Home Wrecker

Setting up men for a living was never in my career plan, but when I look back on my past, it’s obvious that I was always headed down that road.
See, at thirteen years old I understood I had power over men.
Equipped with a seventeen year-old’s curvaceous and fully developed body, I realized back then that all it took to get what I wanted was a subtle, seductive smile, a sexy gaze, or a you-know-you-want-it stance.
My father was the first man I’d learned to control.
Most people assumed I’d had him wrapped around my finger because he loved me unconditionally. I was his daughter, his princess, but I knew better. My father was a pervert, who was always taking side glances at me and looking me up and down. He used to love to accidentally walk in on me when I was showering or getting undressed. But instead of excusing himself and leaving right away, he would take long, lingering seconds to admire “how grown” his little girl was. He never touched me improperly, but I could see in his eyes that he wanted to fuck me good.
I should have been uncomfortable and disgusted by the fact that my own father had sexual thoughts about me, but I never was. I was amused actually. I mean, there I was a thirteen year-old girl getting a rise out of a grown man—hell, my own father!
Toying with him, I learned the art of seduction and garnered a true understanding of the type of power I possessed then. With an inviting look, a seductive smile, a sexy stance, I realized I could get whatever I wanted.
Through my father, I understood just how weak men were. I learned that if you teased them just enough, their imaginations would run wild, their dicks would swell, and they’d become puppets doing whatever it was you wanted them to.
My mother saw the power I had over my father and tried time and time again to stand in my way. But although I was young, I’d been too in-tune with my sex appeal, and by the time I was fifteen, she left my father and I. She never admitted it, but I think she was jealous of the fact that, up until his fatal heart attack, I could have still manipulated the hell out him.
Manipulation.
Break it down.
A woman must have come up with the word.
I continued to learn and love the power of manipulation through my teenage years and on into my early twenties. There was just nothing as intense to me as pulling a man’s strings to get what I wanted without having to give up anything in return. And that was always the case. Boys and men bought me things, took me places, and did anything I told them to or asked, and unless I wanted it to happen, they never even got a whiff of my pussy.
Manipulation.
Control.
The words were synonymous.
Playing men was always like a game to me, because I never really needed them.
I came to the realization in my early teens that in order for me to have truly had control over a man, I had to be independent and successful. A woman that could play a man, but didn’t have her own shit, got no respect from me, because in my eyes, they were weak-minded. They may have had the tits and ass and knew how to use them, but they lacked intelligence, because if they were truly using their brains, they would realize that a woman who had her own shit was far more desirable.
See, men are simple. They do all of their rationalization with their dicks, and think that because God gave them chest hair, they’re supposed be the dominant one.
A woman that needs nothing is a woman most wanted because they’re viewed as a challenge. Bring your own car into the relationship—a man will want to buy you a better, more expensive one. Have your own home—a man will want you to move into his. Have your own money and he’ll say to hell with the price and empty out his own wallet.
Men are driven by the need to impress. Women who understand this are the ones that get the most respect from me.
My mother, as beautiful as she was, never brought anything to the table, which is why my father never truly respected her. She always used to complain about how I was just like my father. I guess she’s been right, because I didn’t have much respect for her either. To this day, we still don’t have much of a relationship.
Like I said, I never intended on becoming a home wrecker.
Prior to my career change I was the head buyer for LeVor Fashions—an up and coming urban fashion company that was bringing some serious heat to the powerhouses like Sean John and Roccawear. On a day to day basis I met with established designers as well as new, fresh designers and basically said yay or nay to the ideas they’d come up with. LeVor was doing great before I’d gotten there, but I can’t lie—I had a lot to do with the company’s growth over a four year period.
I always had a keen eye when it came to fashion. I just knew what did and didn’t look good. What would or wouldn’t work. To me, style went hand in hand with the power a woman possessed. It was all part of the package.
During my junior year in college, I was able to land an internship with LeVor, starting out as an assistant for the head buyer at that time. While I did the minute tasks like make copies, put away files, and run errands, my mentor would allow me to get into the thick of things by seeking out my opinion, which actually mattered. Under her, I learned the do’s and don’ts of the industry, and I got a true understanding of trends and how to recognize what they were and when they would happen.
During my senior year, I was given my first major task of choosing the design to go with for a pair of jeans the company was going to kick off their summer line with. The pair I chose was supposed to be the teaser, but it turned out to be their biggest seller for the season. Impressed with everything I’d done during my internship, LeVor hired me on as a junior level buyer after I graduated.
I did that for three years and enjoyed great success in my role until I was suddenly propelled to head buyer when my mentor quit unexpectedly and went to work for the competition. So there I was at twenty-six, the youngest person in the company, with an executive position. I had a six-figure salary, drove a Mercedes, and owned a luxurious condo overlooking the city. I was a single and successful bad-ass, honey complected black woman, and the men loved and hated me. They loved me because I had the beauty and the brains. They hated me because I couldn’t be tamed.
Remember: control was what it was all about for me.
Life was good for me back then. Shit, life was great. Especially my career. I was respected. I was envied. I never expected my career to change.
But then I went to Texas.