Cairo: The Man Handler

“I’ma ram this fat dick up in you, and fuck you nice and slow and deep. Then I’ma flip you over onto your stomach and hit that pussy from the back, spreading ya ass checks open so I can watch ya fat juicy cunt lips wrap around my dick as I stick my finger in that pretty brown asshole…”

Not with them fingernails , I think, remembering the fact that he had nails a bit too long for my liking. They weren’t homo long, but they were long enough to scratch up the inside of my walls, or to see dirt up underneath them, and for me , that is a no-no.

I frown, but say nothing.

“…Then I’ma pull out, and slap ya ass with my dick, before I eat that sweet, wet pussy from the back. Damn, baby…I wanna fuck,” he says, practically panting.

For some reason, I find myself recalling the time I got my first glimpse of two naked bodies. I was seven. I remember sneaking down to our basement and watching my oldest brother, Tyrell, lying on top of his girlfriend, humping and grinding into her, and her moaning. I stood there crouched down low, watching them in amazement. Every day after school, I’d sneak downstairs to watch, listen, and learn. And every day, they did something new that excited me, like him putting his face between her legs and licking her pussy, and her moaning; or him moaning while she had her mouth on his dick. I watched them in delight for almost the whole school year until one day my brother Terrance caught me and spanked my ass for “spying” as he called it.

He threatened to beat me again if I told our parents what I saw. Little did he know, I’d been spying and keeping it to myself for months. Keeping secrets was a game to me. Although I didn’t quite understand what they were doing, I knew it was something that shouldn’t have been done, and I knew enough not to repeat what I saw.

Every time I watched, I took mental snapshots of everything he did to her, and she to him, tucking it all in the back of my mind. And every now and then, I’d close my eyes and replay the images and sounds in my head. It was then that my imagination began to grow wings and take flight. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted someone to hump on me, and make me moan too. And that’s where it all began.

I purse my lips, contemplate. Do I really feel like fucking him? I remind myself of how good the dick was. Hell, it was better than good…it was great! But truth be told, when we were fucking, I could only ride his dick with him on his back, or take the dick doggie-style, because he had a back full of pimples and blackheads that I couldn’t stand to feel or see. Running your hands along his lumpy-ass back was like trying to read Braille.

To fuck or not to fuck…that is the question.

I dip my two fingers back into my sugar well, then pull them out and suck my juices off. Mmmm-hmm, delicious! I smack my lips then say, “Vince, sweetie…”

“Yeah. What’s good, baby?”

“Thanks for the nut.”

“Say what?”

“I said, thanks for getting me off.”

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me you were playing with yourself this whole time, and came?”

“I sure was,” I say, moaning. “Had my fingers all up in my hot pussy, and all over my slippery clit. And, yes, I came all over myself.” I stick my fingers back into my mouth, and start making loud sucking sounds. “Mmmm Mmmm…finger licking good,” I tease.

“Damn, that’s wassup, baby. I always loved it when you got that pussy nice and wet for me. Mmmph, fuck! I can’t wait to slide this dick up in that fat, juicy—”

I laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, boo,” I say.

“I ain’t laughing,” he replies, sounding annoyed.

“Well, I am. You gotta lot of nerve to think you can call me out the blue, and I’m supposed to welcome you with open legs and a wet pussy. Nigga, make no mistake. You won’t be sliding a damn thing up in this sweet snatch. Not tonight; not ever again.”

“So, what you saying…I can’t come through?”

I pull the cell from my ear, turning my lips up at his dumb ass. What the fuck?! It baffles me how some men really think because they’re packing dick and tapped a chick’s ass up and dug her back out a few times that he can hit it anytime he wants it ’cause he’s that nigga. That may be the case for some chicks, but it definitely doesn’t apply to me.

“Uh, basically,” I say, placing the phone back up against my ear.

“Damn, that’s fucked up. You got me over here with my shit all bricked up.”

“Oh, well. You’ll be alright.”

“So, it’s like that, huh? You really gonna do me like that. Leave a nigga hangin’?”

“Yep.”

“You real fucked up.”

“And so is your crusty-ass back,” I snidely reply.

“Oh, you got jokes, right?”

“You don’t hear me laughing,” I say. “I’ve already had your dick, and if you recall correctly, I done fucked it every which way imaginable. So there really is nothing else you can do for me.”

“You can be a real bitch, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I know. And don’t forget to add ho to your list.”

“Check this—”

“Good night, Vinnie,” I say, cutting him off. “And while you’re at it, do us both a favor—lose my number. Oh, and by the way, thanks again for the nut.”

Before he can open his mouth to say anything else, I end the call. I turn off the light, then turn over on my side—sticky and exhausted—and drift back to sleep, chasing the remainder of my dream.

You know, I’m sitting here thinking that I’d better make a few things clear so that we’re all on the same page before you start passing judgment on me or trying to label me as some wounded trollop. See, the reason I fuck the way I do has nothing to do with some deeply rooted, unresolved psychological and emotional bullshit. Please don’t get caught up in that textbook hype. My upbringing doesn’t have a damn thing to do with my hunger for dick. This is who I am, and this is who I choose to be. I refuse to live my life in a box constructed (and confined) by the thoughts, beliefs, or feelings of others. So if I choose to suck or fuck a dick every hour on the damn hour, that’s my business. Honestly, in the grand scheme of things, with the recession, the collapse of the stock and housing markets, and all the killings and crooked shit going on in the world, is my fucking really that big of a deal?

I mean, really . I don’t want or need anyone trying to psycho-analyze me. No, I was never sexually, physically, or emotionally abused by anyone. I was never neglected or deprived. Nor am I the product of a dysfunctional family. So there are no wounds to heal. My father didn’t beat up on my mother, run out on her, abuse substances, or abandon me. I come from a very loving, two-parent household. Both of my parents were hard workers who now live in San Diego. My mother is a retired elementary school teacher, and my father is a retired police officer. I am the youngest of seven, and the only girl. And none of us ever wanted for anything, especially me. So let’s be clear. There’s nothing wrong with my self-esteem, and I’m not scarred from some traumatic experience.

I fuck because it’s something that I enjoy doing. Some people find pleasure in reading a good book. Some people gamble. Some people shop. Some people drink and use drugs. Well, I take pleasure in the feel of a stiff dick. And ain’t a damn thing wrong with it. We all have our vices, and fucking is mine.

See, the difference between me and most chicks who randomly fuck and suck niggas: I know what I am. I don’t try to hide it, or make any excuses for it. I am what I am. I am a grown-ass woman. I am adventurous, uninhibited, spontaneous, and unrepressed. Hello. I am a nymph. I love dick! And I do what I wanna do because I can.