Cairo - The Man Handler

Anyway, I believe the reason my snatch snaps back, and grips a dick with ease is because I alternate the dick. I don’t stick with one dick type. I fuck ’em all. And no matter how many dicks I ride, it’s because of that fact that I’m able to maintain this five-star pussy. Think what you like, I’m telling you what I know.

Oh, the power of dick…how it can have a chick lose her mind over it . How it can force a woman to forget everything that is rational, and pure, and have her caught up in the drama of chasing it down, fighting over it , and having babies by it , knowing damn well the man attached to it is not gonna take care of her or them little snotty-nosed crumb snatchers. I had a dude I was once fucking actually say: “A bitch will know that I’m fucking other chicks and still give me the keys to her car, let me lay up in her spot, and even hit me with money outta her bank accounts, all because I rammed my big dick up in her guts and fucked the shit outta her dumb ass.”

I simply stared at him, and could do nothing but shake my head because I knew what he spoke held truth. Then he added, “If I fuck you and see any signs of weakness or stupidity over how good I’ve thrashed your back out, then I’m gonna run your dumb ass straight through the mud. And that’s real talk.”

Well, all I can say is this: I’m so damn glad I’ve never succumbed to such madness. And I don’t really feel sorry for these chicks who have this “knowledge” and still allow themselves to get played. Shame on ’em. And to add to the craziness, I have to shake my head at the men who measure their manhood by the length of their dicks, and the number of women they fuck, use, or have fighting over them.

I don’t even know why I got on this topic ’cause the more I think about it, the more disgusted I find myself getting with these stupid-assed, dick-whipped, scatter-brained women out here with their ridiculous antics over what’s hanging between a man’s legs. It’s obvious there’s a whole lot of strength behind the thrust of a cock. ’Cause, baby, dick, like good pussy, will flat out have a chick doing some crazy shit if she lets it control her. She becomes possessed by the dick. And before you know it she has turned into a weak-minded, emotionally unstable bitch—even if only for a moment. I’m seeing more and more women doing dumb shit behind a damn piece of dick. Dick will have a woman walking out on her husband, abandoning her children. It will have her lying and stealing and pushing drugs. Dick will have her dismissing all of her friends. It will have her selling her pussy. Dick will have her risking her life and health. It will have her begging and crying, and fighting other women, knocking on doors, and playing childish-ass phone games. It will have her plotting and scheming to have someone else’s man. Ugh! And it will have her dumb ass losing everything she owns because she has allowed it to fuck her silly ass into stupidity. Humph. As bad as I don’t want to admit it, dick is dangerous! And I have one thing to say: All hail to the Almighty King Ding-a-ling!

“ Hello?” I answer groggily.

“Hey, baby. You up?” the voice on the other end asks in a seductive whisper.

I rub my eyes and glance over at the digital clock on my night-stand. I squint to make sure I’m not hallucinating. 3:15 a.m. My eyes widen. What in the hell?! “Please tell me you have lost your damn mind,” I snap through clenched teeth, “calling me this time of the morning when I have to be up for work in another three hours.”

“Damn, baby, I ain’t mean to wake you,” he says, almost sounding apologetic. But I know enough to know that this mofo isn’t sorry about shit. “I thought you might be up thinking about this dick.”

He chuckles.

I roll my eyes, letting out a disgusted sigh.

Now had this been six or seven months ago, I would have graciously accepted his call with the promise of wetting his dick up nice and slow. And with Vince, the one thing I was always guaranteed was a dose of mouth-watering, powerhouse dick. But that was then, and this is now.

“Oh, really?” I sarcastically inquire, sitting up in bed. I am pissed that he has awakened me from a delicious, pussy-pleasing dream—one that has left me sopping wet. I turn on the night lamp, sighing. “Well, I’m not! So why are you calling me so early?”

“You’ve been on my mind.”

“Ohhhhkaaaay. And you had to call at me this hour to let me know this, right?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

I suck my teeth. “Since when?”

“C’mon, baby,” he says, lowering his voice. “Don’t play. You know how I feel ’bout you. I got you on the brain like crazy. I’ve been real fucked up lately, missing you and shit.”

Now a lonely, simple-minded bitch would fall headfirst for this line of bullshit he’s dishing out. And before you knew it, he’d be slamming his dick in her ass, twisting her guts out. But I’m not the one.

“Humph,” I grunt. “That’s a shame. I haven’t talked to you in months. Now all of a sudden, you got me renting space in your head.”

“Yeah, something like that,” he says. “I still don’t dig how shit went down with us. You dissed a brotha, setting egg timers ’n shit, talkin’ ’bout my time expired. What kinda shit was that? You was on some real foul shit, for real, for real. But just like this big-ass dick, it’s all good.”

I chuckle to myself, remembering the ding of the egg timer alerting me that his fifteen minutes of tongue-fucking me was up. I had already told him prior to his coming over that he was only getting fifteen minutes of pussy because I had already recruited someone else to take his spot. The nigga thought I was bullshitting. Had he been smart, he would have licked my cat for five minutes, then used the other ten to stroke it with his dick, but he didn’t. And when the bell went off, I politely pushed his head and face from outta the center of my crotch and told him to get out. Poor thing looked at me with his eyes popped wide open and my creamy pussy juice smeared all over his face and lips, looking like a damn glazed fool.

“Whaaat?!?!” he had snapped. “You buggin’, right?”

“Does it look like I’m bugging?” I asked, slipping on my robe and turning off the stereo. The party was over.

He grabbed his erect dick and wildly shook it. “Yo, you see how hard this shit is? You need to stop poppin’ all that ying yang and get up on this dick.”

I laughed, flipping open my cell. I had my finger on the speed dial button for my brother, who would have come through with his boys in blue and locked Vince’s pathetic ass up.

“Nigga,” I warned, “you got five minutes to get your shit on and get out.”

“I ain’t going no-fuckin’-where until we fuck, or I get this dick sucked or something.”

“You can leave willingly, or you can leave in handcuffs. Either way, you’re getting the hell up outta here.”

I swung open the bedroom door and stood defiantly, waiting for him to get the hell out of my bedroom. He huffed and puffed and mumbled inaudible shit under his breath, but it didn’t matter to me. I had other plans that didn’t include him.

When he finally got the hint that there wasn’t going to be shit else popping off between us, he got up and got dressed, then stomped down the stairs. I followed behind, graciously opening the front door for his ass.

He stared at me, clenching his jaw muscles. “Yo, that’s real fucked up. You on some ole other shit, for real, for real. But it’s all good. I ain’t beat. You’ll be blowing up my shit”—he grabbed at his crotch area—“tryna get at this dick again.”