Page 38 of The Man Handler

“’Cause I know.”

I roll my eyes. “Bitch, you don’t know shit. You think you know; that’s what the fuck it is. So, let me tell you what I think. I think he has a slew of numbers in his phone and has probably cheated on you more times than you can keep count, and you keep taking his ass back. And now, once again, you think he’s creeping on your ass. I bet your miserable ass went through his phone, checking his messages and calling up and confronting chicks, to catch him out. But, I wasn’t one of the bitches who left him a message. You just happened to stumble upon my number in his address book, so your jealous ass thought you would reach out and touch. Bitch, please!”

Silence.

I continue, “So, let me ask. How many chicks confirmed they were fucking him?”

“Bitch, what the fuck you all worried about that for? How many times you fuck him?”

“Sweetie, you’re delusional if you think I’m worried about who your so-called man sticks his dick in. The fact of the matter is you’re the one stressing about it. You’re the one calling up chicks, practically begging—”

“I ain’t begging no bitch about shit,” she snaps, cutting me off. “I’m warning them, including you.”

I give her an exaggerated laugh. “Whew, you one funny chick,” I say. “But, girlfriend, don’t get it twisted. You’re not warning me about shit. You can ask me, and if I choose to respect your relationship, then I will. But, make no mistake. You’re definitely not going to make me do nothing with threats. ’Cause at the end of the day, you stupid bitch, I’m gonna fuck who the hell I want, including your man—if I so choose to. I don’t love him, and I damn sure don’t admire him. I’m fucking him. I don’t want him, sweetie. You do. So, you can make all the threats you want. He’s your headache, not mine. And that’s exactly how I like to keep it.”

Silence again.

For a moment, I think I hear sniffling, but I can’t be sure with the noise in the background. Why the fuck am I even e

ntertaining this nutty-bitch? I think, shaking my head. Who’s crazier? Her for being so damn stupid, or me for sitting here, listening to her dumb ass? And I still don’t know who the fuck she’s accusing me of fucking!

“So, who is it again, you think I’m fucking?” I decide to ask, becoming increasingly disgusted with this shit.

“Seth, bitch,” she finally says. “Don’t play stupid. You knew who the fuck I was calling about.”

Seth, I think, sifting through my mental Rolodex. In my head I scream, “Bitch do you know how many men I have fucked and sucked, and you expect me to remember a motherfucking Seth?!”

It takes me a minute to remember who the hell she’s talking about. But then it comes to me. Six-feet, three inches, one-hundred-and ninety-eight pounds of thick, seven-inch, dark-chocolate dick, complete with big, smooth balls filled with thick, white cream. Yes, Seth. I met him almost two years ago. Fucked him four times, then sent him on his merry way. What the fuck is he still doing with my number in his phone? Dumb ass!

“Are you fucking serious?” I snap. “You mean to tell me, you’re calling my motherfucking house about some dick I fucked over a year ago. You stupid bitch! You could have saved yourself the dime.”

“Who the fuck you calling stupid, ho?”

“You,” I say, “calling me with this bullshit. If you were calling me about some current dick, then your ass might have had a legitimate reason to be calling here. But to be calling me about some shit that’s old news. Bitch, get a life!”

I hang up.

The bitch calls back. And I only pick up to fuck with her one last time.

“Yes, dumb ass,” I say.

“You know what?!” she yells at the top of her lungs. “I don’t give a fuck if it is old news. The fact that you fucked him is still news to me. And trust me. I’m going to beat the shit out of your cum-sucking ass if I ever catch you!”

I let her scream on and on and on about what she’s going to do to me. “You don’t know who the fuck I am…I’m gonna smash your windows out…I’ma slash your motherfucking tires…” Blah, blah, blah. The true signs of a dick-crazy bitch.

Humph. I really feel sorry for pathetic women like her. Constantly fighting over some man. Poor thing! I wonder how many other women she’s had to call and threaten, and beg for them to leave her precious man alone; the one who she lives and breathes and shits for. For some reason, that female group MoKenStef’s “He’s Mine” starts playing in my head. I start humming. He’s mine…you may of had him once, but I got him all the time…

“Bitch,” she continues, “do you hear me talking to you? What the fuck you humming for?”

“I’m humming ’cause he may be yours, but I’ve had him, and more than once. And I bet when he’s with your nutty ass, he’s somewhere still thinking about me, which is probably why he kept my number in his phone. While he’s fucking you, I’ll bet it’s me he still craves, remembering how this tight, wet pussy wrapped around his dick, how he loved eating out my sweet ass, and smearing my pussy juice all over his cheating-ass face before coming home to your dizzy ass. But, make no mistake. I’m not the other woman, and I’m damn sure not trying to fuck him into loving me enough to leave you, or break up your happy little home. Good night, sweetie.”

I hang up, singing, “Never fall in looooooove with a man who don’t love you …” Stupid bitch, I think.

My phone rings again. I glance at the caller ID. This time, I let it go into voicemail. When it beeps, I know the miserable bitch has left me a message. Ten minutes later, I receive a text message:

What’s good? Listen. My girl is spazin’ the fuck out. She’s been going through my phone calling up chicks like crazy. Shit’s real hectic right now. If she hits you up with the BS, tell her she got the wrong number.

Too late, I text back. You need to put a muzzle and a leash on her ass.

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