The Man Handler

by Cairo

  Anyway, back to Jonathan. I had to wrap my legs around him, then dig the heels of my feet into his ass to keep him in me. Ugh!! I laid underneath him, watching his face twist while his eyes were shut, thinking about the calculus exam I had in the morning, that’s how boring he was. He had no rhythm and no damn stamina at all, and his only saving grace was the fact that he could kiss and suck a titty like he was nursing. Other than that, forget it! He came in exactly nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds (I know this because I timed it) and then went to sleep with me lying next to him frustrated, agitated, and disgusted with a very wet and very disgruntled pussy.

  However, in all fairness to him, I will say that the second go round wasn’t as bad as the first, but it still wasn’t something to write home about. However, he did last twenty minutes and thirteen seconds before he splattered his nut across my back. And then he had the audacity to ask me, “Was it good?” My answer: “You have got to be kidding me!” Needless to say, I never fucked him again.

  Oh, well. While I’m at it, speaking of men and the Almighty King ding-a-ling, most women don’t realize that a man’s spirit flows through his dick. And every time he ejaculates inside of her, he’s injecting pieces of himself. His energy, his matter, his essence take root inside of her, and spread through her. Every time she allows a man to splash off in her, she invites all that he is into her space. Good, bad, and the ugly.

  If a man is no good, she’s going to allow him to do no good to her, and in return, she’ll get nothing good. In my opinion, the reason why so many women can’t break away from a no-good mofo is because his negative spirit lives within them, and holds them hostage. His tainted energy will spread through a woman like cancer, if not treated swiftly. Not that I’m an expert in the matter, but, again, in my opinion, the only way to break free from his ass is by having an exorcism done. She’ll need to flush her womb, her mind, and her spirit from his; it’s the only way to rid herself of his demon seeds. His negative energy and evil spirit will block her blessings and prevent her from ever meeting a man who represents anything that is positive and balanced.

  She’ll continue to allow his disrespect, his demeaning, lying, doggish-ways, and will allow him to bring her ass down, dragging it through a whole bunch of changes. So, my point is, women need to be very, very careful of whom they open their legs to, and whom they allow to nut up in them; everything that feels good ain’t always good. A woman might find herself getting more than what she bargained for. No need to turn this into a debate. It’s only something for you to think about. The only thing I’m trying to do is save some of your dumb asses from getting fucked over. So, beware. You’ve been forewarned.

  Oh, please. Here some of you go, rolling your eyes again, looking at me all sideways and whatnot. Thinking, this bitch got a lot of nerve to be talking when she’s fucking and sucking almost everything moving. Well, news flash, dear: I already know that this applies to me as well. However, I’m fucking them, not claiming any of ’em as my man, or trying to trap ’em into being something more than what they are, casual fucks. A choice I recognize is full of risks. Let’s be realistic. What doesn’t come with a set of hazards? Life is full of ’em.

  Every man who I am with steps into this knowing that there’s nothing but sex between us. I’m not lying or misleading anyone. And I’m not cheating on anyone. Nor am I willingly letting a man stick his dick in me without a condom. I may throw caution to the wind and fuck with reckless abandon, but I’ll be dammed if I willingly get fucked raw. And, yes, I know condoms aren’t 100% risk free, but it greatly reduces the potential risk. And since abstinence isn’t on the menu for me, I’ll go with the condoms. Good-day!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I blink.

  Garrett is standing before me, leaning up against the frame of my front door. And I am shocked and annoyed, to say the least. What if I had someone else pulling up, or walking out? The fucking nerve of him to show up here unannounced and uninvited!

  I take a moment to consider him before I speak. He’s wrapped in smooth, cocoa-brown skin with bright, dreamy eyes that seem to sparkle when he smiles. I drink him all in. From his neatly trimmed mustache, gym-chiseled body and slightly bowed legs to the way he pulls in his bottom lip. I can’t front, he is looking so damn delicious that I almost forget that I am pissed at him for showing up at my place. My lust for what hangs between his hairy, muscular thighs slowly creeps up on me, causing my mind to play wicked, sex-driven tricks on me.

  For a brief second, I silently stare, toying with the mental images of him snatching open my robe, pinning me up against the wall, unzipping his jeans, then pulling out his hard, strong dick and shoving it up in my pussy. In a rhythm that matches the stroke of his powerful cock, I am suspended, moving my hips against his; his balls smashing against the softness of my open, wet, pulsating snatch until I feel the budding of an orgasm. I hear myself moan.

  I blink again, feeling flushed.

  Garrett is staring back at me. Perplexed look on his face. Un-blinking, I know he is wondering why the hell I am standing here looking at him like a deer caught in headlights.

  “Are you going to let me?” he asks, slicing into my fantasy.

  I inhale, deeply. Take in his freshly-showered scent. Why the fuck can’t he just stick to the damn script? “What are you doing here?” I finally ask, already knowing the answer. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Fold my arms across my chest to block his view of my dark, protruding nipples.

  “I told you, we need to talk—tonight.”

  “And I told you there’s nothing to talk about,” I say defiantly.

  He squints. His jaw muscles twitch. I can tell he is thinking, pondering a way to get his point across. He pushes his way past me, bum rushes his way into my house, almost knocking me over.

  Unfuckingbelievable.

  “Garrett,” I snap, bracing myself up against the door before I fall on my ass. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?!”

  “I told you we need to talk, and I’m not going anywhere until we do.”

  “I want you out of my house, now!”

  He removes his leather jacket, tossing it across the arm of the chair, then sits his ass down, totally ignoring me.

  I huff, slamming the door. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “You,” he snaps.

  “Then get out. I didn’t invite you here, and I don’t want you here, especially if you’re trying to beat me in the head about shit I am not interested in. You can’t simply come over here anytime you want and barge up in here like you got it like that.” He continues to ignore me. “Garrett, do you hear me talking to you! I want you to leave.”

  He turns and faces me. He stares, but says nothing. Leans back in his seat, interlocking his fingers behind his head. For a moment, I think this nigga is crazy. Hell, maybe we’re both fucking nuts.

  I am now standing in front of him. Hands on my hips, neck rolling in ghetto fashion. “You got some muthafucking nerve! I don’t know who the fuck you think you are coming up in here like you own shit. Last time I checked, I didn’t have a man, and I don’t want one. So, why are you here, huh, Garrett?”

  He continues to stare. And it is starting to piss me off even more.

  “So you’re just going to sit there and stare. I thought you had so much to say.”

  He rubs his hands together, then leans over and rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. I can tell he is waiting for me to finish running my mouth. And in all honesty, I don’t even know why I am standing here getting myself all riled up, having a one-sided argument with a man who isn’t even mine. A man I don’t even want. Or do I? I shake my head, finally realizing exactly how crazy I must look and sound.

  I sit my ass down in the chair across from him, fuming.

  “Are you finished?” he calmly asks.

  I fold my arms across my chest, trying not to look like a pouting five-year-old. But for some reason, that’s exactly how I am feeling. Still, I feel just
ified in my anger. As far as I am concerned, I have the right to be mad at him. He’s here unannounced. He’s pretty much barged his way in here. And he has disrespected, and disregarded, my house rules. He knows, like everyone else does, that I like my dick by appointment. Do not come here unannounced, or uninvited.

  My cell phone rings. I look at it sitting over on the coffee table in front of him, chiming away. It suddenly stops, then starts up again.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” he asks, pointing at it. “It might be one of your little boyfriends.”

  He smirks.

  I roll my eyes.

  It rings again.

  “Someone must really want to talk to you. You sure you don’t want to see who’s calling?”

  I pull in a deep breath, slowly blowing out my frustration. “Garrett,” I say evenly. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Oh, so now you’re ready to listen?”

  I tilt my head.

  He runs his hands over his face. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I want to know why you are so afraid.”

  “What makes you think that I’m afraid?”

  “C’mon, don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Answer me with a question,” he says.

  “Well, I wanna know what makes you ask that.”

  “You act like you’re afraid of letting me—hell anyone, get close to you. I’m not interested in hurting you. I want to spend time with you. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “What’s so wrong with keeping things the way they’ve been?”

  “It’s not enough,” he says, pausing. He pulls in his lips. Takes a deep breath, then continues, “Listen, I knew going into this what you wanted, and didn’t want. You made that very clear. But, damn, after almost three years, you still act like you’re okay with only fucking.”

  “I am okay with it. And you should be too.”

  “Well, I’m not. Don’t you ever get tired of not having someone special in your life; a man of your own? Someone who’s gonna love you, and appreciate you for all that you are instead of bouncing from nigga to nigga?”

  “Honestly,” I say, “I don’t give it much thought. I am very much happy with the way things are in my life. I’m not looking for love.”

  “Then what are you looking for?”

  “A stiff dick from a man who isn’t going to stress me out about trying to give him something more than what I am capable of giving him.”

  “And what’s that, Bianca?”

  “Me,” I state.

  “And why not?”

  I take a deep breath, prepare for the moment of truth. And the reality is, if I could draw a pension, I’d be on my knees sucking and/or fucking a good dick around the damn clock. There is nothing better than watching a man’s toes open and close tight, and him biting his bottom lip as you’re giving him that bomb ass head, or while you’re galloping up and down on his dick, squeezing your pussy around it, and wetting it with your juices.

  “Because I love dick,” I finally say, facing him. “And I love fucking different dick. And, honestly, I really don’t think one man can satisfy me. Not for long. Hell, I know he can’t. I like variety too much for him to be able to.”

  For a split second, my mind drifts. I hear the deep, piercing voice of a faceless man, “Hey, baby, I’m looking for a horny, cock-loving, cum-hungry ho who wants to drain this big-ass dick.”

  “Sorry big daddy, I’m not fucking tonight.”

  “I don’t want to fuck you,” he says, slowly stroking his dick, “just want you on your knees with your hot, wet mouth between my legs until I shoot my thick cum down your throat.”

  “Is that so?” I hear myself saying as I drop down on my knees, and slowly slide his dick down into my neck, lapping at his balls as I swab his dick in my throat. He moans.

  Another faceless man comes behind me, pulls up my skirt, then yanks my cum-soaked panties down. He slaps my ass with his dick. “Yeah, you horny, freaky bitch, suck that dick. I’m gonna eat your ass, then ram this long dick up in your back.” I hear myself moan, as he spreads open my ass cheeks. I can feel his breath approaching the center of my hole, can feel it pucker up in anticipation of his wet tongue gliding around its edges. He moistens my asshole, darts his tongue in and out until it opens—ready and eager, for his cock. He braces himself, grabs either side of my hips, then presses the tip of his dick into my hole. Slowly pushes in. I moan. He pushes further. I moan again. Take in more of his dick in my ass as I swallow and gulp down the other dick. My neck stretches; my asshole widens. Pulsating and gripping. Spasms of illicit pleasure shoot through me. And my body begins to shudder. I am being fucked at both ends. More stroking, more gulping, more moaning until we explode and I take all of their cum, making sure I don’t miss a drip, a drop, or a spurting ounce of their creamy loads. I swish one nut around in my mouth, feel and taste its sweet and tangy milk. Then I swallow. Leave some in my mouth, on my tongue, and paint my lips with it. I pull in the other nut, hold it deep in my asshole, then slowly push it out, allow it to slowly ooze out, and trickle along the back of my burning pussy. A moan catches in the back of my throat.

  I blink, blink again. Bring my attention back to Garrett.

  “Okay,” he says, tilting his head, “so how many niggas you fucking? Tell me, Bianca, baby. How many dicks does it take to satisfy a woman like you?”

  A lot, I think in my head. Hell, countless. This is the first time Garrett is actually calling me out. It’s the first time he inquires about my sexual proclivities. For some reason, I think he wants me to say it—that I’m a ho, so that he doesn’t have to. Hell, I never tried to hide that fact. But I know he’s thinking it. Know he’s wondering it—if my sexual appetite, and love for dick, is the makings of a full-blown sex addict or a nymphomaniac. I’ve dissected its meaning. As an adjective: Nymphomania is an excessive sexual desire in (and behavior by) a woman. As a noun: it’s a woman with abnormal sexual desires. I am neither. And still the question remains: What’s so abnormal with loving the way my pussy gets wet and creamy when a dick is being pumped deep inside of me?

  “Garrett, I know you’ve heard the saying, ‘you can’t turn a ho into a housewife.’ So why are you even wasting your time trying?”

  He studies me. “Because, as crazy as this may sound, I have feelings for you. And I’d like to get to know you outside of the bed, and eventually, I want you to be my lady in the streets, and my freaky ho in the sheets. I know you’re a good woman who’s decided to guard her heart, making it hard for anyone to get close to her. I’m not looking to hurt you. I want to be the only man you ever need, or want.

  “I know how much you love to fuck. Hell, I love fucking too. But I love fucking you more. The way your pussy feels around my dick; the way it tastes on my tongue; the way it smells when I press my nose up in it. I got it bad for you, baby. And, yeah, I might be playing myself. But there’s no way that after three years of fucking me that you are going to sit here and make me believe that you don’t feel some kind of way towards me.

  “We have sexual chemistry that you can’t deny. When we kiss, when I am inside of you, there’s something that connects us. I know you feel what I feel. So why are you trying to ignore it?”

  My love for dick, his love for pussy, is what connects us—nothing more, nothing less.

  I blink, blink again.

  Garrett stands up, pulls off his V-neck pullover sweater, kicks off his shoes, strips off his jeans, then steps out of his black knit boxer briefs. He stands before me in all of his naked glory. Beautiful, mesmerizing, sculpted pleasure. I will my pussy to be still; will my eyes from taking in the bulbous head of his semi-hard dick; the massiveness of his running back thighs. Force myself not to stare at his rippled stomach or the curly patch of hair that rests in the center of his defined chest. I can feel my heart beating. My hands are becoming sweaty. This is not how it is supposed to go down. He is not
supposed to be in my home taunting me. Not supposed to be standing in front of me with his dick in his hand, slowly stroking it into a thick, throbbing erection.

  I swallow hard.

  Damn him, for being so fine!

  Damn me, for being so horny!

  I open my robe. Just that quickly, I forget that a few minutes ago I was fuming at him. Forget that he is trying to make me into something I am not able to be. Forget that I have to stop fucking him before things spiral out of control. I allow myself to forget every one of my rules, all for the sake of riding his dick, one last time.

  I spread open my legs, pull open my steamy, wet pussy lips.

  “You want this sweet pussy?” I ask in a sultry whisper. I can feel myself shaking from the inside out as he walks up on me.

  He pulls me up from out of my seat, presses his thick dick up against me.

  My clit jumps.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I want all that good pussy. And I want to serve you this dick anyway you want it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  My eyes snap open. Jolting up, I scan the room. It takes me a minute to get my bearings as my eyes adjust to my surroundings in the darkness. I am naked. My hair is disheveled, pussy is aching and Garrett is sleeping beside me, lightly snoring. I glance quickly at the digital clock. 3:21 a.m.

  Fuck!

  I inhale, exhale. Plop back on my pillow. I think about last night. How Garrett snatched me up and practically turned the tables—and manhandled me. Literally ripping my panties at the seams—the silk remnants of fabric still hanging around my waist—and sliding his dick in me full force. He took my pussy. Fucked it like he owned it; fucked my pussy, my ass, my throat to shreds. Let me tell you! I don’t know what the hell Garrett was on last night, but he dicked me down so damn good that he had me yelping and howling and sounding like a damn hyena. Had me moaning, and saying shit I know I had no damn business saying. Yes, he fucked me deliciously silly.