Page 67 of The Man Handler

He whispers into the phone, “Why you fucking with me? You know what it is.”

“I don’t know shit, nigga. Why are you calling me?”

“I want some pussy.”

“Get it from your woman. Mine is no longer available to you.”

“Why not?”

“Uh, because I said so; because the last I checked, it was my pussy and I fuck who the hell I want, when I want. And it’s not you.”

“What, you got some other nigga hitting that shit?”

Oh my God! This nigga has the fucking nerve to sound jealous. How typical is that? Nigga got a woman at home, and still trying to check for me like I’m his or some shit.

“Listen,” I say, sighing. “I’m not doing this with you, okay? I’ve tried to keep this shit short and sweet, but you are really trying to work my nerves. I done told you once, and now I’m telling you again, Stop calling my motherfucking phone. I already warned you before, if you keep fucking with me I am gonna blow your spot up. Is that what you want? ’Cause if so, you are on your way to getting it.”

“You know what,” he says, sounding agitated. “On some real shit, fuck you.”

I laugh. “And sweet dreams to you too, boo-boo.”

He hangs up, fuming I’m sure.

Twenty minutes later, my BlackBerry vibrates again, alerting me that I have received more new emails. I pick up the device, and look at the various email accounts. I scroll over to my Nutcracker69 email address, then press to open. There are six emails, but the one of interest at this moment is the one from Dickudownallnight. I smile, knowing he’d do precisely what I knew he would. I read the note:

Call me, anytime. 908-555-1313.

Now the question is, do I call him now to squelch my curiosity, or do I make his ass wait a few days. Hmmm. Never let a nigga think you’re too eager, even when you are, I think in my head. That settles that. He waits.

I glimpse up at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s almost noon so I decide to get out and grab lunch. There’s nothing worse than staying cooped up in an office building all day. Cold outside or not, I need some fresh air. Just as I’m gathering my things, my cell rings. I glance at the number, rolling my eyes. It’s Andre. Another dismissed fuck charm. Now Andre is one handsome dude. I must give him that. He’s five-eleven, two hundred ten pounds of mocha-colored man with deep, piercing, hazel eyes and a sexy-ass smile. And it definitely doesn’t hurt that the nigga has a thick, seven-inch dick with the biggest set of balls I’ve ever seen on any man. But the problem with his ass was he lied too damn much for me, just one lie after the other. Why, I could never understand. At first I would entertain the lies, like the time he told me he owned all this property, yet his ass was bouncing from spot to spot, sleeping on floors and sofas.

“Umm, and why aren’t you staying in one of the places you own?” I asked him.

“Oh, because they’re all rented out,” he answered, looking me dead in my face.

“Hmmm, they’re all rented out, I see. Well, sounds like you should be sitting on serious paper.”

“Yeah, I am. But it’s all tied up in investments.”

I laughed.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“Actually, I don’t. But if you say so.”

“Oh, you think I’m lying?”

I tsked him. This motherfucker must have gotten the wrong memo to believe I’d believe the shit he was tossing out. I read his ass. “Yeah, nigga, I think you’re full of shit. How the hell you gonna own all this property, but you don’t have your own shit to live in? How you gonna have all this money, but you running around borrowing other people’s cars ’n shit? What kind of shit is that?”

“Yo, fuck it,” he snapped. “I don’t have to answer to you, or prove anything to your ass. You’re just like the rest of these scheming-ass bitches, always tryna get up in a nigga’s pockets.”

“Oh, you got the wrong one,” I snapped. “If I wanted to dig into your pockets, the only thing I’d be pulling out is lint, nigga. So, don’t get it twisted. All you do is lie. And I’m sick of it. You’re not my man; you are someone I fuck. There’s no reason for you to hit me with a bunch of fucking lies. So do me a favor, if you don’t know what the truth is, keep your damn mouth shut when you’re around me. Hell, the only thing you really should be doing when you come here is eating and fucking this pussy, then getting the fuck out.”

Needless to say, I had him eat my pussy. And after I came all over his mouth and tongue, I kindly put him out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Let me ask you something. Do you think men cheat more than women? Or is it that men simply get caught more often than women? Well, if I had to take an educated guess, I’d say that it’s probably sixty/forty. Men cheat more, but women are much better at doing it. See. With women, unless they are a trick off the bat, most are going to be faithful to their men no matter what, but when they start to feel slighted or have had enough of their men’s neglectful ways…watch out! A woman might start to look elsewhere, but it won’t be with just any ole Tom, Dick or Harry. And she’s definitely not going to be impulsive about it. She is going to weigh her options. She’ll mediate on it, and may

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