Page 15 of The Man Handler

“Yes, Everett,” I say, feeling myself getting lightheaded from his cologne, and from the lack of dick in my life this week. I envision myself on my knees wearing nothing but a red G-string and my six-inch red Christian Louboutin pumps, being fucked doggie-style by him. I imagine that he knows I like it when a man yanks my string to the side and slides his dick in. And he gives it to me precisely how I like it, pumping deep inside of me while pulling the string and letting it pop against my soft ass. I’m throwing my ass up on his dick, taking it all in, allowing him to feed my cum-soaked pussy every inch of his goodness. I swallow hard, blink away the image, and make a mental note to schedule a tune-up.

“Good. I’ll walk with you to the elevators.” He lowers his voice. “So, when you gonna let me take you out?” he asks as we slowly stroll out of the conference room. “You know I’m gonna keep asking you until I get a ‘yes’ from you.”

“There’ll be no ‘yes.’ I told you before, I don’t mix pleasure with business, so you’re wasting your breath and your time.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard all that before.” He moves in closer. “Listen, I know you’re all private and all. But I can assure you, it’ll be discreet.”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Not interested.”

“Okay, then how ’bout we get together for a business dinner, two colleagues merely unwinding after a long day at the office?”

I laugh, shaking my head. This man doesn’t give up, and I like that about him. His persistence is appealing. Too bad it doesn’t change my mind about workplace dating.

In the six years I’ve been here, I have seen at least ten colleagues get involved with coworkers, and none of those situations have worked out. If anything, it made their working conditions practically unbearable ’cause everybody and their mother knew their business. A chick who was fucking one of the graphic designers ended up losing her job because she couldn’t bring her ass to work like she was supposed to because she was too depressed over their break-up. Give me a damn break! I’m sorry, but there is no damn way I’m going to lose a job over some nigga and his dick. Anyway, workplace romances can get too messy and complicated for me, and I’m not the one.

“We don’t work in the same department, so what would we need to talk about?” I ask. There’s a large crowd of people waiting to get on one of the three elevators on each side of the hallway.

“Here,” he says, gently taking me by the arm and ushering me past the crowd. “Let’s catch the ones on the other end of the building.” I follow along. “Anyway, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we could. But if it’s only you and me out to dinner, then it’s a date. And I’m not up for dating, especially not someone I work with.”

“But we don’t work in the same department; your words, not mine. So what’s the harm? It’s only an innocent dinner between two adults, trying to get to know each other.”

“Nice try, but no cigar,” I say, catching sight of Nahdirah talking to another one of these phony bitches up in here.

He tosses his arms open in mock defeat, flashing a beautiful, ultra-white smile as we step into the elevator. “Can’t knock a brotha for trying,” he says, shaking his head. “You win for now.”

“I didn’t know this was a game.”

“It’s not,” he states, eye-fucking me. He steps into my space. He lowers his voice. “You’re the one tryna make it one.”

“Hardly,” I say, stepping back from him. I can tell he’s not used to women brushing him off so easily. He’s probably used to them falling at his feet, worshipping him. I’m certain the only reason he continues to push the issue of me going out with him is because I’m one of the few women in this building who hasn’t taken him up on his offer. Yes, I’ve played in my pussy while imagining what it would be like riding his dick, but there’ll be no office rendezvous. “I’m sure you have enough women already on your fan club roster you can call up for a dinner date.”

“Yeah, I could,” he says, laughing. “But they ain’t you.”

The elevator door opens. “And they’ll never be,” I say, stepping off. I turn to face him as the door starts to close. “Thanks for the ride.” He opens his mouth to say something, but the doors shut in his face.

I finally make it to the bathroom and rush to an empty stall to remove my liner. I reach into my bag, pull out a small container of wet wipes, then pull up my skirt and pull down my panties. I wipe my pussy. Now, I don’t know about you, but I use wet wipes after every piss and shit. I am a stickler for keeping a baby-fresh snatch and ass, no matter what time of day it is. I place a dry liner in the center of my underwear, then pull ’em up. I wash and dry my hands, then reach into my bag and pull out my designer make-up case, pulling out my supplies: lip liner and lip gloss. I’ve never been one for a bunch of make up because I don’t need it, but I’m telling you, I love the Queen Collection by Cover Girl. It keeps me looking flawless all day, every day.

Nahdirah walks into the bathroom as I am gliding a coat of pearled peach lip gloss over my succulent lips. “Hey, girl,” she says, coming up to the sink next to me to wash her hands. “What’d you think about that meeting downstairs?”

“Well, if they are really going to look at each department like they say they are, then I think some of us are about to be on the unemployment line.” I didn’t want to sound like the prophet of doom or anything, but companies are downsizing all over the country, so I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. I really hope my ass won’t be one of the ones scrambling for another job.

“Let’s hope not,” she says, drying her hands. “I have almost ten years here, and the last thing I wanna be doing is looking for another job.”

“I know that’s right,” I say.

“I saw you over there talking to Everett’s fine ass. He still tryna take you out?”

I shrug, fixing a few loose strands of hair. “Girl, I don’t know what he’s trying to do.”

“Oh, please. Even a blind man can see he has it bad for you. He practically salivates and pants every time he sees you.”

That’s because he’s a two-legged dog. I roll my eyes, heading toward the door. “Well, he can keep wagging and salivating all he wants. I’m not interested.”

She follows behind me. “You on your way to your office?”

“Yep,” I state, silently

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