Page 21 of The Man Handler

“I’ll be there around two,” he says, dismissing what I tell him. “Have that nigga gone before I get there.”

I laugh. “Fool, get a damn grip.”

“Oh, you think I’m joking?”

“No,” I say, still laughing. “But I do think you are a joke.”

“Oh, so you think I’m a joke, huh? Well let me come through and show you exactly what kind of joke I am when I slam this dick up in you.”

“Cuckoo…cuckoo…cuckoo,” I chant in a singsong tone. “Can we say, ‘med check,’ please?”

He lowers his voice. “Oh, so you tryna to be funny, right? Why you gotta fucking play all the damn time? Can I come through or what?”

I roll my eyes. He is slowly starting to get on my last nerve. “Barry, do me a favor. Delete my damn number, please.”

“What?” he asks.

I sigh. “Don’t call me again. The dick was good while it lasted, but I’m done with it. So no, you can’t come through. And no, you can’t have any of this pussy—ever again. You might as well keep that dick right where it is ’cause I don’t want it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says. “Hold up. Where’s this coming from? A few minutes ago you were acting like it was all good between us. Now you flipping the script. What’s up with that?”

I suck my teeth. “Barry, what script am I flipping? I fucking told you straight out that I was getting my back dug out tonight by another dude, and you still pressing me about coming through. Well, you can’t ’cause, news flash, I’ma be riding another nigga’s dick. Speaking of dick, would you like to suck his nut out of my pussy when he’s finished fucking me down?”

“Yo, what kinda shit you on?” he snaps, sounding offended. “I don’t fucking get down like that, so don’t play me.”

“What, did I hit a nerve, huh, Barry?” I lower my voice to a seductive whisper, and say, “Tell me, big daddy. Do you ever fantasize about tasting another man’s hot nut? Fantasize about having it slide down in your cheating-ass throat? Mmmmmmmm, finger-licking good,” I moan, then laugh.

This only pisses him off more.

“Yo, what the fuck you laughing for? I told you I ain’t on none of that homo shit. I’m all man, baby…believe that.”

“Oh, well. Too bad, then. ’Cause had you been willing to eat my pussy after him, I might have reconsidered letting you come through. But—”

“But nothing,” he snaps. “I’m tryna come through for some pussy, and you wanna be on some fucking dumb shit.”

“Nigga, please,” I say, laughing again. “You can come around here if you want. But make no mistake. It won’t be any of this wet pussy you get. It’ll be a set of damn handcuffs, locking your crazy ass up. Now, try

it if you want.”

“You know what, I ain’t even beat. I see you wanna play ’n shit. So, whose this nigga you fuckin’?”

Oh, no, he didn’t just fucking ask me who I’m fucking. This mother-fucker got the wrong one!

I take a deep breath, then asks, “Barry, where’s your woman at?”

“She’s upstairs, why?”

“Let me speak to her.”

“Say, what?”

“I said, let me speak to her.”

“Are you fuckin’ buggin’?”

“No,” I snap. “But you are for thinking you can question me or dictate to me. I’m not your dumb-ass chick. I don’t answer to you, nor do I take directions from you. She puts up with your shit, not me. So don’t get it twisted.”

“Yeah, aiight,” he huffs. “Whatever. I see you on some other shit. So I’ll get up with you.”

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