Every unmarried man who loves women has a little black book where he keeps a catalog of the females he has had and desires to have.
  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not really a book-book; it’s just a repertoire of doable daughters of Eve. 

 Could be stored in his head or his phone as just contacts or his Facebook friends but never a book. If you meet a guy with a literal black book, run! He’s a manwhore!

 In the case of my boss, I am his little black book but he has no idea. I never really wanted to be a personal assistant to a hotel mogul; it just sort of happened as I sat down lost amongst a throng of sexy girls viable for the position in his secretary’s office.

  I had come for the systems analyst job because computers are my thing. Physically, I am geeky-looking and very, very uninviting but he picked me. 

 I tried to explain that I wasn’t there for the position he was offering me and he said he didn’t really need a personal assistant, that he just wanted somebody he wouldn’t jump right into bed with.

  I cried all night but I took the job the next day and came in fully clad in my Ugly Betty attire (without the excessive colors). The salary was extremely attractive, though.

That was four years ago. And I am still there. And I have seen women come and go and I am still there, untouched, unwanted, unseen by him… That’s not the point. 

 You see, my boss can get any woman he wants with absolutely no commitment and keep her on all fours, literally crawling for more. I’m not mincing words if I call him a legendary ladies’ man. There are only a few who can do what he does and come out unscathed with no screaming baby tagging along and a nagging baby mama with unending drama.

I will share some of his stories and guys, you could learn a thing or two about this brother (name withheld) who is real and not a fiction of my imagination.

 No matter the age, occupation, orientation or status, every woman loves a bad boy. If not all the time, at least once in her life. Why? Do I need to be redundant and tell you, nice guys finish last? 

 Obviously they’re tedious. They always ask women how they are feeling, if they want to talk about it, where they would want to have dinner, blah blah blah. yawn. 

 A woman would rather have you say ‘I know you’re still feeling balmy after last night. Shhh, don’t talk about it right now, wait till after dinner at my place tonight. By the way, you’re cooking.’

  I remember those lines word for word because I overheard my boss saying them to the guest executive chef who had been invited to train the kitchen staff for two weeks. 

 When she first began working, no one knew she was female underneath the double-breasted, baggy white jacket she always had on. 

 Even her hair was hidden beneath the long hat thingy and there was a debate over if she was bald or cone head. By day, she was a regular boa constrictor in the kitchen; at night, she was a lonely bat like me. 

 No one knew this, well, except for the only bad boy we had in the building.

The first time he spoke to her was after a staff meeting. She had come in late and squeezed herself into a hidden corner but he had picked her out. 

 The moment he looked at her, I saw something familiar in his eyes and I knew he was going to be hitting that in less than forty-eight hours. No, scratch that and make it thirty-six. 

 Sporting all black on that hot Monday morning indicated he was either really, really pissed or in the mood for mystery. Mystery it was and the moment the meeting ended, the games began.

He asked me when I walked into his office, “Anna, do you think I should start seeing someone again? I’m trying to remove the dating fatwa I put over myself for the past four months. 

 I need a woman that is down to earth, easy going and very crazy in the sack. Know anyone like that?”

She’s standing before you, I thought sourly.

“Why are you asking me that type of question, sir? Am I a lesbian?”

He looked at me from top to bottom and said seriously, “Excuse my language but you do have a vagina, don’t you?”

“Sir, that chef woman has been waiting for you for the past twenty minutes.”

“Oh! I forgot!”

That was a lie.

He got up and followed me out to the waiting room, apologized to her for keeping her waiting and with all the charm of a gentleman, asked if she could teach him to prepare a light but exotic meal that he could use to win a woman’s heart. 

 Her full lips spread into a smile and she was hooked.

   By Sally K. Dadzie 

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