some dick, or at the very least, grind my pussy down on a pair of wet, hungry lips.

  Hmmm, let’s see, I think, scrolling through my cell phone contact list. Who can I hit up for a quick fix? Who am I in the mood for tonight?

  I purse my lips, contemplating. But before I can decide on my fuck for the night, my cell rings. I don’t recognize the number, but answer anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, baby,” the voice on the other end says.

  “Baby?” I repeat with attitude. “Who is this?”

  “Damn, baby,” he says, “you done forgot my voice that fast? It’s Benson.”

  I frown, then let out a disgusted grunt. “Ohhhhhkaaaaaay, and why are you calling?”

  “I was hoping to—”

  Oh hell no, I think, shaking my head. I cut him off before he can part his lips to finish his request to hit this pussy. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but there’s no sense in hoping ’cause it’s not gonna happen, boo.”

  “Why, you got some other plans? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it before placing it back up to my ear. “Uh, nooooo,” I answer sarcastically. “I thought I told you the last time I saw you to delete my number.”

  “I didn’t think you meant it,” he states, sounding serious.

  “Oh, I meant it. Along with everything else I said that night.”

  “Damn. I was hoping a little space and time would mend whatever ill feelings you might have had the last time we were together.”

  “Benson, are you delusional?”

  “Hunh? Whadaya mean am I delusional?”

  “Just what I asked,” I say. “I want to know if you are crazy, ’cause you really must be if you think you and that lazy dick of yours will ever be invited back into this tight pussy again. After the way you half-fucked me the last time I had you in my bed, I don’t think so, nigga.”

  Silence.

  “Are you still there?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m thinking before I speak. I really don’t appreciate how you coming at me. Have I ever disrespected you?”

  I take a deep breath. “No, not that I can recall,” I admit.

  “So then what makes you think you can come out your mouth all slick?”

  “Let me explain something to you. Number one: I’m a grown-ass woman, and I speak to you how I want. I have no respect for a man who creeps on his woman, so get it right. Number two: When I ask—no, tell—a nigga to not call my fucking house again and he does anyway, then it’s obvious to me that his ass doesn’t understand basic English and he damn sure doesn’t respect my wishes, so I have to give it to him raw and uncut. Bottom line, if you don’t like how you’re being talked to, then don’t call my motherfucking house. You had your opportunity to get some good pussy on a regular and you blew it, so let’s keep it moving.”

  “You know what? Fuck you…you fucking nasty, trick-ass bitch.”

  “No, fuck you,” I say back, laughing. “I know you don’t think you hurt my feelings with that little bullshit line. Nigga, puhleeeeeze. You need to get your dick game up first, before you try to come for me.”

  “Fucking smut,” he snaps.

  I continue laughing. “And so is your dumb-ass mother for throwing up her rusty-ass legs and giving birth to a pathetic-ass motherfucker like you,” I snap back. “Nigga, you are a fucking waste of dick. So you might as well do yourself a favor and go put a bullet in that lazy-ass cock of yours. You retarded fuck. Now, don’t call my fucking number again ’cause the next time you do, I won’t be so nice.”

  “Whatever, bitch,” he snaps, hanging up on me.

  I fall back on my bed, laughing my ass off until tears pour out of my eyes. These niggas crack me the hell up. I swear they do. The minute you check their asses, they wanna resort to calling you out of your name. That shit is hilarious to me. Hell. I keep s
hit real with ’em and their dumb asses want to start feeling some kind of way about it. Oh, well. The truth hurts. And I don’t give a hot fuck whose feelings get hurt. Niggas have been dismissing and disrespecting women for centuries. It’s about damn time women turn the tables and start shoveling the shit back at them. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a new damn day. I’m not letting any man try to pimp me, or play me. Believe that.

  Instead of dealing with a nigga tonight, I decide to take my ass a long, hot bath, climb up in bed, and masturbate. That’s exactly what I’ll do, I think, getting up and removing my clothes, fuck myself into a delicious slumber.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Of all the people to run into first thing this morning, I have to bump right into Everett’s ass, literally and figuratively. “Ooh,” I shriek. He turns around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you standing there,” I say, looking up at him. I was so deep in thought, looking over some last-minute changes to one of my weekly reports, that I rammed right into him.

  “Anytime,” he says, offering me a mischievous grin. He steps back onto the elevator with me. “I’m glad it was you, instead of someone else.” He flashes me a smile, pausing, taking me in with his eyes, considering what stands before him. Today, I am stylishly dressed in a brown and orange print wrap dress with a pair of brown four-and-a-half inch heels. My hair is in an updo with a sweeping bang that curves along the right side of my face, and I am wearing a light coat of cranberry-wine lipstick to accentuate my luscious lips. He scans my body, smiling, then continues, “I’d like to bump into you as many times as I can.”

  I roll my eyes, waving him off. “Yeah, I’m sure you would. Umm, I thought you were getting off.”

  “I was,” he says, seductively licking his lips and eyeing me up and down. I try to act as if I don’t notice. But his smoldering gaze is slowly causing a fire to stir between my thighs. “But I forgot something.”

  “Oh, really?” I inquire, pressing the button for the basement level. The door closes. “And what’s that?”