The Man Handler

pussy-pleasing dream—one that has left me sopping wet. I turn on the night lamp, sighing. “Well, I’m not! So why are you calling me so early?”

“You’ve been on my mind.”

“Ohhhhkaaaay. And you had to call at me this hour to let me know this, right?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

I suck my teeth. “Since when?”

“C’mon, baby,” he says, lowering his voice. “Don’t play. You know how I feel ’bout you. I got you on the brain like crazy. I’ve been real fucked up lately, missing you and shit.”

Now a lonely, simple-minded bitch would fall headfirst for this line of bullshit he’s dishing out. And before you knew it, he’d be slamming his dick in her ass, twisting her guts out. But I’m not the one.

“Humph,” I grunt. “That’s a shame. I haven’t talked to you in months. Now all of a sudden, you got me renting space in your head.”

“Yeah, something like that,” he says. “I still don’t dig how shit went down with us. You dissed a brotha, setting egg timers ’n shit, talkin’ ’bout my time expired. What kinda shit was that? You was on some real foul shit, for real, for real. But just like this big-ass dick, it’s all good.”

I chuckle to myself, remembering the ding of the egg timer alerting me that his fifteen minutes of tongue-fucking me was up. I had already told him prior to his coming over that he was only getting fifteen minutes of pussy because I had already recruited someone else to take his spot. The nigga thought I was bullshitting. Had he been smart, he would have licked my cat for five minutes, then used the other ten to stroke it with his dick, but he didn’t. And when the bell went off, I politely pushed his head and face from outta the center of my crotch and told him to get out. Poor thing looked at me with his eyes popped wide open and my creamy pussy juice smeared all over his face and lips, looking like a damn glazed fool.

“Whaaat?!?!” he had snapped. “You buggin’, right?”

“Does it look like I’m bugging?” I asked, slipping on my robe and turning off the stereo. The party was over.

He grabbed his erect dick and wildly shook it. “Yo, you see how hard this shit is? You need to stop poppin’ all that ying yang and get up on this dick.”

I laughed, flipping open my cell. I had my finger on the speed dial button for my brother, who would have come through with his boys in blue and locked Vince’s pathetic ass up.

“Nigga,” I warned, “you got five minutes to get your shit on and get out.”

“I ain’t going no-fuckin’-where until we fuck, or I get this dick sucked or something.”

“You can leave willingly, or you can leave in handcuffs. Either way, you’re getting the hell up outta here.”

I swung open the bedroom door and stood defiantly, waiting for him to get the hell out of my bedroom. He huffed and puffed and mumbled inaudible shit under his breath, but it didn’t matter to me. I had other plans that didn’t include him.

When he finally got the hint that there wasn’t going to be shit else popping off between us, he got up and got dressed, then stomped down the stairs. I followed behind, graciously opening the front door for his ass.

He stared at me, clenching his jaw muscles. “Yo, that’s real fucked up. You on some ole other shit, for real, for real. But it’s all good. I ain’t beat. You’ll be blowing up my shit”—he grabbed at his crotch area—“tryna get at this dick again.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I firmly stated, holding the door open for him. “The one thing I never do, boo, is go back to dick I’ve dismissed.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he snapped, brushing past me. “Fucking bitch! I don’t know why I fucked with your ho ass any damn way.”

I laughed at his ass. “But I’m a damn good one, remember that. Got your silly ass feenin’ for this tight pussy, don’t I? Had you tryna suck the nut outta this ho pussy, didn’t I? How many times you had your tongue buried up in this ho’s ass, huh, nigga? Let’s talk about how many times you begged me to let you slide your dick up in this sweet, juicy ho box raw. Nigga, you fucked with my ho ass ’cause I rode your tongue and dick down into the mattress, and had your dumb ass stuttering.”

He glared at me, but said nothing.

“Unh-huh, just what I thought. Yeah, I’m a ho, baby. But you can best believe it’ll be a long, cold day in hell before you ever sniff this pussy again.”

I slammed the door on him, then peered out the window and watched him get into his burgundy Acura coupe and peel out of the driveway, burning rubber in the process. That was months ago. And now he has the nerve to ring my line like everything’s sweet. My, my, my…how the chickens come home to roost.

“Mmm-hmm,” I finally say, flicking imaginary dirt from under my fingernail. “So, why are you really calling?”

“I wanna swing through on my way to work to see you. I wanna lay in bed with you and hold you in my arms.”

“Wait a minute. You mean to tell me you want to lay up in a ho’s bed and hold her in your arms. Now, ain’t this some shit?”

“Oh, here you go; you still on that bullshit?”

“Actually, I’m not,” I state flatly. “I’m merely making a statement.”

“Damn, baby. Listen. I was only talking out the side of my neck. You had me real heated, so I was saying shit to hurt you.”

This nigga can’t be the brightest star if he thinks calling me a ho was supposed to hurt my feelings. The word ho holds no power over me, so calling me one can’t hurt me. I embrace my ho-ism wholeheartedly, with pride and grace.

I laugh. “OhmyGod, you are so fucking hilarious.”

“Why I gotta be hilarious? I’m being dead ass.”

“I’m a ho, remember?”

“Why can’t I only wanna see you?” he asked, igging my remark. “Why I gotta be on some extra shit?”

“’Cause you are,” I answer, still laughing. “Vinnie, baby, do you really think I’m buying that ‘I only wanna see you’ mess? No, nigga,” I say. “You calling ’cause you tryna come through and get that dick wet. You don’t miss me. It’s this sweet, tight pussy being wrapped around your dick you miss.”

He laughs. “So what’s wrong with a brotha missing some good-ass pussy?”

“Nothing,” I state.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem. Not for me, that is. But, as for you, this pussy is no longer on the menu, boo-boo. So you shit outta luck.”

“Damn, so it’s like that? I remember a time when you couldn’t get enough of this long, black dick. Let me come through and remind you of how good this dick used to feel up in you.”

Despite myself, I smile—allowing my mind to travel down memory lane, remembering the first time we fucked. Baby, let me tell you. This man did me right. I had gone to Atlantic City—by myself, of course—to chill. I had rented a suite, grabbed something to eat, then went down to the casino to do a little gambling. When I tell you it was heads everywhere, Bally’s was jumping!

Anyway, I didn’t win shit on the slots, but I damn sure hit the jackpot when I brought back up to my room a six-foot-two, one-hundred-and-eighty pound, half-black and half-Italian nigga from Brooklyn. And, yes, I fucked him on the damn spot. And… oh my Gawd! That’s all I can say. Dude tried to dig another hole into this pussy, you hear me? And when he ate me out, he ate this pussy like it was about to be his last night on earth. I’m telling you, the way he darted his tongue in and out of my slit, licking and kissing, and blowing all over my clit, then burying his thick tongue deep inside of me, I thought my walls were going to collapse, the way he made my insides shake. The man had a wicked head game, and almost had me screaming out his name—something I had no intentions of doing. But I damn sure begged him for some of that thick, ten-inch dick. He had my pussy so overheated that I needed it stoked, needed it stroked, needed it fucked deep, and hard, and fast, and all damn night long. His dick sliced into my pussy like a hot knife, causing my walls to melt around his meaty cock. By the time we finished fucking, the sun was coming up and my pussy was beat up real good and well served.

Oh, yes, Vince slayed this pussy something fierce. But he also got on my last damn nerve with his negative-