Becuming His Canvas

This is so random and off my usual sex deprived topic, but I found the memory hilarious and worth sharing.

While vacationing in Atlanta, I met this wannabe Rasta.  I expressed to him my passion for poetry and art.  How I began painting in high school and fell in love.

He too loved to paint.  I asked to check out his work sometime, or maybe become his subject.

He accepted and replied that he’d love to paint on me.

I completely missed the “on me” part.

His medium of choice differed from my watercolor or acrylic paints.

His was a sticky, high in protein substance known as semen.

Ejaculate.

Cum.

Jizz.

Turned out dude would fuck chicks from behind, pull out before he erupted, and cum on their backs.

Called it Picasso-ing.  

      

Claimed women love it.

I revoked my offer.

He also wanted to bottle and sell his sperm to prevent the rapid spread of breast cancer amongst Afro-American women, but I digress.

Boy do I love that city!

You Can't Handle the Truth

The only person who knows how many sexual partners I’ve had is Faye.

She didn’t gasp in horror the night I counted each conquest.  She just sat there in silence and then asked me if I used protection with the ones who were known to get around.

I was relieved my confession was received with concern rather than judgment. 

My ex once had the gall to ask me my number over fake Italian in Olive Garden.  I sipped on my Shirley Temple and replied, “Three, including you.”

I don’t even know if he believed me nor did I care at the time. 

"How many people have you had sexual intercourse with?"  

It is the age-old question people wonder but never ask, and never should.  It’s a truth people seek, but when faced with the reality that their partner has slept with more than a handful, they freak and become judgmental prudes.

Its like looking through your man’s phone to see if he’s talking to other females.  You come upon an unrecognized number and flip.  Next thing you know you start questioning his whereabouts.

I have no sympathy for women or men who snoop.  If you go looking for answers, be able to handle the truth! 

When the ex asked me my number again during the breakup I obliged him.  I told him the real number was triple that in Olive Garden and that his dick was amongst the top three worst fucks I had ever experienced.

He flipped like the chick scrolling through her man’s phone.  He told me I was a slut whore.  Said he never wanted to see my face again.

The lesson to be learned: seek the truth when you can handle the whole truth.

And never ask your partner their sex number.  It has nothing to do with the present, and is none of your damn business.  Its their past and should not determine if you continue to date them or even allow yourself to fall in love. 

If he or she has whore tendencies it will resurface regardless of your knowledge that they slept with 20 plus people.

So stop snooping and asking so many damn questions.  Chill out and enjoy being the only number that matters (even if it is a fallacy).

LOL!

Remember the Time When...

Faye is extremely nostalgic.  She reminisces about high school crushes, undergrad fucks, the smell of our AP Literature classroom.  When gas was 97 cents, the $4 teriyaki wings from the gas station near Marteen’s house.  Homecoming games, Sonic strawberry slushees with blue coconut add-in, Acrylic nails with rhinestones and a different design on each finger.

I always yell at her to stop.  To let all that shit go and focus on now.  The truth is I actually admire her ability to recall the past and not become overwhelmed with despair.

If I were to become nostalgic, my thoughts would not include high school dances or driving through our hometown at 2am looking for an open Taco Bell to consume our munchies.

My thoughts would cause my clit to tingle, my nipples to harden, the pace of my breath to quicken.

They would be thoughts of getting fucked in the dressing room of Express.  The sound of high heels approaching.  The knock on the door followed by Becky asking, “Ma’am are you ok in there?”

It would be the thought of getting my pussy eaten by the skinny yet charismatic Kappa.  The purple pillow he shoved into my mouth to stifle the sounds of ecstasy.

The sweet smell of Issey Miyaki. 

Or the night Ben came over after the Champagne Jam and fucked me until I begged for him to stop. 

The time Jerome inserted his fingers into my wet pussy on the dance floor as his main squeeze sat at the bar waiting for his return.

It would be thoughts of grinding on Carl's erect dick while Bobby Valentino sang “Slow Down”.

Skipping class to flirt with J.B. in the SBA office. 

Being young and fast but discreet with every sexual encounter. 

I have absolutely no regrets, but nowadays these thoughts only open the floodgates to wet panties in class.

So no more nostalgia and no more flashbacks.

1/2 a Year and Counting

Rent is due soon.  Every check written and cashed is not a reminder that my bank account is $900 less, but that another month has gone by without any good dick. 

October will be 6 months.

It never really dawned on me until my breakup how frustrated I have become.  Close friends are nervous to be around me because allegedly I’ve been known to snap on people for no reason.  I’m moody during the day, and depressed at night.

I constantly complain about my lack of a social life, which turns into a dramatic monologue detailing my lack of a good sex life. 

I am 23; yet my life resembles that of a 35 year-old single mother with two children.

To make matters worse, I’m feigning for dick and I don’t know if this newfound state of mind is healthy.  When people feign for things they become desperate and will do anything to get the high they crave.

Feigning for dick cannot be paralleled to feigning for crack.  A crack addict’s struggle is nothing compared to mine.  I’m not going to rob anyone for a hit or pimp my eldest child for money, but every night alone reminds me of how fucking horny I am.

Everyone around me is hooking up.  My friends are getting dick.  My enemies are getting dick.  Shit, my momma is probably getting some dick.  Faye says I need to lower my standards.  The thing is, they are low.  Them shits don't even exist anymore.  I no longer see the requirements of straight white teeth, a nice build, and intelligible conversation.

All I see is a tongue, dick, and balls.

I am almost on the verge of fucking people in my program, which is a HUGE no in my book.  I’m going through my address book contemplating what dick from the past can I call for a quick fuck.

I really need some good dick.

It is too damn early in the morning to be writing this shit.  It's almost 10am; people are earning money and recouping from getting the shit fucked out of them last night. 

Me on the other hand, I'm going to stop by CVS on my break and purchase a pack of AA batteries for my bullet.  Maybe I’ll invest in some K-Y for a more real life effect.

The Fine Print

Today was a pretty calm day. Faye and I went to the mall. We had fun bonding and supplemented our sexless lives with ice cream from Cold Stone. The advertisement was full of misrepresentations. It pictured a fulfilling " Like It" waffle cone bowl above the word FREE. But of course, the fine print read 3 ounce sample.

When the bubbly braces with purple hair handed me my sample it was like bringing a man home who spent countless conversations opening your legs with promises of massaging your clit while hooking his pointer and middle inside your vagina to stroke your G-spot. Only for him to get down there and begin knawing on your clit like he missed the memo that eating pussy doesn't mean eat, as in chew, as in pain, as in nigga get the fuck away from my clit and get the fuck out of my bed!

The thing is everyone misrepresents themselves in some fashion. I wear bras with underwire to support my double D's. Some women wear girdles to put everything in place. While some are just straight up perpetrating with fake breasts, lips, nails, and eye color.

Men do the same. If its not physical misrepresentations, its the verbal boost they give their credit score. Or the image that the soon to be repossesed BMW is actually paid for. That he's babysitting the three children trailing behind him in Publix when in actuality they are his (and each have different mothers).

Shit, we misrepresnt who we are not only to others but to ourselves. Most women are wearing the wrong bra size because they're too frightened to accept 40DD. Several men carry Magnums in their wallet knowing good well their 5 inch erect dick ain't equipped for no damn Magnum.

We all misrepresent to some point, but it becomes an issue when behind closed doors the truth resembles or is smaller than 3 ounces.

So before you snap on the dude chomping on your clit, think about all the misrepresentations you yourself have provided to lure him into your bed in the first place.

So Where Is My McSteamy?

I am ubberly excited that the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy comes on tonight!

Pussy In Distress Signal

This is officially blast from the past month.

First awesome jawsome dude, and now this other guy from undergrad texts me out of nowhere asking my whereabouts.  And to no surprise he too relocated to the next up-incoming spot for progressive blacks (like really, I swear this city has more black folk than ATL). 

This is the same man who wouldn't give me the time of day when your girl actually wanted commitment.  He strung me along for almost a semester and then just faded away into the arms, no wait, the pussy of another woman.

He wants to take me on a date.  Code for: I'm new to this city, haven't met anyone else, would like to fuck you and hope you don't mind how I totally dissed you in undergrad for the chick who was known to let dudes hit it raw.

Now of course, being an opportunist and avid believer in a free meal I do plan on accepting his offer. 

And its not just me.  My homegirl got a call today from her ex in undergrad.  They had a tumultuous relationship and dude was a complete douche bag.  So now he's either found God or is on a 12 step program because he claims to miss her and can't stop thinking about the family they could have had together.

Then her other ex hits her up on myspace saying he wants to link up.

Chick is straight bugging out, and so am I.

Why are the men from our past creeping up into the present attempting to be apart of our future?

Are we so freaking horny and borderline desperate that our pussies are inadvertently sending out distress calls?

And if so, can you lame ass negros please stop answering!

Time To Press Stop

I know women always claim to be done, but for real, this time I am.

After being stood up again last night, I can no longer deal with Deondre’s inconsistent ass.

Faye doesn’t believe in me.  Shoot, I kind of don’t believe in my damn self, but a girl has got to start somewhere.  She thinks I should calm down and wait for him to come around, and when he does fuck him and move on with my life.

Things just aren’t that simple.  I feel completely played, and I DO NOT get played.  I have to realize that dealing with Deondre is not worth my orgasm.  An orgasm I hope will top the rest but actually may resemble the ex or even worse leave my pussy itching in pain.

Its obvious the universe does not want me sleeping with this man.

So I’m done.  No more texts, calls, nothing.  When he does come around (which he will), I will put his ass on notice that I cannot do THIS anymore.

Unfortunately, this is a cliché I hate.  “THIS just isn’t working,” or “I just can’t do THIS anymore.”

What the fuck is THIS? 

And since I know I must choose my words wisely when speaking with Deondre, I’m going to define THIS as being 4 years of built up sexual tension that has not erupted into mind-blowing sex, but has fizzled into missed phone calls, unanswered texts, frustrated nights with my vibrator, and juvenile make-out sessions in his Magnum.

THIS is him being inconsistent, unreliable, and just plain ole lazy. 

THIS is me becoming too fed up to even fuck his ass with no strings attached. 

THIS is our friendship, fuckship, quasi-relationship ending.

I can’t do him, THIS, us anymore.  I have too much respect and pride to wait or run after a man who can’t even keep a fuck appointment.

To be honest, I know my range of emotions now will not even compare to how I’ll respond if he were to fuck me and then act a damn fool.  Oh hell naw, a bitch will straight up flip on his ass.

So where is the remote because it’s time to press STOP and turn this shit off.

Still On Pause

Deondre was supposed to come thru last night.  He text’d me around 8pm saying his mother had taken his car and went to the salon.  Now, I know how certain black salons get down. 

On average, I spend 22 hours in the salon every month, so I didn’t trip at the excuse.  But I lost it when his ass told me he wasn’t going to show.  WTF?

I told him he could come later.  10pm turned into 11pm.  When Sex and the City came on and I saw Samantha giving some corporate guru fellatio, I knew she’d be the only one sucking any dick that night.

I sent him a text letting him know I was pissed and felt played.  No response.  I know Deondre well, so no response means he read it, realizes he fucked up, but knows I won’t do anything about it and went back to his existence.

Do I think he’s lying about his mom using his car?  No.  I actually believe him, but if he is lying it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t owe me anything except good sex, and right now he has breached our contract.

All I could do was pace around the house screaming, “Pussy Ass Nigga” at different octaves.  Faye sat on the couch and just laughed.

It was funny, but it wasn’t.  I had actually gone to the mall earlier that day to purchase lingerie.  I’m returning that bitch today. 

In hindsight, none of this surprises me.

I told my girl yesterday in class that I had a bad feeling about last night.  I was way too tired during class.  My head started hurting, and I was cramping out of nowhere.  It wasn’t time for my friend to visit so I knew something was up.

When it comes to Deondre nothing is promised.  He is the most unreliable man (other than my father) that I know.  Yet, I still deal with his ass.

I tolerate him because the man is sexy as hell and I’ve wanted his dick for too long. 

Faye told me the horrible truth last night.  That I was getting played.

PLAYED.

I have always been the player but not the playee.  Karma ia a bitch.

Like A Virgin

I found out a year 1/2 into my last relationship that my ex was a virgin.

This explained a lot.  Why his thrust was below average.  Why the thought of eating pussy was unknown and disgusting to him.  Why he was so judgmental and close-minded about sex and life in general.

I kept his secret to myself until after the breakup.  Faye was the first to know the truth.

She bout died laughing.  Even when I mention it now, she snickers at his status.  Its so embarrassing to find out after all those missed orgasms that I was being fucked (can you even call it that) by a virgin.

I hate being someone’s first. First real girlfriend.  First love.  First fuck.  First anything.

I am not a teacher and struggle at facilitating basic information.  Additionally, its almost impossible to teach anyone who thinks they know it all.  Trust me, a mediocre collection of porn and Sue Johanson are not enough to make your dick good.

Even experts can benefit from a lesson or two on how to please another.  Being good in bed with another chick does not guarantee an orgasm with the next.  Everyone is different.

All I wanted was for him to open the hell up and realize that sex is not only about procreation.  

A year into the relationship, I gave up.  I saw Deondre for the first time in a year and my eyes and legs were open.

I never physically cheated, but I wanted Deondre more than my ex.  Was willing to do more for Deondre than my ex, and began to realize that I’d give up all the purses, jewelry, paid bills to be with a man who could possibly dog me out and break my heart.

Press Play Please

Deondre passed the bar.  You know what that means!

Regrets

So I told my girl how I didn't sleep with her frat.

She gasped in horror.

"Big mistake," she said.

Why? Apparently, dude not only has that awesome jawsome, but can really fuck.

I've never been a fan of rumors, but sex rumors are an exception.  Everyone does a background check (if possible) on a man before they date or sleep with them to see what's the word on the hill.  Can he fuck? Can he eat? Is his dick small?

Now are the answers truly reliable?  Who knows, but perception is everything.

So when my girl Belinda said dude was orally awesome, I became intrigued.  And now, I'm even more intrigued.

I still don't know why I never fucked him. Maybe I was afraid I'd waste returning from my sexual hiatus with a man whose thrust resembles my ex (and we know how that goes).  Maybe I had a flashback from undergrad to the weeks of utter bullshit that follow when you fuck the wrong guy and he opens his big ass mouth to the wrong people.  Shit, maybe my pussy was scared of him after he ravished my clit.

So I'm going to try and seduce him back to my place and really fuck his ass this time.

BUDUSSY

Butt, dick, and pussy.

LOL. I have never in my sex craved existence heard this foul word.

I sent a voice note to Faye from the Berry, and informed her of this wondeful new slang.

This chick asked me to use it in a sentence.  So to all of you who don't know how to use budussy, here we go.

Scene: You walk into your homegirl/homeboy's room after they've had a LONG night and you smell something twangy in the air.

This is when you would blurt out, "WTF, it smells like BUDUSSY in here!"

So, Faye doesn't understand why sex should even have a smell.  I wouldn't even characterize it as a smell, more of a recognized scent.  

It's the scent of a woman and man who have been working and twerking their asses off for a few hours.  

It's the scent of sweat from his brow that falls upon you while he thrusts inside your pussy. 

It"s the scent of a woman's juices that leak unto the sheets while he's sucking on her clit.  

It's the scent of a one night stand, a fuck and buck, makeup sex, even that true-love-we-cum-at-the-same-time sex.

Sex alwyas has a scent.

So if your sex don't have a scent...that shit must not be that good.

Dedicated to C.A.T.

You Will Get Raped

I told my homeboy about not having sex with dude and just letting him eat my pussy.

He told me, "Chill out on that shit, because next time a nigga will rape you."

(Silence).

Wow.  No comment.

So readers, is this like the male consensus?

If a man comes over with no verbal expectations, when no terms and conditions have been established, when HE is the one who craves eating pussy and takes it upon himself to ask, "Damn, I wonder what you taste like," and proceeds downtown.  Am I really at fault for what occurs after my orgasm?

Is it implied that oral sex and intercourse go together?

That Awesome Jawsome

So yes, dude's head game was the truth. And I'm not just saying that because its been forever since I've had oral sex.  Even when the ex did it he wasn't really doing it.

You know how some men eat pussy like they're just doing it to get the moment over, and then some eat it like they crave that shit.  Well this dude was the latter.

He was amazing.  I came twice and when things got too sensitive I tried to push him away but he wouldn't let go.  Eventually, I turned over on my stomach to relax and get my breath back; next thing I know he started eating me from behind.

His hungry ass.

But of course, y'all know dude tried to fuck me.  Now, I'm probably in the wrong for this next part.

So after he dined on my pussy, dude whipped his dick out, put a condom on, and was just standing there like, "You gone fall in love with this shit".  I just laughed and closed my legs.

I felt horrible for what was about to come out of my mouth but I just couldn't do it.  I told him to get that shit away from me and that I was not gonna fuck his ass.

He looked at me in pure disgust.  Dude got in the bed, turned his back towards me and went to sleep.

I woke up to the sound of him snoring.  Stretched my arm towards the nightstand to get my glasses.  Felt around in the dark for something plastic and came upon his quasi-used condom!

That nigga (yes I said it) had took the condom off his dick and threw it on my nightstand!

WTF? I fucking lost it.  I slapped the shit out of his arm and demanded he throw it away.

He refused and told me that shit wasn't his, as though I leave used condoms strewn around my bedroom for all visitors to see.  Asshole!

I told him to pack his stuff and get on the road.

He still refused. 

We argued for two hours.  He had put me on his shit list. I asked was it because I didn't fuck his ass? He replied no.

Negro don't lie. I know he was pouting because I opened my legs for his tongue and not his dick, but sometimes it be like that.

LOL. No, that's wrong. Like, really horrible.

He left after throwing that shit away. He kissed me goodbye, but I know he won't be calling again.

Oh well, it was good while it lasted.