Page 11 of The Man Handler

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 cup of tea and bagel right on up out of there, taking the elevator up to my floor, then going into my office, and shutting the door behind me.

Ugh! Learn to keep your motherfucking mouth shut! Why the hell would a woman sit around and share the most intimate details of her relationship with a bunch of other women? You best believe there is gonna always be at least one dick-thirsty chick in the group who is gonna be absorbing every little morsel of information, soaking it all in like a sponge. She’ll disguise her scheming-ass ways with fake concern, trying to be the friend you can always lean on. And the first chance she gets to slither her ass into your man’s space, she’s gonna try her best to fuck him. Or at the very least, suck his dick down to the gristle.

I call this type of bitch the dick-thirsty chick, ’cause she’s the type of drooling-ass broad who’s going to sweat a dude to no end, practically throwing herself at his feet, begging for the dick. First it’ll be real subtle. Every time she’s around him, she’ll start complimenting him about his looks or the way his cologne smells. She’ll comment about

how lucky his wife is, and how she wishes she had a man like him. She might even start wearing tighter, more provocative clothing, or a little extra makeup to get his attention. Most men will eat up all this attention. Some will let her attempts to woo him go over his head. Others will flat out check her ass, and let his woman know (not many, though). But some, yes, definitely will give in to her relentless ass.

Trust and believe, if he doesn’t bite soon, if he keeps brushing off her advances or doesn’t recognize her ploy to get into his wallet and his boxers, this snake bitch will start to get frustrated. Or she’ll become more obsessed, more desperate. Being ignored only adds fuel to her fire. She’ll become more direct. She may be bold enough to offer him some pussy. Ssssh, nobody has to know. She’ll promise to suck the shit out of his ass just to get his nut. This greasy bitch will try to get at a man right in front of his woman with no regard for his relationship. She’s a brazen freak with no damn boundaries. She’s also a borderline whore, if you ask me. And of course, this is the world according to a ho. Anyway, she sees him as a challenge. She craves him. And will stop at nothing until she gets him. I’d like to get my hands on an intercom, speaker, bullhorn, or whatever, and say to all these simple-ass women who trust every bitch who’s in their social circle: “Dear, there’s no other way to say it. Stop broadcasting your damn business. There’s a conniving, home-wrecking bitch among you. She’s envious. She’s jealous. And she’s gonna fuck your man. So pay attention, and beware!”

Okay, if you haven’t figured it out—yes, I have a problem with scheming-ass women (well, bitches!) trying to get at someone else’s man, but I have a bigger problem with the chick who constantly runs her damn mouth, giving these tramps all the ammunition they need. I mean, really…what the fuck! Oh, please. I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before. We shouldn’t blame the other woman because it’s the man. Well I think sometimes that’s a bunch of bullshit. Especially when you think the people in your personal space are people you can (or should be able to) trust. That bitch is as much at fault as he is. I mean, damn, I may be a ho, but I’m not (nor will I ever be) a trifling one. I would never stoop to fucking someone whom I say is my friend’s, or family’s, man. A chick I don’t know, or don’t want to know, yes, I will borrow her man’s dick and return him to her happily fucked. But not someone I know. I’m sorry. There has to be some dick that’s off limits. There needs to be more honor among hoes, don’t you think?

Oh, please! Don’t even go there. I know what you’re thinking. You’re trying to figure out what makes me any different from the women I’m talking about. Well, for starters, I don’t hang around a bunch of chicks, or gossip with them. I’m not impressed by what some other chick’s man is doing for her, or to her. Nor do I need to sit around, plotting on how I can have what she’s getting at home. There are too many men out here more than willing to give up the dick (even step out on their chicks) without me needing (or having) to sleepwalk him. Besides, I don’t want another woman’s man any damn way. Like I’ve already said, I only wanna fuck him, then send him home.

Okay, you know what…before things get out of hand between us, I’d better clear up a few things. I know some of you will never, ever, comprehend how I’m any different from the home-wreckers, mistresses, and whores. I really don’t care. But I’m going to enlighten you, anyway. So let me break it down for you, something I should have done from the gate.

See, the Other Woman, which I will never be, is the dizzy chick who is claiming another woman’s man as her own. In her cluttered mind, she shares a special type of relationship with him. In her own sick, twisted way, she feels deeply connected to him. She’s the chick who doesn’t involve herself with other men ’cause she’s faithful to her man, you know, the one she’s sharing with the wife or girlfriend. She may or may not be interested in actually breaking up his home, but there is a part of her that fantasizes about building—and having—a life with him. Whether she admits it or not, she wants him for herself. But knowing that dream may never come true, she settles (or accepts) the role of his mistress and gladly embraces those moments when her man can sneak away from the wife and kids for more than a few hours or a night. Unless she works with him, she may not see him regularly, but they will talk on the phone, email, or text daily. She lives and breathes for his calls. And for the most part, she’s okay with hearing him whisper sweet nothings into her ear about how much he misses her, needs to see her, wants to be with her. She plans her whole life around him. And using the excuse of a business trip, she’s happily in tow, wrapped in her lover’s arms like she is the real first lady. Oh, joy!

Now the Jump-off is exactly that. A chick who jumps on and off the dick. She’s not interested in taking him from his woman; she doesn’t want to have his babies or meet his family. She only wants to borrow him for his dick, then send him on his way, nothing more, nothing less. If she’s strong-willed, she’ll never allow emotions to get in the way of her need for a good fuck buddy. Hell, most of the time, she’s in a relationship herself, and it’s usually with someone who can’t seem to handle her in the bedroom. So she seeks out extracurricular sexual activity. Yes, she’s using him. But he’s using her as well. Both parties get what they want without hassle, so it’s a win-win situation. Unfortunately, most jump-offs get dick-whipped, then start disrupting the rules of engagement with the “why-can’t-you-leave-her-for-me” bullshit. And before you know it, they submissively fall into the “other woman” category, or leave their own men for their fuck buddies.

The Ho (which is what I am) doesn’t usually have a man, and doesn’t necessarily want one. She only wants to fuck. Typically, she fucks more than one dude at any given time. She might even let him bring a friend along, but she’s not going to let him or anyone else disrespect her. She’s usually mad cool, very discreet, and extremely private. She’s typically well liked, and knows how to fuck a dick. And dude may or may not put all her business out on blast.

But the Whore, aka the Slut, or Smut…forget it. This bird is downright nasty and trifling. Her name is all out on the streets. She’s the chick who will fuck and suck almost anybody, anywhere, anytime, anyplace. She likes it all, and usually gets passed around like a forty-ounce and a blunt. Nut, nut, pass. Nut, nut, nut, pass. She’ll let a nigga bust in her face, make her swallow his cum, allow a group of niggas to circle jerk on her, fuck her in the ass, double-fuck her—you know, slam a dick in her ass and pussy at the same time, fist fuck her, spit on her, piss on her. You name it, she’s gonna let them do it to her. And then she wonders why she can’t get a man. Hell, a prostitute has better luck at getting a man than the whore does. ’Cause at least with a prostitute, fucking is a paid event. It may not necessarily be something she likes, but it’s a means to an end. However, a whore gets pleasure from solely being on her back or on her knees for free. And she has the worked-over, stretched-out snatch to prove it.

Now, I am sure there will be some who will want to argue with me about what I’m saying, but who gives a damn! This is the world according to a ho. It doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks about it. It is strictly my opinion. This is going to have to be another area in which we agree to disagree. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ton of emails to get to and a desk load of work to finish before I get the hell up out of here today. We can catch up later. Until then…peace, love, and happy fucking!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Iguess even after I’ve broken the shit down for you, some of you are still scratching and shaking your heads, wondering what type of woman would willingly spread her legs and knowingly fuck another woman’s man. What kind of woman would stoop so low that she’d purposefully disrespect another woman’s relationship? Well, I’ll tell you again who she is. She’s unscrupulous, scandalous, devious, and merciless. She’s the harlot, the whore, the slut, the tramp, the trick, the skeezer, the strumpet, the skank, the jezebel, the ho; she is your neighbor, your friend, your sister, your mother, your aunt, your cousin, your coworker, your enemy. She is the type of woman who doesn’t give a fuck about you or your relationship. That is the type of woman who will fuck your man.

You fear her? So you should. Your man has been in her bed; she may have been in yours. He has licked her in places that should have been reserved for only you, has fucked her in every position imaginable, has tasted her, explored her, enjoyed her, then has come home to you. She has hooked him by the balls and has conquered him. She stands boldly in your face or silently behind your back, smiling, lending you a shoulder to cry on, lurking in your shadows, anticipating the moment when your man becomes weak, when she crumbles his resolve, then fucks him relentlessly.

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