Page 20 of The Man Handler

“I can get out around two, if that’s cool with you,” he says.

Two in the fucking morning? I think in my head. Oh, hell no! This muthafucker is one screw from crazy. “No, it’s not,” I say.

“What about—”

My call waiting beeps. “Barry, hold on,” I say, clicking over to retrieve the other call before he can respond. “Hello?”

“What’s good, lady?”

“Hey, Ian,” I say, smiling. Ian is a sexy, half-black, half-Korean cutie. He’s twenty-seven, six-foot-three, and one hundred and ninety-five pounds, with nine inches of thick cut man meat! And mother-f-ing f-i-n-e. Yes, I’ve fucked him before. Between you and me, he’s really not all that good in the pussy-eating department, but fucking…baby, let me tell you. This dude can slay some pussy. Now that he’s called, I’m going to invite him deep inside these wet sugar walls and allow him to nut himself to paradise! “What’s good with you?”

“This big dick,” he says.

I laugh. “Is that so?”

“Don’t play. You already know. So, dig, you up for some company or what?”

“Hell, yeah,” I reply excitedly. “It’s been a minute since I’ve had some of that dick.”

“Oh, so you’ve missed this dick?”

I smile. I will tell him what he wants to hear; stroke his ego and make him feel like his is the only dick that matters. “Yes, baby,” I moan. “I haven’t been fucked right since the last time you knocked these walls. And that’s been a minute.”

“So you saying you ain’t had no dick since me?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying your dick is what feels best inside me. These other niggas don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

In my mind’s eye, I can see him nodding and smiling and patting himself on the back.

“Oh, word? That’s what it is. Well, check this. I’m coming to split that asshole wide open tonight.”

I smile. “You can do whatever you want, as long as you licking it first.”

“No doubt,” he says. “What time you want me to slide through?”

I glance at my watch. It’s already seven-thirty. “Nine-thirty’s good,” I state.

“Bet. I’ll see you then.”

“Mmmm,” I moan, almost forgetting about Barry on the other line. “My pussy’s already wet for you.”

“Exactly how I like it.”

“See you at nine-thirty,” I say, hanging up, then clicking back over to the other line. “Barry, sorry about that. Look, I gotta get ready to go. Call me one day next week if you can.”

“Oh, word? It’s like that? I was trying to stop through later on tonight.”

“Umm, for one, two o’clock is too late for you come over here.”

“Since when?” he asks.

I frown. “Since I have other plans, that’s when.”

“What, you got another nigga coming through?”

I roll my eyes. See? This is exactly why I can’t be so bothered with a man. Talk about a mofo overstepping his boundaries. Give a nigga some pussy and he starts thinking he can question you and keep tabs on the pussy—even when the mofo has a woman at home. Now I have to get ugly.

“Nigga, not that I owe you any explanations, but yeah, I got a better offer,” I flatly state. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting to get my guts wrecked tonight so I need to freshen up.”

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