The Man Handler

glanced back a few times. By the way they were staring at her, I could tell they were clinging to her every word, practically salivating. I bet these new Gucci heels that one of them hoes wished she were in her place. I had to shake my damn head. Some women really don’t know when not to run their mouths when it comes to their men and their relationships. Only a careless bitch is going to brag about what her man does for her financially, sexually, or otherwise. I’m telling you, by the time I walked up out of that bank, not only did I know that chick’s whole life, I had a banging-ass headache.

Humph, so that was the start of my day, along with popping two Excedrin. Then I come up in here and have to be surrounded by a bunch of nosey-assed, phony women. Some days I can deal with it, but not today. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m tired from being up fucking most of the night, then waking up and masturbating myself back to sleep; or if it’s that I’m in need of a change, or maybe a damn vacation. Whatever it is, I’m beat today.

Between you and me, I can’t stand working around a bunch of bitches. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t keep using that word to address women, but…dammit, say what you want, that’s exactly what the hell some of these woman I work with are. I mean, downright petty and jealous. Someone is always talking about somebody else instead of focusing on themselves. And if they’re not gossiping about, or lying on, somebody, they’re around here trying to figure out who’s fucking whose man. I mean, really. Give me a damn break. It isn’t that serious.

Then you have the ones who come up in here and blab all of their business, letting everyone in earshot know what they did, who they did it with, and where they did it. Humph. Or they’re sharing their sob stories about their men, disclosing all their family secrets, or bragging about what they have. Then they got the nerve to get pissed when they find out someone is talking about them. I’m like, “Bitch, are you serious? If you learned to keep your damn mouth shut, maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about someone putting your shit on blast.”

I tell you, it’s sickening. This is exactly why I don’t fuck with any of these hoes in this building. They all know not to come to me with none of that shit ’cause I don’t want to hear nothing that comes out of any of these mountain coons’ mouths. You’d think working in a so-called professional environment would thwart the pettiness and cattiness. Not! Some of these bitches are worse than someone with less education, or experience. Always backstabbing, and undermining someone who they think is a threat. And the gossip mill is constantly churning. Education definitely has nothing to do with being an ignorant-ass, trouble making bitch.

I can’t be so bothered. I come to work, do my job, and keep it moving. And it kills ’em, ’cause they don’t know shit about me. Other than that, I own my own home, drive a Mercedes CL550, and wear designer shit to work every day of the week. They don’t know jack, and that’s exactly how I’m going to keep it. No, I don’t want to go out for drinks after work. No, I don’t want to do lunch with your fake ass. No, I don’t want to know shit about your personal life because I’m not telling you shit about mine. No, your nosey-ass can’t stop by my home to see how I’m living. So beat it!

Of course word around the building is that I think I’m better than everybody else. Hmmm, what’s the word they use? Oh, yeah…stuck-up! Well, that works for me. ’Cause I love having a stiff dick “stuck up” in me. So say what you want. I’ve never cared about what someone else thought about me any damn way. Other than a hello, and maybe an occasional lunch gathering, I stay as far the hell away as I can from all of ’em. Well, okay, with the exception of Nahdirah, whom I marginally consider a friend—and I’m using the term friend loosely—I have very little patience or tolerance for any of ’em. Nahdirah’s ass is starting to wear my nerves thin as well.

I’m sorry, but I will never be able to wrap my mind around the thought of people who run their mouths about everything. What’s done behind closed doors should stay behind closed doors. I’m a firm believer that what you do in your personal life is your business. If you wish to share, then do. But don’t get upset when these same people you confide in turn around and make you the brunt of their jokes, or the topic of their discussions. You can call me what you want, it’s fine with me. I’m here to work, not be friends or swap war stories. I keep trying to tell Nahdirah’s dumb ass to stop running her damn mouth so much around here. I told her twice already that these hating-ass hoes are jealous and conniving, and to feed them with a long-handled spoon. But what does she do? She sits up in the damn break room, first thing this morning, and gives them the 4-1-1 on what she and her man, Jake, did over the weekend. I came in on the tail end of her conversation when she spotted me walking through the door and started waving for me to come over.

I silently rolled my eyes when I saw whom she was sitting with at the table. Cheryl, the perfect example of a bitch. Cheryl is every bit of fifty-five and the chick walks around acting like she’s still in high school, wearing a head full of front-laced weave, with a gym body wrapped in teenie-tiny skirts and little-assed blouses, her double D titties all bunched together in ’em like that shit is sexy, and click-clacking her damn gum all over the place. Fucking ghetto! Granted, she does have a beautiful face on which she packs a bunch of makeup. And she also has a nice shape for a woman her age. Actually, she puts some chicks half her age to shame, which is why I can understand why she likes to flounce around here acting like she’s the Queen of Seduction or some shit.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for a woman feeling good about herself and being comfortable in the skin that she’s in. And I’m all for a woman feeling and dressing sexy, but there’s a time and a place for everything. Contrary to popular belief, there is nothing—and I do mean nothing—sexy about a bitch coming to an office environment in hooker pumps and spandex pants so tight that the whole building can see your pussy lips, or a skirt so short you can see your bald snatch when you sit down. This trick is old enough to be my mother. Hell, she’s a grandmother of three. And this is how she represents herself—like a two-dollar trollop. Say what you want. It’s tacky and downright disgusting, if you ask me. And that’s exactly how this tactless, classless chick comes to work every day!

So anyway, when I finally do make my way over to the table after purchasing a cup of green tea and a cinnamon bagel, I act like the office hooch is invisible, which I know pisses her off since she loves being the center of attention. The other two chicks sitting there with them must have been temps or something ’cause I’d never seen them before. I ignored them as well. I’m not the phony type. If I don’t like you, or dig your energy, I’m not fucking with you. And that’s what it is. And all three of them bitches reeked of negativity.

“What’s up, Nahdirah?” I asked, glancing at my watch. I had only been in the building twenty minutes and still needed to log on to my computer.

“Not a damn thing, girl,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from out of her face, then sweeping it behind her ear. “What’s been up with you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh, Nahdirah is the only person you see sitting over here?” the hooch asked with ’tude.

“She’s the only one I choose to speak to,” I flatly stated, shifting my focus back to Nahdirah.

“Whatever,” she huffed, giving me a flick of her wrist.

I ignored her, keeping my eyes locked on Nahdirah. “I’ve been keeping it real low key,” I said to her while taking a look around the break room to see who was in there. I rolled my eyes when I spotted Marcella, another two-faced bitch, sitting over in the corner with this dude Clinton from downstairs in the finance department. Apparently, they’d become an item of sorts over the last few months. They were huddled up, whispering and giggling like they were conspiring about something. Truth be told, they probably were. Hmm, what’s he make…man number four in six months? I think, shifting my attention back to Nahdirah. “You know I don’t play the front too much. What’s been up with you?”

“Nothing much,” she replied. “Same ole, same ole. I was sitting here telling Cheryl how Jake took me into the city over the weekend to see The Color Purple. Girrrl, if you haven’t seen it, you must. Anyway, I thought we were only going in for the day, but Jake surprised me by getting a room at the Marriott. He had a bottle of champagne and a fruit basket, along with roses, there waiting for me. Chile, I was so damn shocked ’cause you know he never takes the initiative to do anything romantic.” I stood there, trying hard not to suck my teeth or roll my eyes. I glanced over at Miss Hooch and saw her soaking in everything.

“I was telling Cheryl that Jake even ate my kitty-cat, something he hardly ever does. He ate me so good I almost passed out.” She laughed. “Oh my God, he did things to me this weekend that I would have never expected. I swear that man is a freak.”

“Girl, I know that’s right,” the hooch said, slapping her five. “So, ole boy turned you out, huh? Humph, I know he did you lovely.”

Nahdirah nodded, then said, “Mmm-hmm. He rocked my box all weekend long. It had been so long since he handled me like that, I was starting to think maybe he was fucking someone else. But this weekend, he cleared all that up with one deep stroke of his big dick.” She shook in her seat, like she had the shivers. “Ooh, he did me so good…”

Okay, that was it for me. I abruptly excused myself. I didn’t want to hear or know anything else. I carried my