I Really Don't Care

My ex text’d Faye yesterday.  She told me and had this look on her face like, “Don’t front bitch, I know you miss him”.

She knows me better than most and realizes more than I do that I’m almost completely void of emotion. 

Thing is I don’t miss him.  I rarely think about him and I don’t know why.

He was, is, a great man.  He has helped me overcome numerous obstacles, but each time I feel nostalgic and think about what life will hold without I'm overcome with memories of our breakup conversation.

How dude told me, “Without me, you wouldn’t be where you are now.”

Bitch please!

As though he held my hands throughout undergrad and made it possible to graduate with a 3.4 GPA.  Like he took the fucking LSAT for me.  Like he made the hardest educational decision of my life to skip out on my dream school.

After he reminded me that without him I wasn’t shit, I knew it was over.  Despite the lack of mutual orgasms we lacked balance.

Now don’t get me wrong, I never claim to be Miss Independent.  I’m quite aware that people helped and are continuing to help me get where I am today.  But nigga please!

So where I am now without this man...I am currently washing my cum drenched sheets because his wack virgin non-fucking ass couldn't open up to the fact that his dick sucked.  That I don't live and breathe for him.  That I'm 23 and want a career before plastering a minivan with "Baby on Board" stickers.  That I need, deserve, and demand more.  That rocking possibly counterfeit handbags is not the same as rocking with a fraudulent, counterfeit man who thinks he has his shit together.

So thank you for getting me where I am.

Rappers Aren't the Only Ones Who Give Shoutouts

My homegirl reads this blog and loves it, yet she has no idea who Fran is.  I really want to test our friendship and confide in her that what she finds as sexual inspiration comes from a person who during undergrad took several lessons from her and learned quite a lot.

This chick is truly the truth, but the consequences of my truth and her truth are measured on a completely different scale.

Maybe she’ll realize while reading this that it's me and smile as a proud parent would after watching their child ride away without training wheels.

So to my homegirl who I love , who has been around through more than half my list, thank you for teaching me, inspiring me, and perfecting my skills.

My victims thank you also!

Confused

After sucking awesome’s dick and balls raw, I wondered how good would my oral game be if I added protection.

My doctor advises during any oral experience that I use a condom and he use dental dam, but who the hell wraps it up just to suck it?

And if we suck dick raw, why are we so concerned about letting him hit it raw?

Unprotected foreplay followed by safe intercourse are apart of my fucking routine, yet I’m beginning to question what I’ve actually prevented by using a Magnum to penetrate my pussy while managing to to suck every drop of semen out and swallow.

The STI’s and viruses we fear and aim to prevent are exposed and ready to conquer our immune system each time we travel downtown.

So how safe are my sexual practices?  And if I do suck raw, should I just suck it up and realize that I’ve already exposed myself to the harms I fear and get fucked raw?

Sometimes A Mess Can Be A GREAT Thing

I never realized how long seven months without actual clitoral stimulation really was until my purple down comforter and magenta 400 thread count sheets were drenched in cum.

Awesome II made his way over to my side of town yesterday.  I was actually surprised he came over considering the World Series game premiered last night and he’s a huge fan of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. 

Rather than bore me with the game, we watched Seinfeld and then Scrubs.  The Real Housewives of Atlanta was on but dude hates reality television.  I love it. 

He watches Colbert.  I eat Colbert’s ice cream. 

He loves cartoons, watches Family Guy and Boondocks; I loathe anything animated especially the former. 

He listens to Steve Harvey while dressing for work.  I shower and apply my MAC makeup to Tom Joyner.

Aside from us both loving Sade, we have little in common.  Does it make much for a long lasting relationship, who knows?  But it does make for some passionate sex.

Dude is amazing.  I keep asking myself why wasn’t I fucking him in undergrad?  With his good dick, I could have easily prevented acquiring three victims on my list.  I haven’t had a man explore every inch of my body the way his tongue and hands do in a LONG time.

To be honest, dude has a little too much energy for me.  My ex’s orgasm was easy to predict.  Ride his dick for 10-15 minutes and he was done.  But not awesome II, he can last for an hour without busting and for some odd reason this shit makes me want to twurk even harder.

His favorite position is this semi from behind one leg straight the other twisted to the side move.  It feels good, but I’m a clitoral stimulation kind of girl so I prefer consistent grinding on my clit than a deep, strong thrust. 

What I like about his dick is it listens to my body.  It feels my muscles tighten, my walls contracting and responds by giving me what I need.  Sex with him is give and take, not just him taking my pussy and forgetting that I too want to cum.

I did the cold water trick while sucking his dick.  He loved it and returned the favor (minus the water) twice.  Awesome is truly awesome from each and every angle or position. 

Apparently, he was too awesome because after burying his head in my pussy for 30 minutes my comforter and sheets were saturated with “juices’.

He laughed as he helped me change the sheets.  While cuddling, he interrupted the silence with, “So you’re a squirt-ter, huh?”

Squirt-ter?

I denied such a characteristic trait, but he informed me the reason he paused mid-way was not because I was suffocating him, but because he could feel me cumming.  He claimed I squirted him in his mouth.

“That’s never happened to me before.  I’ve only seen that shit in porn,” he explained.  In the dark, I could make out a Kool-Aid smile on his face.  Dude was proud he had found a pure and bona fide squirt-er.

Thing is, I have never in my oral sex life squirted shit from my pussy.  And yes, to me that shit only happens in porn or to Johansen’s callers.

I experienced a minute moment of embarrassment, but then I remembered that two weeks ago dude squirted his shit in my fucking hair!

Some call me Black Widow, but you can call me Ms. Picasso if you nasty.

I Wanna Taste Him

I want a Jamaican man.

Well actually one in particular.

So rather than remain patient for Deondre while learning to prepare rice and peas or ackee and salt fish accompanied with dumplings, I found a substitute.

A rather sweet and thick substitute.

Today, for the first time in a long time I ate bun and cheese.  When I tell you that shit was amazing, it was fucking AMAZING!  It was as though I had consumed a good Jamaican man.  The sweet and salty taste lingered in my mouth for several delightful minutes.

MMM…

If only I could get a hold of that coveted Jamacian dick, suck out its sweetness, swallow in one gulp while enveloping my taste buds in something sweeter than some damn bread and cheese.

Dicks Are Like a Box of Chocolates...

Instead of calling my #1 goon Shrek, the crew has knighted him as Skittles.

Dude is always rocking these loud ass Coogi shirts.  One day in particular, he was wearing this assortment of tropical skittle colors.  He looked like a tub of sherbet you purchase from WalMart.

Thing is, I've never been a fan of skittles.  I prefer chocolate.  So rather than fuck Skittles, I’m contemplating getting a taste of his cousin.

Turns out Friday night, while sitting in VIP with him, I solicited my pussy.  Well, I didn't actually demand that he oblige me sitting on his face as I did the other random potentials, but I did give dude my number and he’s been using it ever since.

I wasn't surprised yesterday when I saw him adorned in a similar tub-o-sherbet shirt accompanied with matching tub-o-sherbet kicks.  

And to make matters taste worse, dude has jagged teeth.  He also looks soft, like I just don’t see goon in him.  Plus he’s younger than me and I’m sure lacks formal education.

I don’t know, maybe I'm wrong.  Perhaps, he's like an assorted box of chocolates (which I loathe).  It's like the tedious task of biting into three chocolates just to get to the one with a cordial filling.  Who knows what dude has to offer, maybe he tastes better than I expect, maybe he's sweeter than the chocolates before him.  

But whatever oozes forth after I get ahold of him doesn't matter right now.  I have been picking through this never-ending box and have finally come upon a few pieces that taste quite divine, so dude will just have to wait for round 2. 

The Man In the Mirror

Looking at pictures from back in the day, most of my side profiles are taken from one angle.  I personally believe my best side is my right ride, except when it comes to my ass because it look great from all angles!

So anyway...I’ve come to the conclusion everyone looks better from a certain angle.  Like my homegirl, chick is gorgeous, but if you peer too closely from the front you’ll notice that her eyes are too close together and her eyeliner is never applied straight.

Then there’s this guy who was a potential until I noticed that from a left angle looks like a Who.

Not to mention, while in class last week Lisa noticed that from a right angle Shrek resembles Inki.

She BBM’d me this revelation but I had no clue who Inki was.  Chick was serious about her discovery and pulled Inki up on her computer, took a picture of his image, and text’d me the photo. 

For all of you who have not seen Inki or wonder what my Shrek looks like, here he is:

Its horrible, isn’t it?  It’s the jungle version of Sambo.  I laughed but found the image disturbing and quite racist. 

However, while writing this in class and observing Shrek from the right, I must admit that Lisa was right.  Right now, dude is looking at his Vaio screen and his bottom lip is protruding so far out its beginning to flip under, and all you can see is his stout, black ass and that pink bottom lip.

But we all know looks aren't everything (they are to some extent); its what's inside that matters.

So wouldn't it suck an ovary if your best angle was only from behind?  

Or worse, when a person takes into account everything underneath the surface, yet from each angle imaginable you still resemble the pussy ass nigga with bitchassness tendencies who can't fuck for shit and lives with his momma that you are.

Moving On

Patience is a virtue, but what the hell am I actually waiting for?

I’ve decided that I don’t even want $20 from Deondre.  I’m not over him, but I don’t want to be under him anymore.  Now don’t get me wrong, I still like dude, but a woman can only take so much.

He calls and texts every now and then, but its not enough.  And yes, I know being patient means excepting what I have right now while believing and trusting more will come. 

But why the hell am I to believe in a consistently inconsistent man?

Why should I trust a man who never follows through on a promise?

What is so fucking virtuous about getting played time and time again, only to realize too damn late that being patient blind-sighted having enough wisdom to demand more and bounce when it is never given?

So I guess this leaves Deondre a day late, and me $100 short.

Oh well, it is what it is, right?

My #1 Goon

The sun has risen on Shrek.  He's no Prince Charming, but dude made my clit tingle almost everyday last week.  Shit, one day in class I had to excuse myself, run to the restroom, and wipe my pussy down.

He's extremely forward and to the point.  I like it, it turns me on.  It makes me forget that even on a good night, while in my bed, with my legs spread open and my vibrator in hand I can't manage to formulate a single fantasy with him as the lead role.  

Dude is so not my type but his game, the lines he spit are amazing.

Tuesday, our non-sexual conversation following Evidence class instantly became an invitation for sex when he told me that he needed to go to the bathroom and wipe the tip of his dick because I had made him wet.  I was speechless.  Then he proceeded to inform me that he was available Wednesdays and Thursdays, but that he could come over that night and fuck me.

Wednesday, he advised me that his name would be on my ass soon.  I asked him how was this possible and he schooled me that his handprint on my left cheek would be notice to the next nigga that my ass was his.

Thursday, he told me that he wanted to insert his tongue into my wet pussy.  

His lines and stimulating conversation opened my mind, and legs, to the possibility of drafting him as my #2 player; however, Friday’s goonfest changed everything.

My friends and I (and half the fucking school) went to this local club to celebrate dude’s birthday.  It was VIP the entire evening so you know I couldn’t resist free drinks and the chance to immerse myself in a sea of goons.

But after seeing dude in his element, I realized that he is too accessible for what I want to accomplish.  

Everyone knows him.  Not to mention, he has a girlfriend.  Now this bitch, she is the epitome of “ride or die”.  Chick has been with dude for 6 years.  She’s Winter, he’s Midnight.

So I’m done.  The sun has set on this fantasy.  My Prince Charming from the ghetto has re-morphed into Shrek, and this time the spell is irreversible.

The Fuck On Wall Draft Has Begun

An active basketball team has five players.

I’ve only drafted one player to my team, leaving four more coveted slots.

So who’s next?

Please Don't Go!

Sorry everyone for not updating this past week; school has become hectic and I haven't found time to put my thoughts and sexual escapades (or lack of) into print.  Stay tuned though, because a lot has erected this past weeks!

--FOW