Saturday, September 20, 2008

My First Potential

I have my first potential orgasm coming this weekend.  He's a blast from the past.  Some boy (who thinks a post-baccalaureate degree makes him a man) is trying to wife my ass.  Little does he know the "commitment game" does not phase me. 

Why do SOME men play the "I'm ready to settle down" line thinking it will woo us into bed?

Now don't get me wrong, I plan on fucking his ass this weekend, but not because he claims to have left his doggish days behind. For all I care, he could still be a dog. 

Now I know laying with a dog can leave me with fleas, but I am in dire need of some penetration.

Plus, I heard his head game was awesome, and hopefully he can fuck better than the ex.

So I'm going risk the fleas and potential drama that could arise if it turns out this "man" wants to settle down and actually date me (oh, the horror) and get me a few orgasms.

And of course, I'm in this all by myself and will gain no points for this fuck, but curling my toes in pure ecstasy is worth it.

Oh yea, Faye went out of town this weekend so you know what that means! Lol.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Waiting for the Results

Deondre text'd me yesterday that he misses me.  He asked me to relax and wait.

Well to quote him correctly, "Baby, I miss you.  Just try and relax we only have a few more days to wait.  Just put your pussy on pause and chill."

Pause...is this man serious?  Can a woman even do that? 

Like, where the hell is this button, and if I can pause does this mean I can also rewind to the time where I was getting good dick on the regular.  Or can I replay the night that fine ass Kappa dove 'locs first into my pussy and made me scream his name?  

NO!  I can't.  So mister, please DO NOT EVER request that I put my sexual desires on pause!

Who am I kidding, me and my pussy will be waiting on him to receive his bar results.

I know he passed, but DAMN!

Monday needs to hurry the hell up.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

And Then There Was One

Faye quit.  She says the GAME isn't her.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Too Tired

Everything has turned into sex. While watching Iron Chef, I found myself saying out loud that I’d fuck the back-flipping commentator.

Faye gasped in horror.

I study so damn much, I’m too tired to even masturbate at night.

So I wake up tired and frustrated and again what, horny!

Fuck being nice and lady-like. Fuck being a slut whore. Fuck morals and principles.

I NEED SOME DICK!! Good dick that is.

Ready to Throw In the Towel

Back at the Lounge again. I was hopeful leaving the house. Kahlua was in my system. I was pretty in pink, and I was on a mission. After sitting at our table for an hour without noticing any potentials; I knew it was going to be a long night.

Two gentlemen sat in front of us. They weren’t alone. It was obvious from the amount of drinks purchased and the body language that the women were more than their friends.

Surprisingly, at least 30 minutes before the show they disappeared and left their dates alone.

BIG MISTAKE.

This one brother was just my type. Not dating type, but fucking type.

He was thick. Nice muscular arms, strong back muscles. Bald head. Smooth skin. Decent complexion. He was definitely fuckable.

Shit, right now anyone is more fuckable than my plastic pink bullet.

Faye knew I was ready to attack. But before I could accidentally bump into him and offer my pussy…um, I mean my number, he turned and started rambling on about how he’d never fuck a bitch with 4 kids.

I didn’t have 4 kids.

He continued to ramble on about being single with no children.

His credit score was a 760.

He sold DOPE.

He used this goon line to draw me in. It worked. That would have been an extra point. I told him I didn’t believe he sold dope and to prove it to me. He reached into his pocket and revealed his merchandise.

A fucking business card. He was a pharmaceuticals salesman.

Still fuckable.

He owned a Blackberry. Despised talking on the phone. He was just what I needed. A late night text ready to come over and blow my back OWT!

I don’t need conversation, I need a man to press his tongue against my clit and massage it. No talking, no whispering, just SHUTUP and fuck me.

I took his card, looked him up on my Berry to verify his status. He was legit.

But he was completely DRUNK.

It was disgusting. I let him go. He left with his friend, who purposely grazed his chest against my left breast. I hope he enjoyed his quick feel. LOSER!

We left early that night with no points.

While walking to the car, I felt like giving up. Why can’t I find an orgasm? I’m not looking for a man or love, so what could be so difficult about my plight?

I always catch Faye and I commenting on things that bother us about a man:

“Girl, he’s not my type.”

“Eww, he has on shades in the dark.”

“Oh no, he has on the Ne-yo hat.”

But the truth is none of this matters anymore. The things we seek in a mate relate to dating, love, marriage (oh, the dreadful thought), but an orgasm only requires an erect penis (or a tongue).

People always say it’s not all about looks; its what’s inside that counts.

Well ladies, right now its what’s inside his pants that matter.