Pussy Don't Fail Me Now

I'm Back...Again

2010-08-07T22:53:00.003-04:00

Quick explanation for me being ghost...

The last semester of law school was not as breezy as planned.

Then the family drama reared its ugly head, and I just nearly lost my mind. Not really, but a sista was stressed.

I went back and forth with what state bar to apply for and finally reached a decision less than 30 days from the deadline.

I'm not a last minute person, but I just didn't know what to do.

So I made up my mind, decided to do me and moved to New York.

Obviously, I wasn't posting during the summer because bar prep was kicking my ass.

But I'm back and will attempt to treat this blog and my wonderful subbies better than my last relationship. LMAO.

Sorry, that shit was funny to me.

Love you!

Deleting a Sexual Experience

2010-08-07T22:24:00.002-04:00

My girlfriend just told me that her last sexual dud, and yes, people it was more like a dud and not an experience because dude was WACK, does not count.

I told her, umm…yes it does.

She politely BBM’d me with a talk to the hand smiley and said no it does not.

Ok.

If discounting her dud will assist in erasing the memory then cool, but you can’t discount the fact that dude’s dick penetrated your vagina.

I mean really.

So when your man has sex with another woman but doesn’t cum, or the orgasm wasn’t the toe clencher he hoped for, can he discount cheating on you and just erase the sexual experience?

Cuz shit, if he can then we are all fucked.

Now how you gone erase that?

What is sex?

2010-08-07T22:00:00.001-04:00

Now, I’m not unaware to what the shit is, because I’ve sexed a few times in my life.

But the definition of when a man inserts his penis into a woman’s vagina, may need to be changed to benefit the individual.

Take for example my close friend, who wants to discount her last sexual dud as sex because her expectations weren’t fulfilled.

With her mindset we can say it's not sex if you don’t cum, or don’t get paid, or don’t get to spend the night and cuddle…whatever expectations…or disillusions you may have.

We’ll allow individuals to create their own definition.

To me its complete bullshit. I mean sex is sex. Fucking is fucking even if the shit sucks. The act cannot be erased. It just can’t. (Not to mention, this opens the door for further male/female interaction bullshit).

When you have sex with someone, it involves risks.

STDs

AIDS….ouch.

Pregnancy.

Emotions.

An orgasm. Multiple orgasms.

Or nothing.

Not a damn thing but his ass busting a nut, dressing, and leaving your place without an explanation or apology for his failed attempt at pleasing a woman.

So with knowing that risks are involved, you can’t say well I did get syphilis from dude, so lets not count that time because it wasn’t what I expected.

No one having sex expects to catch A I Die Slow, or to get pregnant from a one night stand.

We hope dude can fuck.

We hope we cum once.

We pray we cum twice.

But when it doesn’t happen (or something else happens that we didn’t necessarily bargain for) its still SEX.

Bad sex is sex.

Sorry.

But to help the world out I’ll create a logical excuse….wait, I mean definition of what sex should be.

Sex is when a man inserts his penis into a woman and she has an orgasm.

NO?

It makes complete sense. Lets take the basic 1L concept of Contracts.

For a contract to exist there must be 1) an offer 2) acceptance and 3) consideration.

Anything else (minus the million of exceptions) is NOT a contract.

You might have negotiations, but you don’t have a contract.

Therefore, you might have penile insertion but without chick's orgasm there is NO sex.

Just sexual negotiations that clearly failed because dude can’t fuck.

Perfect!

Problem solved. Now I must recount my sexual partners because my new definition takes a few duds off the list.

Cha-ching!

Pause

2010-02-09T13:46:00.002-05:00

Delightful darlings, I will not be posting this week. I have a trial Monday and a competition this weekend.

Take care.

~Cesca

M-I-A..305..Dade County Stand Up!

2010-02-04T00:59:00.006-05:00

I guess online dating is the new thing. Why hone your social skills when you can stalk people while masturbating at your computer desk.

I recently reactivated my online stalking account, and again have become victim to a vast SEA of online losers.

Maybe loser isn’t the best way to describe miaflman1 who writes (and so eloquently I must add):

hmm so r u sexy and i hope u dont wear bads lol…yeah i put in work and im good at it when i do. i could go on and on but u may not can handle what i have to offer…so what time is ur curfew and when could u get away? u look like u may have a nice ass lol but hmmm dont know lmao

There’s a lot going on in this message. Grammatically, I’m offended but what struck me as inappropriate was him stating that I LOOK like I have a nice ass but he’s not sure.

Exactly what does that mean? Like, is that a challenge? Am I supposed to meet him at Starbucks, go to his crib, and show him how nice my ass actually is?

And let us not forget, “i hope you dont wear bads lol”. As I said, grammatical errors aside, it’s just plain lazy to not capitalize “I”…and “dont”…like you have to work real hard to escape the apostrophe. Literally, I have to correctly spell the word then press delete then retype it in order to fuck it up. Maybe Apple strives to ensure its users don’t offend other online prey, but its quite obvious dude needs to upgrade his computer/phone/internet browser ASAmuthfuckin’P

So after getting over that, I’m like bads *blank stare*.

WTF?

Does he mean bad or B.A.D.? I’m not so sure, and based on his disregard for spell check I’m questioning whether he’s asking me if I wear pads which is beyond inappropriate. Thank God I passed the fifth grade and can guess based on the context of his previous grammatical errors that he’s hoping I don’t wear big ass drawers. Again, *blank stare*.

Then the negro has the nerve to tell me I can’t handle anymore of his fucked up typing skills…oh wait, I mean handle his dick. No motherfucka I “may not can handle” what you have to offer because obviously you ain’t offering shit that I can understand. If you’re too lazy to read over your seductive message then I’m sure you fuck like a lazy piece of shit or probably can’t get your lazy dick hard!

WTF?

Is that how we do in Dade County? We challenge a woman’s skills, looks, and sexual experience in order to convince her that capitalization and commas are never important even though the only thing I can base your level of intellect on thus far (since hey buddy this is online) are your messages that I’m forced to copy and paste into Word, click spell check, and proceed from there.

My home girl told me to calm down. Dude was probably in a rush. He just types like he talks. I’m sure he’s better in person.

Is she blind? Dude obviously needs to revert back to person on person contact because typing his thoughts isn’t exactly his forte.

All I heard between her excuses was *womp womp womp* the dude fucks as fast and sloppy as he types. He eats pussy like he types, which means he’ll probably gnaw my clit off or worse be unable to find it.

So no more miaflman1, and as I always tell people to do when their existence is a complete census waste, “Kill Yourself”.

I'm In Miami Trick!

2010-02-04T00:57:00.000-05:00

I’m not going to start posting pictures of Reggie Bush or anything, but for all y’all who don’t know…the Super Bowl is in MIAMI this weekend. Yay! Time to partay!

The Past Can Set You Free

2010-02-03T01:57:00.001-05:00

From here on out, Wednesdays are all about What The Fuck...

It can be What The Fuck…is she wearing?

What The Fuck…is that smell?

What The Fuck…am I going to do with my life?

Or my favorite, What The Fuck…was I thinking?

So to start off, here is an excerpt from my diary (unedited) that really screams WHAT THE FUCK.

It started with a sex message last week. Something along the lines of I want your dick in my mouth. He responded. What man wouldn’t? I should’ve known that very instant that something was up. A man that can respond to sex messages within 10 minutes but ignores “I miss you” is NOT the man for me. But I continued to seduce him with my messages because I’m horny and need to get some dick! And since his DICK has been on the menu for 5 years, I feel its imperative to order and be served an infinite amount of *** DICK (no matter what the cost…).

So we made a sex date for this week.

Dude still wants to fuck me raw, and because I’m completely stupid and utterly in love and have no idea what I’m doing, I oblige his dick and desires by popping my last supply of birth control the moment my flow begins.

I vowed while with the ex to NEVER take that shit again, but with *** I’m open and willing to do anything. The problem is, why am I willing to put my life and health into his hands but I still don’t trust or believe everything he says. What kind of shit is that? I’m educated…book sense, common sense, and know well enough that having unprotected sex with a man who is consistently inconsistent is the worse thing I could ever do in my life, but I still want to.

*end scene*

Yes, I know. You’re screaming at the monitor “What The Fuck!” But hey…sometimes it be like that. Don’t act like you ain’t never let someone hit it raw, hit it raw, or thought twice about not using a condom.

And the birth control stunt is so 90’s, so I’m sure my trick didn’t throw you off. The only thing thrown off by that shit was my damn cycle. After popping them pills, Flow came to visit for TWO damn weeks.

To me therapy is the attempted remediation of a problem, and writing in my diary is just that. It allows me the chance to remember my insane thoughts/desires, so I can later access the situation with a clear mind, heart, and non-throbbing clitoris.

This entry is in no way recent, but SOME of the feelings are still there. It’s so easy to forget what you wore last week, or why you and a friend got into a heated argument, or how head or heels, lost, and blinded you were over a guy.

You remember the crazy shit he did. The shit that pissed you off. Turned you on. Made you cry.

But it’s all to easy to forget the crazy shit you wanted to do with him. Vacations. Marriage. Babies. Unprotected Sex.

It’s like that cliché: How can you know where you’re going, if you don’t know where you came from?

So what I’m saying is, try to remember what you came from so you can either maintain or change and then eventually move on; otherwise your version of therapy doesn’t involve fixing the problem since you can’t remember what the fuck really happened. Its just you forgetting your mistakes and reliving them with another person.

Yo Dramtical Ass

2010-02-02T00:27:00.002-05:00

Debate.

Argue.

Bitch.

Moan.

Complain.

Women do it all the damn time.

My favorite line is: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit.

Love it! Nothing like beating a black man down when he’s already low from a hard day working for the man, riiight?

I think women argue about nothing because the usual relationship conversation is too monotonous. Discussing our day at work/school and planning our usual movie/dinner weekend date is BORING. Necessary but *snooze*.

So to add some spice to the relationship we take the discussion about being busy with work/school to mean he’s cheating and next thing you know chick is shouting: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit!

When asked why women argue about stupid shit or shit that doesn’t even exist, a friend admitted that she does it because she likes a little DRAMA in her relationship.

Personally, I do it because I like to be in control, and the moment I feel like I’m not wearing the pants I freak and start screaming: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit! Plus, what better way to establish the dominant/subservient roles in a relationship than by making your partner feel insecure with his manhood, duh!

Problem is, grown ass men with careers know they are the shit, and will never be anything less…so telling them otherwise doesn’t really add “good” drama to the relationship. It just proves that you’re not as “grown” as you claim to be.

It seems the only time “nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit!” is appropriate is when the dude is truly a complete loser and worth being cut from your team (even if he didn’t cheat).

I’m trying to get my friend to understand that her dude isn’t a punk. That all this good drama is going to run him into the arms of a woman who will silently deal with her insecurities and let a man be a man (even if he ain't shit half the time).

So for 2010, no more drama.

I'm Horny

2010-02-02T00:25:00.001-05:00

I’m on a sexual roller coaster. Like, one week I want to fuck almost every dark skin man in sight. Next week, I’m like “Naw, I’m straight”.

But today…tonight…at this very moment…

I WANNA FUCK!

Night!

Time To Celebrate Me!

2010-01-31T14:52:00.000-05:00

Even though February is the shortest month of the year, to me it’s the BEST month of the year…why you ask?

Well HELLO!! My birthday is on the 22nd! This year truly marks a turning point. I’ll be 25 with a J.D., in April I’ll be moving relocating somewhere and taking someone's bar exam, starting my career, paying (more life deferring) my student loans, and becoming even more fabulous than I already am.

Here’s a peek into my schedule:

Sade returns: 9th
Valentine’s Day: 14th
Trial Time: 15th
25th birthday: 22nd
DC Conference: 23-25th
ATL Freakum Dress Weekend: 26-27th (its more like the Flying Biscuit Weekend… my roommate and I are more excited about eating there than clubbing on Spring Street…damn, I love that city and them cheese grits!)

Cheaters Never Prosper?

2010-01-31T14:51:00.001-05:00

Type in cheat and the synonyms provided are: deceive, trick, con, swindle, defraud, bamboozle, take advantage of, etc…

So if you’re fucking someone, but have escaped the “What Are We” conversation and no titles, boundaries, or rules have been established, when you fuck someone else is it considered cheating?

Did you deceive anyone?

Have you taken advantage of the “in limbo” status?

Has your partner been bamboozled?

Readers, how can you hold someone responsible for conning you out of a relationship that never really existed?

What Exactly Are the Elements of Cheating?

2010-01-31T14:48:00.001-05:00

Jody: You got my son and you'll probably be my wife. You want me to be honest?
Yvette: Yeah, I do.
Jody: You're my woman. Them other hos is tricks. I make love to you, I want to be with you, but I fuck other females occasionally. I don't know why, I just do. That's the situation. You feel better now? That's some honesty for you. Deal with it.

(Baby Boy 2001...got to appreciate ghetto love at it’s finest)

Dayum Jody, why you gots to be so trill! Truth is, women cheat too. I’ve cheated twice actually. Once physically, the other emotionally. I’m guessing the latter is worse, considering now I’m in love with the other man and my ex is well…my ex.

I’m not sure who cheats best, but I can definitely say the term “cheating” should only be afforded to two people who have verbally agreed to be in a monogamous relationship (and don’t get me started on the term monogamy and is infinite implausibilty). So if broken down, cheating would be:

Two people
In a relationship
Who verbally agree
To NOT fuck anyone else
So if one element is missing, it can’t be considered cheating.

For instance, my home girl found out her friend slept with another woman. She was livid. Vowed never to speak to him again. Deleted his number. Resaved it but changed his ringtone to Regrets by LeToya Luckett.

Her friend obviously dodged the “What Are We” conversation and no titles, boundaries, or rules were established.

So my thing is, did dude really cheat?

Like, there needs to be another word for people who are only fucking, but believe they are only fucking each other (even though that rule hasn’t been established either), and step out to fuck someone else.

The real problem is, folk need to stop entering into these quasi-relationships with no definition, and try to define everything only after someone fucks up. If dude isn’t your boyfriend, then why can’t he fuck someone else?

No it’s not nice or fair or safe, but umm…you can’t curse him out, accuse him of cheating, and claim he can’t be trusted because he fucked another chick when you were NEVER his girlfriend.

And I know, some people abhor the titles boyfriend/girlfriend, because what do they really mean? The only thing some consider a viable status is engaged and married. And I totally understand, but perception is a beast and if I perceive being your girlfriend and you being my boyfriend as something special, sacred, monogamous…then shit, that’s what it is!

Lovely always warns me: don’t ever let a man get away with never establishing what y’all are. No man wants to have the dreaded conversation where he’s faced with cutting off his other bust its to knight you as his only and number one, but hey…shit be like that sometimes.

Thing is women know this, so to keep the man around we avoid the conversation or let him shirk away from the responsibility of claiming you outside of the bedroom. Next thing you know, the nigga fucks up and you want to cry, curse, and blame him.

But my dear, you can only blame yourself for subjecting your heart to a quasi-relationship where the crime of cheating does NOT exist.

Maybe he can be charged with lying after he’s asked about said mentioned girl and denies her existence and/or their sexual relationship…but people lie every day, and lying doesn’t get you a stunning 8-carat purple diamond ring worth about $4 million (oh wait, neither does cheating…you need to be charged with rape for that mess to happen).

So stop fucking dude, become his girlfriend and then come holla at me about how the nigga ain’t shit, otherwise I don’t want to hear it.

Platonic My Ass!

2010-01-30T18:57:00.004-05:00

Some people say women and men can never JUST be friends. That eventually someone will want to fuck while the other develops feelings.

My best friend is amazing.

I really love this man. He’s intelligent, ambitious, handsome, everything another woman would dream about.

He’s got these thick lips that sometime distract me during conversation. Its not like I need to change my draws when around him, but dude does have some pussy eating lips.

But I have no desire to be with sexually…well sometimes I do.

But I’d NEVER take it there even though I’m sure, more than sure, he wouldn’t do anything to stop me from sitting on his face.

He’s the most consistent man in my life, which is kind of sad. Even when I had a boyfriend, he was always my true confidant.

So you can see why mixing my adoration and respect for him with passionate sex is NOT the best idea.

I know sex would confuse the fuck out of me, even though I know he has no interest in being with me. He says I whine too much. I only whine about him being overbearing.

My friends claim Lovely is “the husband I’ll never have” (not as comforting as they may think). Even random classmates think we’re perfect for each other. I always play it off and remind them dude is JUST my friend, but there are those days when I fantasize about being with him. Sometimes I think he does like me and would actually be with me. Then I’m reminded that his dresser is crowded with pictures of his ex-girlfriend who lives in Florida but just passed the NY bar. So I’m sure chick has got that shit on lock.

And the truth is I’m sure if I were his woman, he’d start slipping and things would be so different. Because men are always better men to their friends than they are to their woman!

I don’t want to be with him, but he makes me feel so damn good. I just want to meet a man who can replicate that consistency and dick me down so good I want to revert back to my pass/puff days, cook him dinner, and relax while spooning to Sade.

Ten Years Later...

2010-01-30T18:55:00.003-05:00

I’ve been jamming to Sade’s song Skin for like three days (its off her upcoming album Soldier of Love, go to http://www.bet.com/music/newreleases/818427/Sade to check it out). I freaking LOVE this woman’s voice and the band is AMAZING. When Maxwell resurfaced last year, I thought my life was almost complete but this woman right here! I hope she’s touring in NY this summer because it is a MUST! I will sacrifice a day (or two) of bar prep to see her...yes, it IS that serious.

The Color Wheel

2010-01-30T03:18:00.003-05:00

My father has a lot of ties.

He’s monochromatic, just like his ties.

He breaks up the routine with a splash of crimson, worn on special occasions to represent his pledge of brotherhood. And I can’t forget his dash of garnet and gold, worn to represent his pledge to love Bowden forever (even though the last few seasons have been short of the dynasty status created).

I came home this weekend. I’m at my father’s house, sleeping in a room I have no connection to. They call it “my room” but it’s more like a guest room, and is perfect as such because that’s exactly what I feel like when I’m in his presence. A guest. A stranger passing through the night, welcomed to stay but only for a limited time.

The closet is filled with clothes. Not mine of course. My dad hides his suits and ties in here.

The only thing that represents me in this room is a porcelain doll that sits on the dresser. Her cheeks are red. I remember adoring my Addy doll as a child, so I’m sure this curly haired Becky is not mine, but who knows…maybe he won this piece of nostalgia in the divorce settlement.

I don’t know anything about my father. I mean, I know his occupation and that he loves football. That he’s a Republican and loves slender women who wear 20 pearls. But I don’t know him. And he doesn’t know me.

His tie collection is the complete opposite of how I live my life. It’s boring. Stale. Safe.

He always said I was special child. Different. Artsy. Filled with too much spunk to be his.

Maybe that’s why we never clicked; because he lacks color in his life. And like that red tie, I don't work with his everyday attire. I'm only appropriate for special occasions.

And like being my father, that title is only revealed to the world during holidays or graduations. But once the tree is put away or the cap and gown removed he goes back to being the monochromatic Major.

While the crimson tie and I are stored away until the next event.

I Was Once Lost But Now Am Found

2010-01-30T03:09:00.003-05:00

Four years ago I wanted to learn Creole.

I wanted to visit Haiti.

I wanted to master cooking griot and sos pwa.

I wanted to grow my Nia Long hair cut, cover my tattoos, and wear skirts to church.

I wanted to immerse myself in my boyfriend's culture to the point where his old school Pentecostal mother would forget that I was American.

An American girl with relaxed hair. Who rocked makeup (flawless makeup I might add lol). Had piercings. Wore pants. And wanted to be a lawyer rather than a nurse.

I wanted to be the perfect girlfriend, and in the process completely lost myself.

We secretly lived together and three months into the residential lie, while plating his dinner I realized the domesticated ME was a complete façade.

I realized that I hated cooking his meals.

Hated wearing weave because his mother thought short hair was demonic.

Hated the sound of his language (only because he spoke mad Creole in my presence even though he knew damn well I ain't understand it).

Hated fucking him.

And most of all, I hated that rather than walk away from their lifestyle and the lies I created, I served him dinner and convinced myself that being content was as good as it gets.

I wasted nearly $2,000 on hair that wasn't even mine. I wasted countless nights moaning his name, when all I wanted to do was lie on my back and fall asleep. I wasted two years of my life being content when I deserved to be ME.

Oops, There Goes My Shirt Up Over My Head…

2010-01-28T03:07:00.004-05:00

I have two B.O.B.

Battery Operated Boyfriend.

An orange g-spot boyfriend, and a pink clitoral stimulator boyfriend.

I keep them in separate drawers, so they don’t find out about each other. As of right now, I’m actually seeing Mr. Grafenberg exclusively. The clit B.O.B. is wonderful and all. Sensual. Patient. Reliable.

But Mr. Grafenberg is…well he’s able to hit that spot that my other B.O.B. will never be able to reach. And sometimes a girl needs a vaginal orgasm. I don’t like messy sheets, but as my girls love to chant, “Lay the towel down!”

So my home girl Darling, has been pleasuring herself MANUALLY for like a decade. When I found out she was letting her fingers do all the talking, I took her to the local sex store and introduced her to the best boyfriend money can buy.

A boyfriend who consistently provides stimulating conversation as he vibrates sweet-nothings upon your clit.

A boyfriend who doesn’t make false promises of multiple orgasms.

A boyfriend you can easily get rid of after you cum.

She purchased a pink g-spot B.O.B. (why do women love pink vibrators lol).

So Darling and B.O.B. have been dating for almost two weeks. Last night I decided to be nosy and check on the status of their relationship.

“So, how’s B.O.B. treating ya?”

"I don’t like him," she responds.

Uhh…how do you not like a boyfriend who can easily be turned off and dismissed when you’re done using him.

“He’s distracting, I can’t deal with it.”

Poor baby…lol…apparently her boyfriend’s sweet-nothings are too loud. She can’t focus on what the hell he’s trying to say. I suggested adding music to their triple A battery sessions but I think she’s too fed up with him to even care.

I blame myself for this failed relationship (and the 6’3, 260 lb. brother who sold her the damn thing). I bragged about my boyfriend so much that she figured hers would be just as good, if not even better.

But he let her down.

So my thing is, if you can’t purchase non-refundable pleasure…if you can’t even get off from a battery operated piece of plastic…if you can’t meet a REAL man who will stick around long enough to be your boyfriend so you can give B.O.B. a few months to charge…what the fuck are you suppose to do?

How 'Bout Them Balls In Your Mouth!

2010-01-28T03:06:00.000-05:00

I feel in control when a man’s dick is in my mouth. I’ve asked friends, both female and male, why they think women suck dick…

for Submission…or Control?

Most of the men polled stated that women do it to please their man. That being in the position of balls in one hand, shaft in the other is a position of weakness…ultimately the woman is submitting to her male counterpart.

But to me, balls in one hand, shaft in the other is far from a position of weakness.

If anything, a man should be thankful that his “weak, submissive” counterpart doesn’t dig her nails into his balls, or worse graze her molars against the head of his penis.

“She’s weak…because the man is looking DOWN on her while she sucks his dick…”

But I’m looking UP at you. Watching your face contort in pleasure. Watching you squirm. Watching you lose CONTROL as my tongue gingerly spells the alphabet upon your balls.

And then the other thing is, “Women don’t suck dick because they like to, they do it because they have to.”

Errruhh…I HAVE to suck dick? To what, keep a man? Get serviced afterwards? Ensure my rent is paid on the first of the month?

When did giving brain become a requirement? And if it is a requirement, at what point in the “relationship” does it become such?

I suck dick because I love sucking dick. Some women only give head, to get head. But I don’t. Sucking dick turns me on. While I’m between a man’s legs slurping and sucking and swallowing (and trying not to gag), not only do I feel in control…my pussy is wet, my clit is throbbing…add some friction to the combination and I’m a happy camper.

And as a wise woman once said, “Oral sex is God’s gift to women…you can get off without being worried about getting pregnant.”

Amen to that.

What’s In Your Diet?

2010-01-28T03:05:00.001-05:00

I sucked my first dick at 16. It was my high-school boyfriend. He was a basketball player. Tall. Red bone. Green eyes. Sexy.

And he had an even sexier dick. But dude had the worst tasting spunk I’ve ever encountered in my life. Like, back then I didn’t know semen wasn’t supposed to have a concentration of 100% foul.

His spunk made my body shiver. It had a salty, bitter, sting to it. And since we weren’t fucking, dude always let off a massive amount of semen in my mouth. So every time he came, it was like Old Funky Faithful spraying the back of my throat.

I never gagged or regurgitated, but I always followed his rancid release with a gulp of his mom’s red diabetic-coma kool-aid.

She would always laugh and say I drank her kool-aid like it was water. That she made an extra pitcher whenever she knew I was coming over.

If she only knew…

Do Black Folk Blush?

2010-01-28T03:00:00.000-05:00

I went to client intakes last night. The supervising attorney and another male student started a love, relationship, when you gone get married? conversation. And for some odd reason my love life, or lack thereof, became the hot topic.

“So when are you getting married?”

*blank stare*

(First of all, I think asking a single woman when she’s getting married should be on the Never Ask A Woman This Question, Unless You Want to Get Cursed the Fuck Out list...and it belongs right under “How old are you?” “When are you expecting?” and “How much do you weigh?”)

But I played it off, or so I thought…

The problem is, the supervising attorney knows Deondre (and if you don’t know Deondre, than be thankful you don’t…no, really…dude is like my Big and I’m his Carrie and literally it’ll be 10 years before we have a fairy tale wedding, or wait…didn’t Big leave her at the alter the first go around?)

I don’t know who characterized my “special un-named boo” as THE ONE but omg…how easily Pandora’s box is opened.

Both men started trying to decode THE ONE into a name. So I completely denied there even being a “special un-named boo” that one day will become THE ONE…huge mistake.

The supervising attorney took this denial as an admission and stated, “So there isn’t anyone in particular”.

(Notice I wrote stated…because that’s what dude did. He didn’t ask a question, because why ask a question you already know the answer to…asshole!)

I wanted to shout NO but I didn’t want to portray Deondre as unimportant, because the truth is I’m head over heels for this man. Like in love with. Like I’d marry and have children with. Like, I’d even put a baby on board sticker in the car just for him…

this is SERIOUS shit people!

Next thing I know, I’m allegedly blushing and fidgeting in my seat. Now, I swear I didn’t blush. The only hint of color upon my cheeks was Nars Taj Mahal, but Darling said she saw this glow appear upon my face that gave the “special un-named boo” away.

“It’s so obvious you like him. Like, love him. I never knew until tonight how much you care about him.”

So intakes ended, 9pm morphed into 2am and I found myself blushing and fidgeting underneath my sheets. I couldn’t stop thinking about Deondre and what we don’t have, what we have, and what I want us to have by 2011.

I have all these hopes and borderline expectations (which I know he can’t achieve short of a miracle). I want to be with this man, but I know its not our time because he's MARRIED.

Married to his job. Apparently the marriage is going well because he was recently promoted to felonies, not to mention dude leaves for JAG in October. His career timeline extends each year, and I don’t see a relationship in the near future.

I don’t think he can make time, more importantly, I don’t think he WANTS to make time for us until he’s settled in his career. Which means what?

After he’s stationed?

Or before he’s deployed in two years?

Or after he returns and renews his contract with the military?

Like really, when will it ever end. When will he ever stop and realize that what we don’t have, what we have, and what I want us to have by 2011 is the BEST thing he’ll ever stumble upon.

So I’ve made the declaration to stop talking to him. To let him do his thing, and I’ll do mine. That maybe after I study for the bar, take it, pass both NY and NJ…after he leaves for basic training, is stationed God knows where, is deployed to Iraq…we’ll meet up again and he’ll tell me that I’m THE ONE and I’ll finally have a reason to blush and fidget.

This Shit Is For the Birds

2010-01-28T02:58:00.002-05:00

The word LOVE is abstract.

I don’t have faith in love.

I need to SEE

TOUCH

FEEL

HEAR

love.

And since you never visit, text, or return my phone calls

I don’t believe in love…

and I don’t believe in you.

My First Photoshoot

2010-01-25T03:27:00.004-05:00

My camera phone is amazing. Like the pixels are better than my Sony digital camera.

I have a picture of the tree at Rockfeller Center. It’s so clear, you feel like you’re in the freezing cold with me on Christmas Eve thinking this whole “tree shit mess” is for the birds.

And now thanks to Poetic, I have a picture of me spreading my pussy lips open. It’s so clear you’d think you were between my legs taking a deep breath thinking this chick better not suffocate me.

I’m comfortable with my sexuality.

I masturbate.

Have phone sex.

I’ve even sent my fair share of sexually suggestive pictures to a few lucky viewers (suggestive being me in a pair of lace boy short underwear…very PG-13, I know).

But I have NEVER taken nude pictures with the purpose of revealing them to another person.

So after the Vikings lost, I had a nude photo shoot featuring my clit and breasts.

I don’t hate my body, but I don’t love it. I’m what people call “thick”. I have 38 DD, a small waist (which isn’t looking its normal small self), wide hips, a big ass, and a bare pum pum.

Yes, I have a bare vagina. My roommate says it looks like a baby’s pum pum, but I like it…and I’m hoping ole boy does.

My home girl coaxed me into taking a pum pum picture. “Use your fingers to spread the lips wide open”. “You gotta get a picture of your pussy open, but make sure he can see your clit.” “Oh yea, and make sure its not a wrinkly pum pum picture”.

Uhh…aren’t pum pums kinda wrinkly in their normal state?

But I listened, and now I have like 9 pum pum pictures on my phone that must be deleted before I go home and my nosey siblings mistake my photo album for BrickBreaker.

I swear I thought this was America’s Next Top Model and Mr. Jay had awarded me with 100 extra frames because I just went crazy with this whole nude picture mess.

I ran into the living room to reveal my last few frames to my home girl. I was a little apprehensive because she has the cutest shape and well to be honest…my breasts don’t defy gravity quite like hers do.

Scrolling through the pictures, I began to feel vulnerable.

Exposed.

NAKED.

Before I knew it, I was becoming nervous and critical of my body.

Are my hips too wide?

Are my areolae too big?

Does my pum pum look fat?

So before I could punk out, I sent dude three pictures. I’m hoping he doesn’t wake up and call me because even though I’m on an adrenaline high from snapping shots of my pussy lips spread wide open, I need to be reasonable and realize that its mad late and I have voir dire tomorrow.

Night!

Who Needs Couples Counseling When There’s the Internet

2010-01-24T05:52:00.002-05:00

Obviously while I was holding out from my ex for 7 months, there was this amazingly informative website: sexinfo101.com that everyone was aware of except for us (it was more like him).

So when asked did I do everything to keep the passion alive, I’d have to say NO. Maybe if he wasn’t such a sexual prude, oh wait I mean a virgin, we could’ve tried the Amazon followed by the Arch and then switched to Deep Stick and finished with some Forbidden Fruit. Maybe then we’d still be together and I’d have my 3-carat princess cut ring and I wouldn’t have to practice the position of B.O.B. every other night.

Or not…

What’s For Dinner, Rice or Mac-n-Cheese?

2010-01-24T05:48:00.001-05:00

An old friend of mine recently got back together with her favorite bust it baby. This man has managed to avoid commitment for two years but I guess he lost stamina because before the holidays hit he was bit by the “love bug”.

Now, I’m all excited for chick because she really loves dude. I don’t support the relationship, but hey, if you’re disillusioned into believing you’re happy than I’m happy for you.

I tell my girlfriends and they start laughing. One chick is like “hell no, I don’t believe it!” and the other simply states “sweat rice”.

Errruhhh…what rice? So she informs me that sweat rice is a recipe used by a woman who desperately wants to keep her man (more like a man that was never hers to keep in the first place). It’s a simple recipe that only requires rice and menstruation.

Yes, ladies and gentleman rice is needed! Oh wait, so is period blood…so pretty much the woman needs to cook her boo some rice and while it’s boiling, put the pot on the ground, stand over it with no panties on, and wait for her menstruation to drip drop into the pot.

Yummy much?

Once there’s enough menstruation in the pot, the desperate psycho woman can continue cooking the rice as usual and once cooled serve her man. Of course, chick can’t eat her own menstruation so she has to cook a separate pot of rice for herself or just claim to be on the Atkins Diet.

So my thing is, really? Rice and blood. What the fuck? Both women mentioned are from the West Indies, so I’m thinking this rice voodoo recipe is culturally influenced, but as a Southern Belle will the same affect occur with macaroni? Or cornbread? Or cheese grits? Or any other starchy southern delight?

I’m thinking sweat sweet potato pie may have sweat rice beat.

Aside from the disturbing recipe, I can’t fathom that chick would really menstruate into a pot of bubbling rice and peas just to get a nigga to stay.

That by far is the craziest and most desperate shit I’ve ever heard. Fuck poking holes into the condom! Is a dude really worth compromising your Christian beliefs for? So much for a blessed union…

And why the hell does the recipe call for blood from your cycle? So if a dude hits it raw while you’re on your period, will your flow upon his dick cause him to rethink leaving you for the other woman he’s scheduled to fuck later that day?

And why the fuck does the recipe call for rice? Like, what are they really trying to hint at? Now I love me some rice and peas, but I’m more of a macaroni and cheese girl. So are you saying my choice of starch won’t work. Will the noodles and blood make him LEAVE instead? Oh, the tragedy.

I’m just amazed that there’s such a thing as sweat rice. I don’t think chick would stoop as low to bleed into a pot of rice and then feed it to ole boy, but who knows, they are STILL together…*blank stare*

Swallowing Is So 2009

2010-01-24T05:42:00.005-05:00

So I’m thinking my sexual practices may need to be revamped a little.

I met this guy. We saw a movie. We had a few meals. We had oral sex and I swallowed.

So he’s like yelling at me because I refuse to fuck him. The thought crossed by mind, but once I felt pressured I threw on my chastity belt and caught a major ‘tude. Dude was like, what the fuck are you scared I have something? Because whatever I have is already inside of you by now (FYI: hinting that you have a virus is not the way to convince a girl to fuck you).

So I start thinking and I’m like you’re right. He takes this RIGHT to mean sure we can fuck. I meant it as, omg I need to get tested ASAP and then get re-tested in 6 months and then pray and vow to never swallow semen again.

So here’s my problem, everyone’s all concerned about condoms during intercourse but what about during oral sex. I don’t now anyone who practices safe oral sex. I can’t imagine being lured into getting my pussy ate and then dude whipping out some dental dam. Talking about false pretenses!

Like, what the fuck. I wouldn’t dare suck a penis and not swallow, nor would I put a condom on a penis and suck it. But obviously swallowing isn’t safe. But neither is sucking the penis.

So what is a girl supposed to do when a beautiful, long, smooth, chocolate penis is an inch away from her mouth?

I guess grab a Trojan and sit on it instead.

14K Baby-girl Hoop Earrings

2010-01-24T05:07:00.004-05:00

So the Facebook has really gotten out of hand, like the shit is ridic. It reveals way too much, and is at this very moment telling me I need reconnect with Genise Coleman. Uhh…maybe I don’t want to reconnect with her, ever thought about that Mr. Zuckerberg.

Ultimately, FB allows you to passively keep in touch with people you have no business keeping in touch with. Cue the worst date I’ve ever been on…

So dude was a complete engineer dork in undergrad. He was skinny and had alopecia (like REALLY bad). I met him through a mutual friend, Genise Coleman (go figure) and we hit it off. Not in a sexual way, it was platonic…or so I thought. Years past, we fall out of touch but of course the FB kept us connected enough to inform dude that I’m single and have posted 12 new photos.

He took this “news feed” as the perfect opportunity to send me a message, but it turns out dude isn’t skinny anymore and his hair has grown back. He has an amazing body and hello! the electrical engineering degree doesn’t hurt either. We start poking and messaging one another. Numbers are exchanged. A date is set…and cue Scene 1.

Dude came to pick me up and I met him outside. The plan was dinner and a movie, so I had on a sexy red dress, black pumps, make up on point…your girl was scrumptious if I must say…and obviously dude thought the same thing because when he saw me his jaw dropped.

And so did mine.

Lets just say the FB is deceitfully reconnecting folk! Dude was still skinny. He was rocking black and white Chucks (guess I should have wore my Dickie dress and 5411's). Skinny jeans. A blue collared shirt that for some reason was unbuttoned to the middle of his bird chest. A dog tag necklace (minus the military necessity). Glasses. And earrings.

But not just any earrings. No they weren’t over-sized cubic zirconia studs. They were hoops. This negro had on TWO, baby-girl hoop earrings. For y’all that aren’t getting the visual, please imagine your little sister’s/nieces’/daughter’s first pair of earrings. I’m talking about a hoop so small they can never be worn past the age of two without looking utterly ridiculous.

But no…this negro thought stealing his baby sister’s hoop earrings as she slept in the crib was acceptable.

So we walk to the car and dude doesn’t even open the door for me.

We get to Brio. Conversation is good. Lighting is low, but not low enough to hide the fact that not only does he rock baby-girl hoop earrings, dude also wears colored contacts.

Brown, colored contacts.

And wait, his tongue is pierced.

So the romantic vibe in the room obviously skipped our table, because before I could fill up on bread dude admits to being a weed head.

He LOVES marijuana. Smoked some maryjane that morning. Claims that his herbal friend saved his life (and hair, hence the cured alopecia).

Turns out during his senior year of undergrad, dude was diagnosed with anxiety disorder. He took the prescribed medication for awhile but stumbled upon medicinal weed and hasn’t turned back since. Unfortunately, the campus police weren’t too fond of his new habit. They pulled him over one night but before the officer reached the car, dude swallowed the blunt. So even though no drugs were found on his persons or in the car, the campus legal department made him write a paper on what motivates him.

And of course, Ricky Williams is his role model.

I know this shit sounds made-up, but it gets so much weirder…

So dude tells me that he has a dealer in California and that the medicinal shit is like “…the best thing since Mary giving birth to Jesus”. I don’t know if characterizing an illegal substance as being almost as amazing as Jesus being born is correct, but hey…I’ve never smoked weed that keeps you high for three days so who am I to judge.

After learning all this shit in less than an hour, I wanted to skip the movie but all my friends were too punkish to see Paranormal Activity, so I figured a free movie wouldn’t hurt. Plus, who talks during a scary movie, riiight?

So we’re walking into the movie theater and dude stops me. He needs to go back to the car. Okay, cool right? It’s a tad bit chilly, I’m sure he needs to grab a jacket for the theater. He wants to make sure I’m warm, be a gentleman and make up for the car door mess-up.

Oh no…this nigga wants to go to his car to SMOKE some MEDICINAL WEED.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Like, are you serious? Like, do you really have weed in your car and are you really pressing pause on our date to get high? Oh wait, lets not forget I’ve been riding around in a car with a high black male who has at least ten ounces of prime marijuana in his possession. So now we’ve added a charge possession with intent to distribute to my date, yay…

There goes that bar card.

I try convincing him that he doesn’t…can’t…will get cursed the fuck out if he smokes. But he needs it; “it’ll make the paranormal even more paranormal”.

The date ends but dude has that I wanna come up look upon his face. He tells me that I have a nice ass and would love to see me again.

FUCK MY LIFE.

I rushed inside to tell my home girl about the date. She was ubberly excited, thinking this was it; I had reconnected with the man of my dreams. I told her that I was never going to talk to dude again, but she rationalized that people don’t always know how fucked up they are, and that I need to keep it real and let him know that baby-girl hoop earrings mixed with medicinal weed is unacceptable.

So this is what happens when keeping it real goes right…

When Keeping it Real Goes Right...

2010-01-24T05:00:00.005-05:00

Me: So after last nite, I had a lot on my mind. I think ure a really cool person and I appreciate that u felt so comfortable that u were willing to open up to me. However, the weed seems to overly consume u. I sincerely thought hard about the way things went down & how u couldn't leave it alone; even for a few hours. We all have anxiety but it seems u cannot function w/o it. But to each his own. Yet, what really bothered me was that u put me in danger when I got n the car not knowing u had product w/u. U can do what u want bc ure grown, but my career aspirations r something I do not take lightly. U jeopardized my career by not telling me u were driving w/it n the car. Pls let ppl know b4 u offer them a ride so that they can make an informed decision whether or not to take a risk & ride w/u. Bc when u get stopped, the law says they can search me too. If they were 2 find something, I'd b taken down to the station until everything was sorted out.

Me: Next, & I may not b privy to this information but once I thought hard about it I had to ask, r u bisexual? It's nothing wrong w/it all. It's just there were a few things that went unmentioned but not unnoticed. I'm cool either way. Just thought I'd ask.

20 minutes later...

Ryan: Ugh, accidently erased what I was saying! Gimmie a min...

Me: Ok. Cool

Ryan: I didn't mean for you to feel uncomfortable in any way, my bad. I can completely understand where you're coming from and I wouldn't wanna be in the passenger seat if I was in your position.. It was VERY little :-/

Ryan: And I didn't mean to bring it up so often. U should'a just pointed me out on it + told me to STFU, j/k. Guess I'm use to hangin' around people who are smokers I guess.

Ryan: And the GAY thing really threw me off, but for some reason I got a good laugh out of it...

Me: Ok thx 4 understanding. I appreciate it. I guess next time I will tell u stfu lol but I just want u 2 b able 2 function...that's it

Ryan: If I seemed uncomfortable to u in any way it was b/c I was... Don't mean that in a bad way @ all. U're really a great person, just didn't know what 2 expect i guess.

Me: What do u mean by uncomfortable??

Ryan: Once I find a job I'll be strait. Really frustrated about not finding anything out there.. So wait, there's a next time? Hmmm....

At this point, I'm slamming the phone on the couch and yelling "FUCK!"

Ryan: U gotta explain the gay thing to me first. I'm finding this interesting. And I'm glad you're being honest w/ me.

Me: The reason I questioned ur sexuality was bc I have a very close gay friend & he looks like u... the baby girl hoop earrings, colored contacts, tongue piercing, & belly ring are all apart of his style. Those were the reasons

Ryan: There's a funny story behind the contacts too! (Ask me later)

Me: Ok r u high right now??? LoL

Ryan: No, making soup

Probably soup with weed in it...

Me: Well I'm just telling u what I perceived but I'm glad u cleared it up 4 me. My friend has all of those piercings!!! And contacts n every color LoL just b aware when a dude tries 2 brush up on ya lol

Ryan: It's actually happened B4 (dudes hittin on me that is)...

No shit Sherlock!

Me: I'm glad u c what I mean; men hitting on u lol

Ryan: ................ It all makes sense now...

10 minutes and half a bowl of weed soup later...

Ryan: WAIT - hoop earrings are gay???

Ryan: Damn, somebody forgot to send me the memo!

Ryan: So would u be willing to chill some other time? I PROMISE I won't bring up any of my smoking habits! Although I'm not really sure what 2 expect, I'd like 2 see u more often than once every 2 years, lol.

Me: Maybe...I have finals coming up so my time is limited. U still didn't answer my ? About u saying u were uncomfortable. U didn't explain??

Ryan: Well, I remember meeting u through that traitor Genise and I remember you being a really cool person. Guess I wasn't sure if it was a DATE or just 2 old friends going out, that's all. You were lookin' GOOD last night btw! My mind was all over the place.

The End.

If you don't have a blackberry get one! and if you have one but don't utilize your blackberry messenger, please do so! Saving a chat and emailing it to yourself is golden.

No, I'm Not Dead

2010-01-24T04:45:00.007-05:00

It’s been a year since I’ve written anything and had enough guts to publish it. I made the mistake of letting my blog become privy to certain classmates, and lets just say...some folk are too sensitive for the subject matter.

So all of a sudden I became this passive-aggressive person who was too scared to write shit about people’s relationships and sex lives and just gave up on the blog. Not to mention school got a little too hectic to write about sex or lack thereof.

But I’m back…like for real for real.

Not much has changed. I’m in my last semester of law school, yay! I’m still single. And yes, I still loathe baby on board stickers.

I’ve been writing in my diary like overload, but some of those thoughts are too dark and Adele on repeat-ish to reveal.

2008 came and went. I spent New Years in Atlanta and the resolution was to “stop enabling folk”. How’d that shit go? Pretty darn well I'd have to say. Lost a few friends and family members, but all in all I feel good about my actions.

So for 2010, the resolution is to work on becoming MORE “self-aware” (as though self-awareness has infinite levels to achieve). I’m almost 25 and about to step into the real world. No more school. No more “Mommy can I borrow some money because financial aid hasn’t hit yet”.

No more childhood (@ a low volume, this is when MJ’S Childhood would come in…“Have you seen my childhood?”).

Guess it’s time to grow the fuck up. Pay back these student loans. Take come state’s bar exam. Get a salary job (with benefits, oh my!). Who knows…maybe I’ll even get fucked on the wall this year, eh?

Recovering Insomniac

2009-01-26T19:29:00.003-05:00

I’m such a dreamer, but I’m not an optimistic dreamer, which probably makes me a nightmarer…if there ever were such a thing.

I really try to not over analyze things.

People.

Statements.

Secret vacations.

But I can’t help it. So when Sex goes off at 2am, I’m stuck with the thoughts of YOU and YOUR foolish ways.

And those thoughts carry on into REM, and I’m faced with colorless nightmares of YOU and HER.

or YOU and HIM...

But I miss sleep. I miss being optimistic. I miss when things were easy. Before WE complicated OUR lives with briefs, cases, court, jail, jailees, trustees, trials, 5 hour shots, Starbucks, 7 Eleven, supplements, educated drama.

I miss when YOU weren’t pure but were manageable. But now YOU'RE a mess and my dreams have become just like YOU.

I miss sleep. But I miss YOU. However, right now my sleep is more important than the memories of YOU and I.

So GOODNIGHT and GOODBYE.

What Does It All Really Mean?

2009-01-26T19:11:00.002-05:00

I was reading an issue of Cosmo and it included an article on what men say but what they really mean. It was interesting; a little disturbing but a good read nonetheless.

We all have a tendency to say one thing yet mean another. But what happens when the prerequisite Reading Between the Lines 101 is not enough to pass Interacting With the Other Sex.

I’ll be the first to admit that I have this tendency (but who doesn’t?).

For instance: “Whatever”. Which means, “I don’t give a fuck and will handle "it" on my own time”.

Which really means, “I’ll never handle the situation but want this painful lecture to end before I throw up and swallow”.

Its funny how the one-worded phrase, “Whatever” can mean a variety of things when uttered and turn into something completely different once a person is released from the peril that caused the situation to become just whatever and not something more.

I just wish that I could read between the telephone receiver and figure out what the hell you meant when you ended the conversation with, “I don’t know what it is. I’ve been hurt before. I just need time.”

Huh? What happened to a simple, "Goodnight, sleep tight," A.K.A "Wish I was there to keep you up all night".

So dude, what does it mean, “Don’t call me again"?

Or does it actually mean, “Please remain patient with me. I really enjoy your company, but I’m damaged goods and need time to heal. Yet in the time of healing, I’d love to get to know you better.”

Or worse, does it just mean, “Whatever”.

I’d rather be fed a three-syllable word than hear another man drone on about how he’s been hurt in the past (boo fucking hoo) and just needs time to heal.

Uhh…hello! Having your heart chipped away slightly does not mean you have to shut down and wreak havoc upon every woman you encounter. Or shut down and never reopen again.

It means the piece of your heart she stole is gone and it’s hers. It will always be hers (even though she disposed of it last year with the help of two new friends).

It means that you are not whole, but you are not incomplete.

And that what is remaining IS enough to try and let US be more than a simple, “Whatever”.

So please say what you mean and mean what you say…and if, “I need time” means, “I’m not over HER, she still has a hold on me and I’m passing time with you until she returns” than say just that.

Because yours isn’t the only chipped heart in this quasi relationship.

Beef & Swine + Fran= An Upset Friendship

2009-01-26T18:33:00.003-05:00

A long lost friend called me last night. It was so weird. Like we used to hang really tight and out of nowhere things just ended.

There was no animosity. No argument. No return of belongings.

Conversation just ceased….until now.

Turns out there was animosity, but she was too proud and too confused about her own feelings to have an argument with me.

It’s been so long I couldn’t even recall the events that let to our demise (such a dramatic word!). She explained it happened in Tampa…at a bar-b-que joint…or the bowling alley…I said something hurtful…or not…she took offense to it…and just stopped talking to me.

I sat on the phone in silence. Celebrities adorned in diamonds and couture flashed before my eyes from the tube, but I couldn’t process what she was saying. All I could think about was that the guy from House has a freaking English accent!! WTF?

She explained that she had decided to cut me off.

Huh?

So if I was cut, why didn’t I know? Or suspect?

It was ironically funny. Someone I considered a close friend, who knew almost everything and was there whenever I needed her, had cut me out of her life between Temple Terrace and our long I-4 drive back home.

A semester passed, we graduated…yet I had no clue that I was dismissed for an entire season!

So what does it all mean? Maybe that I stopped needing her or that she stopped needing me. Maybe she realized she knew enough about me and was no longer interested in learning more. Maybe we matured, became serious about the next steps we required in life and grew up.

But how can you not even notice being cut from the team if being a player was that important to you! And who was my fucking replacement?!?

I’m not even upset with her. I’m just confused. I just wish she had discussed with me almost three years ago while I was driving Ellie Mae that she was upset. That it wasn’t the ribs and pulled pork that had her stomach in a knot; it was ME. And that she was going to cut meat and ME out of her life for good (or until it was deemed necessary).

She’s returned to her carnivorous lifestyle and we agreed to keep in touch. I still don’t get it, but perhaps cleaning her system required ridding ME from her diet as well…

General is Never General Enough

2009-01-26T18:02:00.003-05:00

Having this blog is like a virtual diary. Now, I don’t know how much privacy that leaves me, but I look at each entry as random thoughts that include life lessons I’ve learned from personal experience or from pure observation.

Its out there for everyone to read...even my friends. When I told Faye I had given the web address to a few friends, she scolded me. Her advise was that friends should NEVA read your blog because they take everything personally and next thing you know shit pops off.

Well, shit has popped off…

When you read an entry, read it for enjoyment. Don’t critique my verbiage, my grammar, or my lack of sexual insight. Don’t read between the lines and attempt to morph the nouns used into YOU.

If I wanted to discuss your sloppy ways, I’d use your name. And if I didn’t give two shits about your ass, I’d use your real name.

If you feel salty about an entry, perhaps it’s because you realize that in many ways, the nouns I refer to resemble you. But that is an issue with the man/woman in the mirror; NOT me.

I write about things I hear in passing. Things I view in the media or just know exist, and disgust me to the point where I must rant for a few paragraphs to purge myself.

I have no judgment for anyone. Do you. Do him. Do her.

But in the process of doing what you enjoy, realize that everything that feels good isn’t good for you. Sometimes your vices, your weaknesses, your addictions affect those around you. Those who are tired of the same shit. Tired of the stagnant lifestyle you call fabulous, and only desire for you to wake the fuck up and realize that perhaps you (NOT HIM) are the problem.

So, if you have read an entry and feel salty, please discuss your feelings with me so we can determine if your wounds were caused unintentionally yet carelessly by myself, or worse are self inflicted.

I'm Back...

2009-01-24T00:05:00.000-05:00

I know it’s been awhile, but things have been a little hectic and school always comes first.

So darlings...how have you been? Any new developed drama? Met a man? Met a woman? Acquired a new sex partner?

I had to put the blog on hold because of finals and I’m dealing with the harsh reality that my absence has probably caused me to lose a few readers. I’m truly sorry but you’d be delighted to know that my grades this semester were, well how should I describe them…ummm…they were the TRUTH!

I’m so freaking happy!

This has been my best full semester since this law school hazing process began. I performed well this summer, but balancing five classes in which two were worth 4 credits was extremely difficult, but very doable. I want to give a shout out to my study group and this extraordinary man I plan to marry one day (lol) who has always equipped us with what we need to succeed.

No, but really, for all those who were there for the daily overdoses of caffeine and the ultimate discovery that Steak & Shake has happy hour from 2-4 (which by the way is totally inconvenient for those with jobs but for stressed law students sitting @ home or the library until the sun sets, its perfect!) I applaud you and pray your efforts to figure out what the hell Rule 10(b)(5) is actually paid off.

Aside from learning what character evidence is and how to conduct myself in the courtroom, I learned…well actually opened my eyes to the fact that women are fucking crazy!

Sometimes I wish that life lessons could be acquired through reading an overpriced textbook, but I guess having to experience personally that some folk are just plain toxic in your life is the only way to realize that some people just don’t, won’t ever, and have no interest progressing in their personal lives.

Now, I know most have made New Year resolutions. Mine are 1) to become more organized, 2) to appreciate that cleanliness is not next to Godliness but it makes it a lot easier to find shit when you’re in a rush, 3) to workout more, and 4) just focus on what I want.

Some of us try to rid ourselves of certain vices: chocolate, fast food, men who provide the promise that you’ll cum all night (which you do) with the excuse that they’ve been hurt in the past (boo fucking hoo) and just can’t do that whole “relationship” thing.

It’s never easy to cut something or someone out of your life, but entering the New Year with hopes to become a better person is worth the attempt. We make personal resolutions each year, but wouldn’t’ it be better if we could make them for our friends and force their asses to comply with the order.

I would love to assign my homegirl with the resolution that letting the nigga go is MANDATORY and force her to realize he will never be her man and is probably fucking his roommate and has no interest in the word monogamy WITH HER, but will more than likely find a woman who actually possess self love and wife her within a year of meeting each other.

I’d tell my homeboy to let go of the fallacy that dreams come true when you move to Atlanta, that he needs to formulate a detailed plan and let the pole dancer go because she’ll never get a 9-5 because who would change their 5 year career of obtaining over $600 in three hours each night while the other drones work 40 hours a week and make less.

I’d tell my mother to stop relying on “wisdom” and get her shit together and while working on herself also work on cutting the fucking umbilical cord and GIVE US FREE!

But I can’t force others to want something for their lives just because I know they deserve and need and will probably never proposer without MORE.

So my other resolution, probably the most difficult, shall be to let go…let go of wanting people to change, let go of my own fallacies, and let go of those that just don’t, never will, and have no interest progressing in their lives.

Such a Supportive Friend

2009-01-23T22:26:00.010-05:00

My friend convinced me to join this online dating website, lol!

I know! It’s soooo not me, but she wanted support so I decided to join for a week.

I never reached out to anyone, just sat back with a cute headshot and enjoyed the entertainment.

For some reason, folk are even more free online than in person. Like, I would assume a man would approach me online as he would in person.

Hi…my name is…I like your profile…would like to chat, talk, get to know you better…how you doing…cute picture…whatcha do for fun…

You know, the normal introductions. But no, these fools send messages like:

Hey ma…beautiful…sexy…you’re the finest thing I’ve seen on here…wanna take you out….come to your house….come inside….cum inside…just want to have sex…friends with benefits…hope you got a car because I don’t…I have three kids, hope you babysit…btw, I like to eat pussy.

I guess people become more aggressive online because you have to get in fast and make a lasting impression since the “in person” factor is gone. But dude, would you tell me on the first encounter that you eat pussy and want to cum inside of me?

Uh…I hope not!

I put in my profile that I’m busy, rarely date and attributed my lack of a social life to being in law school. Did this deter anyone…hell naw!

Folk talking ‘bout…I know you busy….stressed…I can massage you, make you feel better….baby you can be my lawyer after I assault that pussy…and afterward, I’ll help you study.

Ok, first of all…please respect what I do. Respect my plight, respect my aspirations. This shit ain’t no damn legal studies class you took as an elective in undergrad!

I never sleep. My entire grade in a class is based on one fucking final! I had to take a hard ass test to be hazed for three years and after that I'm bestowed with the expensive privilege of taking ANOTHER hard ass test that will determine my entire future and make my hazing process worth anything.

And nigga….stop using legal terms with me: “assault my pussy”…uh, is that slang for rape? I don’t get it!

Massage me, help me study. Negro, please! I’m too stressed to enjoy a massage and hello! you went to school and majored in general studies…nigga you can’t help me study!

But amongst the numerous wack ass men online, this one guy actually came quite correct.

His subject line was: good impression, and he did just that. We exchanged emails, pictures, and he finally got my digits.

He seems cool and we’re setting up an encounter during Super Bowl weekend. He’s witty and intelligent and hasn’t offered to massage my worries away.

And if he does, I’ll scream…but meet him nonetheless, because as long as he doesn’t offer his time to help me study or assure me that sex with him involves an imminent apprehension of harm to my pussy, I’ll be alright.

Weak Woman on Board

2009-01-23T21:45:00.005-05:00

I hate weak women!

Like, they are on the same level of loathing as those damn “Baby on Board” stickers! And everyone close to me knows that’s some serious shit!

So when consumed by the drama of a weak woman, I usually break and eventually snap. It’s a silent snap that involves limited phone conversation, brief personal interaction, and the thought that this woman, this weak ass bitch has completely lost her fucking mind!

And in the spirit of letting things, people, shit go…I’ve decided to add yet another person to my list.

Now I've written about weaknesses, my own at that. Admitted that Deondre was a weakness but that liking him and wanting to be with him did not MAKE me a weak woman.

He was an exception to the weak rule, meaning that his presence caused me to forget everything I believed: that I am already complete and only complimented by the mere presence of a man in my life.

Don't get it twisted, I long for an orgasm (well not as much as before…shall get to that later), but I in no way long for the presence of a man in my life to complete me.

I haven’t had sex since Eric which was in early November, and I feel fine.

I found my g-spot without a man. I enjoyed the holidays without a man. I sleep alone and am lulled to sleep by Sex and the City reruns, but not by the presence of a man spooning me.

So back to hating weak women…

I have little patience for women who need a man to be happy. Women who receive booty calls at 2am with the purpose to NOT have an orgasm, but to have the nigga cum and cuddle them.

What the fuck!

If you need to cuddle purchase a fucking teddy bear.

Or better, get your shit together, face all the insecurities you've held unto since childhood and realize that this man, no…this nigga that you treat like a boyfriend is not YOUR MAN!!!

He is fucking you (and others) and is using you.

Despite your pimpette beliefs, you are not in control. Your pussy may be good. You may have the nigga pussy whipped in the sense that he loves to be in your shit, but as I always say pussy does not have a name nor does it have a face.

And you weak woman have no name and no face, because after fucking you for almost a year without any sign of commitment, the nigga has realized the appearance of a strong and aggressive woman is nothing more than façade. A joke bundled up with infinite insecurities and repetitious regrets. You are nothing but an easy, consistent fuck, and your lack of self worth has erased your beautiful face and name.

So the control you believe your "good" pussy empowers you with is a fucking fallacy.

The nigga is in control…why? Duh! because he sets the tempo of your quasi relationship.

He sets the tempo when you fuck.

He sets the tempo when you go out with your girls and rush home early to cuddle with him.

He sets the tempo when you are approached by another man (who is actually worth your time your energy, your money, and your pussy) and pass him off to rush home and cuddle with him.

You lost control when you opened your legs with the purpose to not enjoy the act of sex but to seduce him into believing that your pussy is good enough to call “girlfriend”…but girlfriend IT IS NOT!

AND IT NEVER WILL BE.

The nigga is playing you as the others have before.

So wake up in 2009, close your damn legs because when they are open so is your heart, and realize your worth.

And please forgive me if all you are actually worth is a quasi -lover who you can’t trust, you can’t rely upon, and whom you never will have as your own.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Weidersehen, Goodbye!

2009-01-23T21:07:00.005-05:00

So whom else have I decided to let go this year…

Well I wouldn’t really characterize my next move as "letting go" but perhaps as an Ultimate Cleanse. My ex-trainer diagnosed my weight lost as my need to shit more. That based on my body type I only lose weight by daily cardio and daily excrement. So she recommended this thing called the Ultimate Cleanse; and living up to its name, my intestines were ultimately cleansed.

So realizing how good life is and how clear my skin is after a good detox, I thought…shit, maybe my personal life could use a dose of cleansing. Perhaps the toxic family members and friends need to be removed from my daily existence and flushed away for good.

So first to go was my mother…now don’t get me wrong, I heart the woman, admire her perseverance and unshakable faith, but damn! the woman is fucking CRAZY!

Like, its not even menopause crazy, she's always been this way. I remember vividly (which is so rare) being in private school and her dropping me off in front of the playground. I remember going into the Parrish hall, sitting on the dirty wooden floor, and crying while muttering how much I hated her.

And nothing has changed since then.

I hate to use the word hate, but sometimes I can’t think of anything else to describe how I feel about her. It truly is a love/hate/hate relationship.

So I realized upon bringing in the New Year, that I've been in a relationship with my mother since...well, birth.

That I had made the huge mistake of giving my heart to a person who was not worth trusting.

I gave that woman everything, all of me.

All my love went to her, and it left none for my father. All I had for him was the yearly holiday phone call.

I relied on her for everything, and she turned on me.

It was as though I had given myself to a man who had shown all the tell tale signs of being consistently inconsistent; yet ignoring them because he was all I had and because he was all I ever wanted to know.

So the bitch completely lost her mind over the break. Well actually, she’s been losing her mind since my childhood, but shit just became ridic over the Christmas break.

I loathe the holidays because of her. I’m flooded with the thought of no tree, no presents, no eggnog, no holiday cheer, no sign of holiday love, no family, no dinner, no carols, just Carol’s crazy ass constantly berating the commercialized holiday and my belief of Santa himself.

She called me on Christmas Eve to remind me that SHE was all I had.

And she was right…and it made me realize that if she was everything, if she was the only thing I could cling to in a moment of depression and despair, than a bottle of gin and prescription drugs would suit my emotions better.

I wanted more than a crazy ass mother who treated me like an ATM, and banged upon me when told I was out of order and out of money.

I wanted my other family. I wanted a father, a mother figure who was reasonable, and siblings who looked up to me as though I were the truth. I wanted a real fucking Christmas!

I politely told her that if family, meaning her, was all I had then I didn’t have much and that it was sad.

She quoted a few scriptures, told me about myself, and of course finished the call with her infamous, “I love you and God bless you”.

BITCH!

But despite her evil ways, I got a real fucking Christmas that included a tree and family and dinner and spiked eggnog and PRESENTS and carols!

It was absolutely wonderful. I fell in love this Christmas with my other side of my family, the side I’ve been told my entire life was not worth trusting, was not worth visiting, was not worth my time.

I’ve decided to let her toxic ass go…to let her know that she is NOT all that I have. I have wonderful friends, I have a family that wants to help me and is there when I need them, and I have my fucking sanity back.

So the lesson that giving your heart to someone has been learned. I thought it would come from a man who had broken his promises and shitted on everything we called scared, but it came from a woman who is too consumed with her own regret that she can’t even see that her only child has let her go for good.

Cross My Mind

2009-01-23T20:35:00.005-05:00

I was riding in the car yesterday with a friend. We were discussing men, which means we were discussing sex or lack thereof and suddenly my ears were flooded with the sounds of Trey Songz. It was “The Last Time”. All I could think about was Deondre. I wanted to dial his number to say that I was thinking of him. Two months ago I would have succumb to the feeling; but in the ’09 with the resolution to “let go”, I decided to not call, to not text, to no longer entertain the thoughts of his inconsistent ass.

Oh, Deondre…

Looking over the blog entries, its almost funny how much I used to write about him. How much I wanted to be with him. How much I wanted to fuck his ass and eventually only got fucked over by him time and time again minus the orgasm.

We haven’t spoken since the day he called and cancelled our lunch date because he didn’t get the job. Isn’t it sad yet so hilarious that his bitch ass ex-girlfriend let him go because he wanted to join the military only for him to NOT get the job and return to what he does best: HUSTLING.

I provided my condolences; assured him better things were to come. He sat in silence waiting for me to reschedule as I normally would, but there was nothing. I told him good blessings and goodbye.

I let him go. Shit, maybe he let me go. Who cares, all that matters is the constant thought of him is gone. The constant throbbing between my legs for him has ceased. No more masturbating to the thought of him thrusting inside of me. No more Deondre.

And never one to front…I will admit that I do and will always probably think of him. I will always hear Trey Songz and see Deondre’s face. I will always remember visiting his “office” on the 4th floor of library. I will always remember what we used to do (and what we never did).

I will remember the consistent inconsistent relationship we had. But more importantly, I will always remember that Deondre was never good for me, and I was never good for him.

Why Are There So Many Peachtrees?!?

2009-01-23T20:27:00.004-05:00

During the Christmas break, Faye and I went to Atlanta. She wanted to celebrate her 24th birthday and bring in the New Year in style…which means, bring in the New Year not in this boring ass city which is flooded with tourist or in the more boring ass city we reluctantly call “home”.

So we packed up our clothes and went. We made no significant plans other than to wild the fuck out. Only problem was, upon our arrival we were assigned two tour guides: Faye’s best friend from middle school and the chick’s spineless fiancée. They, well actually he, took us everywhere. Dude even came to the club with us on her birthday. It was so awkward because chick had a straight up ‘tude and the fiancée was the only Irish man in the club.

And to call this place a club would be utterly erroneous. I don’t know what it is about Atlanta, but them folk up there are on some other level shit. Like, I expected to dance and have fun, but everyone else @ Dolce was under the impression that fun involves standing in a circle while looking at others so the same.

No one was dancing. Everyone was just standing. It was just too weird.

And to make matters worse bitches are completely rude! Like, I’m used to saying, “Excuse me” while shifting someone to the side in the quest for another martini, but these pretentious muthafuckers would just bow a bitch and keep on trucking.

Not to mention, the only dick I rubbed on that entire evening was this dude who was standing behind me in line awaiting the privilege of entering the “club”. It was a complete accident; this chick backed into me and sent me and my ass into his bubble. Being a bad girl and wanting to catch some mild action before returning to Florida, I let my ass pressed against his dick linger too long to be considered an accident.

He look down at me and smiled. He called me “ma” or “shawty” but I completely ignored his idea of an endearing term and focused on his smooth complexion and neatly twisted locs. The brother was fine.

Too bad I never felt is dick pressed against my ass again.

Our female tour guide and her ‘tude ruined the evening. She completely snapped on us and cut the night short by walking out of the quasi club/restaurant/bowling alley in a silent raging fit.

She ruined Faye’s birthday and made it her mission to ruin the rest of our trip. Little did she know, Faye and I enjoy driving up and down the numerous Peachtrees completely lost but laughing nonetheless.

The morning after, we made our way to this quaint breakfast café (minus the tour guides) and enjoyed a day without drama or anymore tortuous visits to the CNN Center and the Coca Cola Factory.

We did a little shopping, met up with some peeps, all while fighting back the the overwhelming desire to relocate to Atlanta.

We met up with this guy…this intelligent, genius of a man. Maybe it was his locs or the interaction between him and his daughter, but I instantly became intrigued by this genius. It was so random because he’s older and way too intelligent to fuck, but gosh! the nigga is the truth!

Plus he just looks like his dick is HUGE!

I made no sexual advances towards him and I doubt he noticed me checking his package out. We stayed in the house that night with of course the two tour guides. It was boring and against what we wanted, but it was drama-less and probably the right thing to do.

We left Atlanta without getting high, without getting fucked, without visiting Peters Street. We left Atlanta with the realization that women are fucking crazy and that the next visit can NEVER include boring and unhappily engaged tour guides.

I'm Back...

2009-01-23T20:22:00.011-05:00

Time to Study and Act Like a Law Student

2008-11-13T23:03:00.005-05:00

Ok, so finals are looming and I don't have much time to write.

Mini updates:

I'm considering a life of celibacy.

My homegirl found out I write this blog...

Walgreens has the 5 hour energy shot i.e. liquid crack on sale: buy 1 get the other 50% off. This is like the best thing since squirting cum into Eric's mouth.

Umm, anything else...oh yea, I found my G-spot.

I shall return soon, until then love ya!

McCain's President Is Black!!

2008-11-05T11:41:00.002-05:00

When I saw the CNN update display that Obama won the presidential election, all I could do was pause and take in the reality that "yes we can" and yes we DID!

We ran around the living room screaming. We ran out of the house shouting. We cried and dropped upon our knees praising God's name. We prayed for our president's protection. We toasted to change, to health insurance, to jobs, to a better economy, to better times.

Our FL votes weren't even in (why I don't understand, oh wait they're floating in the Everglades as we speak) but it didn't even matter. Shit, the Commonwealth was on point before we were.

My daddy (his wannabe elitist ass) is a Republican. I knew once Powell endorsed Obama there was hope for my jaded father. He rarely strays from his party but yesterday he voted Democrat.

I am still in awe and full of a range of emotions. Boy, you know them saltines gone act a fool now!

Ride His Dick then Ride the Bench

2008-11-01T20:34:00.002-04:00

I told Eric today that our movie date would have to be replaced with just sex. That I don’t want another movie or dinner date followed by conversation and childhood stories. I don’t want to discuss undergrad memories, time wasted, time lost. I want sex and nothing more.

I mentioned early that some women jump from dick to dick in order to prevent being alone. To be honest, its not even about being alone, its about sex. But the problem arises when women jump from dick to dick seeking not only an orgasm but the man attached to the dick that provides the orgasm.

Thing is, I’m not a jumper. Never have been.

Unlike some people, I can be alone. I don’t have to replace the previous man with another just to soothe the loneliness that aches in my mind when life slows down and becomes too silent.

I want to stand still and feel every mixed emotion that is expected after a breakup. After living as “we” its time to just be Fran.

And even if I want more, I can’t handle more.

Rather than ride his dick and the rollercoaster of emotions that follow when fucking a guy turns into liking him which turns into a quasi relationship mixed with total confusion, I’m going to ride his dick, get off and sit on the bench because I’m too broken and too damn confused to play this game right now.

My Friend, the Goddess NIKE

2008-10-30T16:11:00.005-04:00

My friend is so fucking scary.

Chick is afraid of dick.

She’s a 23 year old virgin, and when I say virgin I mean a virgin to not only penetration but stimulation.

She’s a red Amazon with huge breasts, curly hair, and wears a Tri-State mug that keeps bullshit from coming her way.

Chick is cool as fuck but can’t relay this to the dude she wants. She’s an avid reader and I think my sexual escapades have substituted her Sex Chronicles and unleashed a flood of congested sexual desire.

So Lisa and I, being the slut whores that we are, have taken her under our wings and schooled her as best we know on how to get that dick.

The lessons include not just how to get dick, but how to get some head, how to give some head, how to talk to a man, how to be a comfortable with your sexuality and accept that there is nothing wrong with being a 6 foot horny woman.

Thing is, chick is receptive to our advice but when it comes to following the daily lessons set out in our plan she chooses her own path, a path I fear will lead to her masturbating at night for the next five years while everyone around her (including the dude she likes) is getting fucked and sucked.

She constantly makes excuses after claiming she’ll do better and grow the fuck up, but she’s still 7. Well let me give her come credit, ater giving dude her number and setting up an appointment (not to fuck, but hey it’s a step) she’s more like 12.

She’s getting it, but damn, if she don’t get that dick before we graduate I’ll scream and revoke her privileges to the blog (is that shit even possible?)

I have to constantly remind her, encourage her to not over analyze life. To embrace her tingle and stimulate it. To grow up, be a woman, embrace her sexual side, open her newly purchased bullet and JUST DO IT!

We Can Be Cut Friends, You & I...

2008-10-30T15:08:00.003-04:00

I had to check myself this morning and realize that sex with Eric is just sex.

Lisa fucked my head up one night when she called him my “boo”.

Fuck friends. Bust it baby, but never my boo.

Then she asked me do I see him being more than just a friend.

I can barely classify him as a friend. Dude is more of a stimulator. He serves a limited purpose in my life, and to play it safe I want to keep it as such.

But being an emotional female who thrives for companionship (and a husband) I recalled my young thoughts of grandeur.

I was reminded of the old Eric. The Eric I fell for in undergrad. The dude who took me to the lake and held me in his arms while we watched the downtown pollution conceal the stars.

The same dude who waited until the day of to ask me if I’d be his Valentine. Had the nerve to show up at my house unannounced bearing my favorite arrangement (sunflowers) ready to whisk me away for to dinner.

Little did he know I had moved on and left the city to enjoy dinner with another man. A man who was able to handle his emotions and admit that friendship was not enough.

So I had to snap out of nostalgia land and focus on the now. Focus on the current Eric who is just fucking me. Our time spent involves no walks around the lake, no trips to his mother’s house, no cooked meals, no flowers, just good ole sex.

There exists a horrible potential to care. To want more, but settle for less. But this time I know I can handle it. I expect nothing more than his dick to be inside my vagina, his head buried in my pussy, his lips engaged with mine. My legs are open; shit, they are spread from each corner of the bed, but this time my eyes too are open to the fact that this ain’t no love thang, we just kickin’ it.

What Kind of Slut Should I Be?

2008-10-30T14:43:00.002-04:00

Slutty nurse.

Slutty geisha.

Slutty fairy.

Or just a slut.

Maybe slutty Palin.

Or a slutty die-hard Republican.

With only a few hours away and probably no costumes that can cover my wide hips and plump ass, what the fuck should I be for Halloween?

Hearsay With No Exceptions

2008-10-30T13:03:00.002-04:00

My classmate was ubberly excited to accompany us to the basketball game last night. He found great joy and probably caught a boner from listening to my Strident pick up line.

If you don't know, it went a lil' something like this, "How about I sit on your face so you don't have to chew on that gum all night."

So dude went and told another classmate about the evening and completely fucked up my line.

Yesterday, the dude he told approached me talking about, "Damn, Fran, I heard you be saying some reckless shit, man."

Reckless. I already knew what he was speaking of, but there was nothing reckless about my oral invitation. Perhaps forward, but never reckless.

So I asked dude to qualify what the fuck is so reckless about being concerned for another's over worked jaw muscles and soliciting my pussy rather than offering another stick of Strident.

He replied that telling dude to chew on my pussy rather than chew on his gum was reckless.

Chew on my pussy?

WTF?

I corrected dude and told him hell yea that is some reckless ass shit, that offering my clit as a chew toy is some reckless ass shit, but that it wasn't what was said.

I have never, do not ever, and will never solicit to someone the option to gnaw on my clit. Chew and eat in the context of oral sex have two entirely different meanings. How the other dude confused eat my pussy:sit on your face as chew on my clit is baffling, and makes me wonder does he consider the act of eating his dinner which hopefully involves chewing as the same type of eating my pussy desires.

Because if he does, women beware. Like, dude please. If you're going to use the line or repeat it, get it right or else people whose faces I really do want to sit on will think I'm some sort of sadist masochist who likes getting her clit chomped on as foreplay.

????

2008-10-30T02:53:00.002-04:00

Why is it so easy for a dude who treats your friend like shit, who she labels as a heartless dog, a “nigga, that don’t deserve shit and won't amount to shit,” to turn 180 degrees in your direction and be the sweetest man imaginable?

I’ve noticed that men, some men, do more for their lady’s friends than their own lady.

Why?

Why do more for the next chick, when the one you have is fucking you and keeping your bank account out of the negative?

Is it because they want to fuck the friend more? Or do they act in an attempt to create a rise of jealousy in their lady?

Or worse, men, some men, fuck a chick and dog her out, yet proceed to play cool and drop covert sexual messages to her homegirl.

Why?

Maybe it goes back to the principle of men wanting their cake, pie, cupcakes, and a glass of milk to wash it down with on the side. One, two, shit five is never enough. And if they don’t cheat and fuck numerous women, they still do their current chick wrong by availing themselves to other women.

Its as though having their main squeeze is all great, but why not also do for her friends or others and mentally have them too as your own.

It’s all a mind game. By helping me move into my apartment or buying me lunch while your lady can’t even get a free double cheese burger out of you, you have not only fucked her over but have fucked me over into believing that you’re a decent guy who just wants to help.

I see it all the time, experienced it with the ex, and I’m still baffled.

Why?

You Inspire Me To Co-Write

2008-10-30T02:31:00.003-04:00

So I’ve developed a horrible habit of not writing except once a week, and when I do, I create several entries about randomness and have nothing more to say for another 5 days.

I feel horrible, so I’ve been attempting to write during my breaks or while my professor drones on for an hour about the relationship between attorney and client, but the shit just doesn’t work.

I write, review, delete and stare at the screen.

I don’t have writer’s block per se, but I need more than a boring lecture to inspire me to describe, with some level of substance, my weekly sexual rants.

So I asked myself, “What inspires you to write?” And myself was silent.

Silent until today…while watching Lost with Eric, I became increasing aroused by him kissing my neck and was overcome with the urge to fuck him, whip out my Apple, and detail the entire episode minus the cum in my hair (just joking, it was caught by the reservoir tip) for everyone to read.

It makes complete sense that the thought of sex, or even better, actual sex inspires me to write considering the nature of this blog.

Sex is my inspiration (well not just sex, but you know what I mean).

So if I need sex to bust entries upon entries out, if I can only write and actually enjoy what I write after getting fucked (or getting fucked over), what does the future hold?

Looking back, the only time I wrote a poem during my relationship with my ex was after our final night of horrible sex. After he boned me and fell asleep, I lay looking at the smoke detector as tears streamed down the side of my face. That green light placed me in a trance. I got up, went into the living room and wrote about his lame ass dick; printed it, tacked it to the refrigerator, packed my shit and went home.

My tears dried and I vowed to never subject my body to him again. Seven months and a few orgasms later, all I can do is write. It ain’t poetry, it ain’t my usual fictional tale, but its me and it feels good.

So if sex is my inspiration, I hope I get some on the regular.

Oh yea, and to qualify that…GOOD sex is my inspiration.

I'm Horny, Wanna Cum Over and Fuck?

2008-10-30T01:56:00.002-04:00

Last night around eleven o'clock, I was overcome with a tingle in my clit. I told Lisa that I was horny (as though she cares or can assist me). I told her that I wanted to see Eric.

She supported my demand and urged that I call him.

So I dialed his number, waited, waited some more, and was greeted by the delightful sound of his country twang featured on his voicemail.

I was pissed. Absolutely livid.

Why wasn’t dude answering my call?!?

To cover up the fact that I felt rejected and might care (oops), I told Lisa that I forgot he might be fucking his other bitch and has his phone on silent.

I went to bed tingling. Well, not actually went to bed, more like got into the bed tingling. My handy bullet and K-Y (for a realistic effect) took a slight edge off the tingling sensation and allowed me to sleep comfortably as though Eric and his beautiful, thick, long dick were pressed against my ass.

He explained that he did have his phone on silent but wasn’t fucking the other bitch, because well quite frankly, I’m the only bitch on his team and he went to sleep early.

My unanswered call made me think and reconsider my current plan.

I’ve only drafted one person and am in the process of scouting another, but I need more than a team of qualified players.

I need a team of on call specialists that will reply instantaneously to my most random page for sex, rush to my house, fuck me and leave without trying to raid my pantry for snacks and Capri Sun.

J.D., Bar Card, HUSBAND...In That Order

2008-10-30T01:33:00.003-04:00

This dude told me today, with half a turkey sandwich in his mouth, that women in law school are focused on obtaining two things: G and H.

I demanded he chew and swallow before elaborating.

“Grades and husbands, in that order,” he replied.

I was stunned. Not because he accidentally sprayed my t-shirt with processed turkey meat, but that he was repeating the same load of bullshit another friend had told to me weeks prior.

“Huh, grades and husbands?” I asked. He confirmed my question as though any other reason for females enrolling in law school was asinine and a complete and utter fallacy.

Tonight, my homegirl’s ex bust it baby confirmed the theory that most women in law school ARE there to find husbands.

Wow.

I was quite unaware that when I purchased my first LSAT study aid book in Borders, that I was also studying on how to search, track, wound, and trick a man who aspires to obtain a bar card into marriage so that I will acquire a property interest and be set for life (or until I give birth to his children and then demand a divorce and half his assets plus alimony and a ridiculous amount of child support).

Well, duh! How can I ignore the logic? What woman wants to be self-sufficient by expanding her knowledge while attempting to shatter the glass ceiling and do better for herself and those that admire her?

Apparently, it makes complete sense that my fellow female classmates desire, yearn, want nothing more than to find a husband since their biological clocks are ticking and will abruptly die in less than five years. “Its natural that women want to get married now because they have to start making babies soon.”

Natural. Makes sense.

So you’re telling me that in five years, at 28, when I’m barred in the state of New York and fabulous as hell, when I’m trekking my way through my career trying to carve a place for myself in the firm’s yearly consideration of new partners, that my eggs will shrivel, die, and fall into my panties after I sneeze too hard.

That at 28, it’ll be too late to have children which ultimately means I’ll never get married and be featured on an episode of Platinum Weddings, and will be forced to submerge myself in briefs and motions and live alone with a cat and a vibrator wishing that I’d taken the male advice given to me years ago that I MUST focus on getting “G and H, in that order”.

So before I’m infertile and not worth marrying, let me put away my next victims list and pull out a sheet of paper and figure out who the fuck I’m going to marry and procreate with by 2010 before its all too late and I’m just another female with a J.D. and a bar card whose title is worthless because my name isn't proceeded by the word MRS.

Queen Elizabeth Has Found Her Throne

2008-10-30T01:03:00.003-04:00

I haven’t messed around with a professor in years and have no intentions of ever doing so again.

LMAO. Ok, that was such a lie, but at least not with this particular professor.

This old white man with thick calves who dyes his hair this awful brown color and rocks floral shirts every other day is fucking a student.

Chick is a complete bitch, but when I first met her I at least respected her “bitchiness” because chick was on point.

Now, all the Louis in the world (or on Canal street) can’t conceal the fact that she has gained an enormous amount of weight and is fucking our married professor.

Dude is tenure, so you know his ass ain’t going no where. So much for “at will” employee of the month.

They have been allegedly fucking for almost a year. When I knew her she was skinny. The gap between her thighs was evident. She was married and happy. Now I realize, she was happy because while her husband was in New York and on business each month she was playing T.A. with the professor.

Oh no, not Teacher Assistant. Tits and Ass.

The bitch follows him everywhere! She’s always in his office; always answering questions posed in class as though she is running shit.

Bitch, just because you sucked his wrinkled pink dick last night does not mean you can explain to me the copyright duration of a piece of art created in 1945!

So word in the program is, chick and professor are official. Like tenants official. Like living together official. Like what the fuck official.

Now, I’m not in the position to judge her hustle considering my past, but WTF! It’s just so weird to see them together. All you can do is squirm as they play mental sex games with each other during class.

And unlike my one night professor, this dude is actually going to leave his wife and probably impregnate his new young trophy.

All I can say is, chick better cut out the carbs, lose her triple chin, and get that two inch gap between her thighs back before the next tenderonie enrolls and takes her tenure-can’t be touched-I bet you won’t fire me-lover away form her.

Iceland and Greenland

2008-10-30T00:17:00.003-04:00

My 10^th grade teacher was married and expecting his first child when he touched me.

He was white, yet surprisingly attractive. His wife was black. She was beautiful. He coached football and taught geography.

He was an avid traveler and loved to vacation in Italy. Fuck Italy, I wanted him to vacation inside my pussy and explore my recently devirginzed body.

I spent countless hours after school pretending to be confused on the difference between Iceland and Greenland.

“Iceland has no ice, and Greenland is never green," he would remind me. He bent down close to my neck and pointed to their location on the map in front of me. His scent was sweet. I quickly turned my head towards him before he could pull back.

My lips grazed his cheek. He smiled. I continued to play overwhelmed with confusion and began rubbing my shoulders. He took the bait and placed his strong hands upon my shoulders.

He told me I was tense. That I needed to relax. That the football trainers always massaged the players before games to ensure quality performance. That I’d never get Iceland and Greenland until I could relax and focus on something more important.

Focus on what makes you happy, he advised. I focused on him and how replacing his wife in the picture on top of his desk would be a pleasure.

He whispered the classic line, “So, whatcha thinking about?” near my ear.

Him, I responded.

He accepted my mental invitation and allowed his hands to travel down my back over my breasts unto my thighs in between my legs and inside my pussy.

I never told anyone.

I never replaced his wife. She gave birth to a beautiful girl. He continued to teach at the school, and I got an "A" in the class.

So, I Absolutely Have No Title for This One

2008-10-29T23:41:00.002-04:00

Eric came over today to watch reruns of Lost. We watched two episodes before making our way to the bedroom. We cuddled as I tried to psych myself out and ignore the wetness forming between my legs. My clit overpowered my mind and before I knew it the Magnum was on and the pillows were tossed unto the floor.

Eric is awesome. Now being 23, I know many a victims will be added to the list (well hopefully not many), but for now his dick is the best dick I’ve ever had in my life.

I caught him watching my ass ripple from the dresser mirror while he fucked me from behind. Dude loves gazing at his reflection; thing is I love gazing at his body.

So out of nowhere, my arm begins to vibrate. Good, I thought, dude wants to tag team my clit with a little battery-powered stimulation. Turns out it was the Berry; Lisa was calling.

I was meeting her in the 30 minutes to catch a basketball game, so I beckoned for Eric to pause while I lied to Lisa that I was dressed and on my way.

I had to catch my breath and release the moan captured in my lungs before answering. I don’t think she could tell dude’s dick was inside of me because she responded with no hesitation or questions and told me to hurry the hell up.

Eric took care of me, but I felt bad putting his orgasm on hold. As we have learned together, there is nothing worse than being told to press pause (Deondre’s fuck ass) but Eric seemed to understand.

We kissed, showered, kissed some more, I sucked his dick, he came, I swallowed, we left, kissed some more, he said goodbye, I told him to drive safely and we parted.

While driving, my right leg did this twitching thing. It returned while Lisa and I walked to the game. I grabbed her shoulder and told her Eric came over. She looked down at my hip and laughed.

I also told her that he was fucking me when she called. She laughed again.

I qualified my statement and explained that when she called he was fucking me and when I answered he was still fucking me.

She screamed. For a quick second I felt as though she was judging me. I wanted to press rewind on my revelation, but as her scream transformed into laughter followed by a smile I knew she was ubberly excited that I was still getting fucked and was finally loving every moment of it.

And His Name Is Eric

2008-10-29T23:40:00.001-04:00

Faye, Lisa, Deondre.

They are the only people named in this blog.

We had Awesome I. He hasn’t called since I got him stif and stiffed him on what he expected to be a night of pleasure.

And now we have Awesome II.

But after today’s orgasm, I’ve decided dude deserves a name.

I Really Don't Care

2008-10-23T21:53:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-23T21:44:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-23T21:23:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-23T20:07:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-22T00:07:00.003-04:00

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...

2008-10-21T22:56:00.004-04:00

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

2008-10-21T15:50:00.005-04:00

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

2008-10-21T15:09:00.001-04:00

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

2008-10-21T14:03:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-21T14:01:00.000-04:00

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!

2008-10-21T12:00:00.004-04:00

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

Pickup Lines

2008-10-13T19:43:00.002-04:00

The best fuck lines come at the weirdest moments.

At a basketball game last week I noticed this fine, dark skinned brother chewing, no chomping, on a piece of gum. I pinched Lisa and nodded in his direction. She challenged me to approach him. “Whatcha gonna say?”

“How about I sit on your face so you don’t have to chew that gum all night.”

Then today, while getting on the elevator this guy asked me was I going down. Instead of saying yes, the 1^st floor, please. I told him, “No, but you can.”

Then at the club on Friday, my homegirl dared me to flirt with this guy from our school, so I grabbed his ass to get his attention. It worked. He was in utter shock considering in class I never speak to him.

Then I pulled him towards me and grabbed his dick while kissing his neck.

My friend laughed and dude was like, “That was some gangsta shit.” I told him gangsta would be fucking his ass in the corner of the club.

I can never refuse a dare.

I Like 'Em All, Well Most...

2008-10-13T18:38:00.003-04:00

Someone emailed me and asked what type of dick, I mean men I prefer. They also requested I post a picture of on my profile.

The content of this delightful blog prevents me from using my real name, let alone a picture of lovely face. Maybe my reader needs a visual to use while beating his meat tonight, who knows. (Just fucking with ya, lol!)

So what kind of men do I prefer? For starters, I prefer Afro-American men. As far as looks, I like tall men. I’m 5’7 so anything above that will suffice.

I’m a thick girl so skinny guys don’t really do it for me, but it just depends on what they’re working with. And not down there, just overall. If you can put me on a wall and fuck me, I'm down.

I love men with ‘locs. Notice I didn’t say dreds because to me they are two different things.

Umm, what else? Nice dress, unique style, no white tees, no balling shorts unless lounging at home or preparing for a game, no sport slides with white socks, no doo-rags or wave caps outside the bedroom.

No golds!

No pinky rings. No long pinky nails No long nails period.

Nice full lips. Not full black lips that indicate you smoke trees entirely too much. Nice smile. Nice brows.

Smooth, dark skin complexion.

Aside from a nice sized dick (that knows how to fuck) there’s not much else I prefer physically. I have my preferences, but at the end of the day a man with charisma, charm, and self-confidence will win me over.

Oh yea, clean shoes is a must!

And no Coogi! I fucking hate Coogi!

Road Rage

2008-10-13T17:59:00.003-04:00

I was just on the highway and this Spanish broad was coasting in front of me. The bitch was driving entirely too slow for the fast lane, and to make matters worse she had a “Baby On Board” sticker in the back of her window.

I fucking loathe those shits.

Like, what the fuck does that shit even mean?

You have a child in your car; therefore, your life is worth more than other drivers? Attetntion drivers, please abstain from rear ending me, my child is safely asleep in the back seat?

Well, bitch I have a viable uterus on board, does that mean anything?

So to show my first sign of emotion today, I began to berate her elitist sticker with my horn. Then I drove up beside her and flicked her non-highway-its rush hour bitch-I’m trying to get home-driving ass off.

Her response made me want to throw up, swallow and spit it on her windshield. The bitch pointed to her grandson sitting in the front seat who was bobbing his head to a Reggaeton beat. He was chewing on a loaf of French-bread (don't ask me why) and was not even wearing a seat belt.

Safety my ass! That shit should say: Irresponsible Grandmother on Board!

I screamed at her to get a fucking life and take that sticker down. Of course she couldn’t understand my suggestions and just extended her five teeth in a smile.

Oh, and don’t get me started on those “Expecting Mothers Only” parking spaces at the mall.

WHAT THE FUCK!!

What legislative body is enforcing this crap? And how pregnant is pregnant to be deemed eligible? What if I just let dude hit it raw, skeet inside of me, and am at my most fertile point in the month.

Can I park there too, sir?

Isn't It Ironic, Don't Ya Think?

2008-10-13T15:19:00.002-04:00

Last week I told Faye about awesome II; how I sat on his face. She looked at me in utter disgust.

Turns out Faye has lost her libido. She’s taking natural supplements to ward off menstral cramps. While doing further research she found out that monks take this same pill to lower their sex drive. So now chick has no desire to get fucked (so much for an ex-team mate!).

This is the same girl who warns me about the harms associated with BC and how I need to do my research.

LMAO!

Was It Really Love?

2008-10-13T14:05:00.004-04:00

My ex is in a relationship according to the Facebook.

Faye laughed and assured me it’s a joke. I don’t know what to think, but seeing his updated status forced me to deal with the fact that he may have moved on.

I guess my reaction was too nonchalant, because Faye proceeded to tell me that I have no soul, show no emotion, and when I do it’s usually in a fit of rage directed at a driver who forgot to turn on their indicators.

I have a soul and emotions, I just choose not to display them for the entire world to see. Instead I write and display them via internet. Go figure.

She constantly asks me do I miss my ex.

I don’t.

Being without him feels the same as being with him. I feel nothing. There is probably a huge problem that I don’t miss him. Even more of a problem that I withheld sex for 6 months and within a month of the breakup fucked another dude. Not to mention, I’m emotionally attached to Deondre and have been for more than a year.

But the thing is, I don’t even feel bad. Maybe that’s why Faye believes I have no soul, but what should I feel?

She text’d him a few days ago and he didn’t respond. She was pissed and asked, “How can he ignore me?"

I don’t get it myself. How can he erase us from his life as though we don’t live in the same apartment complex? He still talks to my mom but has cut me out of his life completely. On the other hand, I don’t expect nor want him to call.

The problem I have with breakups is how weird things become. After the arguments, after the final conversation, after the boxes filled with belongings are dropped at your door, where do the memories and promises go?

Where does the love go? It makes me wonder was there really ever love. Did I create the fallacy of love as I did my multiple orgasms? And if I didn’t love him, did he know?

Shit, did he even love me?

To think about it, all my exs have disappeared after the breakup, and our love (well actually their love) is nowhere to be found. I guess the love couples have for each other doesn’t disappear it just transforms. Its found in the damage to your car when she keys “Fuck Ass Nigga” in your front door and covers it with white out. Its found in the 30 messages a day he leaves on your voicemail begging for forgiveness.

My love, our “love” is buried under a mound of personal denials. It’s trapped between new Facebook statuses and purposely-unanswered texts.

But if love can morph that easily into a restraining order or black eye, why the hell are people vying so hard to feel the emotion?

If love cannot remain constant, if its shape is forever changing, if it can be transferred from one person to another within a few months after a breakup, is it really love?

The BG's

2008-10-11T01:04:00.000-04:00

Awesome II called earlier today asking could we chill tonight. Of course I told him it was cool, but then my stomach began to rumble and twist and I was reminded that earlier this morning I drank a large mug of Senna tea.

I told Lisa that I was probably going to spend the entire evening sitting on the toilet and not on dude’s face. She laughed and suggested making it a movie night. I laughed and told her dude was coming over to watch me ride his dick not a movie.

She disagreed but I know my past dealings with him have set a precedent for unattached good sex. He can watch movies with Tuesday, but Friday and Saturday are for sex.

He called not to long ago. I lied about needing to complete an assignment that was due tomorrow. He understood and promised to call later this week.

Now that my option for sex has been replaced with the bubble guts and frequent sprints to the toilet, I am overwhelmingly horny. The universe definitely wants me to be alone tonight. Wouldn’t it be horrible if Deondre called and was like, “Tonight is the night”. I’d die! Just die!

So I’m in for the night and full of energy. Guess I’ll be masturbating this evening.

I Want a $100 & Nothing Less

2008-10-10T17:55:00.000-04:00

That last entry was a little preachy, but its the truth. Well its my truth. So since I advised y'all how to remain true to yourselves and not to settle, I suppose taking my own advice would help.

Being a woman of my word, I called Deondre last night and told him we needed to talk about something ubberly important.

I told him that I can't, won't, refuse, to settle for 20. That I want the whole thing. I want him.

I made sure it was known that I'm not asking for a relationship tomorrow or within the upcoming months, but that my clit is not the only thing I have to offer.

I revoked my offer of unattached sex. Being an attorney he replied that in the real world he'd sue me for breach considering he had accepted my pussy months ago.

I breached our agreement, amended the terms and conditions to include emotions and a possible monogamous relationship.

His silence scared the shit out of me. I knew he was about to laugh and reject my counteroffer and tell me anything more than sex was unacceptable.

Instead, he replied that he was proud I was finally being real with him that. That the offer of unattached sex was never truly accepted because he never believed I could have just a strictly physical relationship with him. That he could never grasp the idea of just fucking me.

He always knew I'd want more. Was happy I wanted more because he too wanted more.

I was shocked that I couldn't even shock him with the truth that I wanted more than sex. He explained that my first offer made no sense considering I have a vagina.

"Women can rarely fuck and buck, just face it. If you could do what we do, mankind would cease to exist."

He told me that this was what he expected to happen after sex, but glad it came before he erupted on my Versace glasses.

That he was a logical person and always thought with his brain. That he had little to no emotion, which allowed him to analyze things as a reasonable prudent person.

Apparently, the Grinch that stole Christmas has nothing on Deondre's cold interior. He has trust issues (like who doesn't) and this makes it hard for him to involve his heart in anything because he doesn't want to get hurt.

Deondre is a fucking machine and nothing phases him. And when it does he freaks and it resonates through the lives of everyone within a 100 mile radius.

I told him he has too many issues to be 31. That being with him would be too much of a challenge. But as always, he repeated, "If I want to be there in his life, it's my choice." He's not going to run away from me, but my revelation is also not going to make him jump in my bed or my arms.

He likes what we have. To me we have nothing.

To him we're progressing. To me we ain't moving nowhere.

Deondre wants me to be and remain patient. I want him to explain what the hell I'm being patient for.

He claims he's not trying anymore, he's just gonna do it.

But this isn't Nike and even though life is full of games, this shit is real and if I'm not drafted as his #1 soon, I'm out.

We Want More but Accept Less

2008-10-10T12:31:00.000-04:00

My friend presented me with the perfect analogy forcing me to deal with my denied feelings for Deondre.

It went a little something like this:

When you want $100 from someone, do you settle for $20 and hope over time they give you the remaining $80? Or do you demand the full $100 and settle for nothing less?

He was right on point with his comment,and it made me realize that by settling for 20 you need to realize the person will never give you more because they realize from your actions you are open and willing to settle for less and less will suffice.

They will never respect your negotiation skills. They will never believe in your ability to be and remain patient. They will always see you as being worth less than what you are.

When you accept the 20, how after a few months can you reasonably expect the remainder?

So ladies, ask yourself: do you want the whole sha-bang, the full course meal? Do you want the man?

Or can you only handle the appetizer? Do you only want his dick, do you only want a fuck friend?

By accepting just dick you will limp away bowlegged with a throbbing clit, but don't think the arrangement will lead from appetizers to an entree to dessert to drinks to breakfast to a ring asking for your pussy in marriage.

If you ask for sex, accept just sex, and leave with sex. Do not present unattached pussy only to attach your heart to your clit and eventually become attached to him because it won't work.

But if you want more than sex admit this. Stop denying your hunger and tell him you want more than an appetizer and warn him you might order dessert afterwards. Let him know that you want a relationship. Let him know that you care. Let him know you are willing to be patient if patience means you get it all- that you get him!

But if you choose to be shy, to be too afraid to order more while sitting their with your stomach grumbling, then realize his 20 is just that. It ain't a raincheck for 80, it ain't an IOU, its unattached sex.

When you settle for less but desire more you only end up hurt and wanting more. If you allow 20, if you fuck him suck him and try to love him, he will opt for the first two and remind you that, "This ain't no love thang, we just kickin' it."

The way a relationship begins will determine the dynamic between the two individuals. If it's just sex, it will always be sex. Your ability to suck his balls while stroking his dick making him cum will never be enough for him to make you wifey.

So know what you want and accept only that. In the process of wanting more you may get rejected, but at least you avoided a potential breakdown of sitting outside his house at night with binoculars calling 30 times a day. This will only end in a restraining order and the label of "that crazy bitch I used to fuck back in the day".

You will only get hurt when he opens his wallet and tells you that he ain't got $100 to give. That he can only spot you $20.

But you will be devastated if he spots you a $20 and tells you to stick around for the rest, only for him to never pay up. Only for you to have wasted your time and limp away while the next bitch gets the $100 and everything else in his bank account.

So ladies, know what you want, accept what you want, accept what you get, and know what you get is all there'll ever be.

He Ripped Me A New Asshole

2008-10-09T13:09:00.000-04:00

I just got fucked less than 7 days ago, yet I’m still in an orgasm frenzy. I told Lisa last night that I need some regular dick in my life. That I need to get fucked ASAP. But how can I implement regular dick into my schedule when less than a month ago I couldn’t even find the time or strength to masturbate?

The tongue is a powerful weapon because today in class I got what I asked for. I got fucked in my ass raw with no lubrication.

My professor fucked each and every person in the class by banning laptops, textbooks, and notes.

Shit, when he was fucking me he demanded that I also leave my pencils, pens at home because things are about to change.

He won’t even let us take notes in class while he lectures.

So thanks to this morning’s fuck session I will never have time to actually get fucked the way I want.

A Woman's Strength Can Be Her Weakness

2008-10-09T12:47:00.005-04:00

I hate weak men.

But I love weak men.

Looking back, each ex has allowed me to dominate the relationship. I don't know if this was done on purpose. If they felt that by completely disregarding their opinions, morals, and desires this would convince me to stay.

Rather than agree to my demands, I'd appreciate a man who will challenge me from the beginning and make it known that he stands for something yet is open to change but won't waiver in his beliefs because he wants to ensure a smile on my face.

Women are known for testing men. We ask them certain questions, do offensive things just to see their reaction. If he lets your rude behavior slide, he loses. If he checks your ass on the spot and lets you know to never ever in your existence try him like that again or else, he wins.

But rather than reward the winner, we dismiss him as being controlling, too domineering, and walk away with the loser because at the end of the day we are too afraid to let a man be a man.

We thrive on weakness; yet feign for strength.

So if we want the latter, why the hell do we continue to ride weak dicks? Why do we continue to cook and serve bitchassness yet complain about the after taste? Why do we continue to inhale the bullshit and allow it to infiltrate our lives?

We do it because at the end of a long day complaining about our man's missing balls, we can't handle a real man telling us to shut the hell up and listen. As my classmate jokingly states when I catch an attitude, "Eat the cake AnnieMae!"

We aren't ready to hear NO because we have become accustomed to hearing MAYBE followed by OK.

We devise tests with the hopes that someone will step up to the plate and pass with flying colors. But the moment a man passes we reject his score and walk away.

Yes I agree that the complete bitchassness men leak from their pores is unacceptable. It’s intolerable that before they speak, bullshit formulates in the air.

But come on ladies, if a man said NO to your Gucci purse demands, weekend vacations, sprees to Nordstoms you'd replace him with the biggest loser because you know the biggest loser realizes in order to stay in the game he must open up his wallet, pour out his heart, and hand you the scalpel to remove his balls.

So it goes both ways. Let a man be a man. Allow him to grab his balls and remember that they are HIS not yours. Have his back and stop thinking that being in the background at times means he doesn't notice you or value your opinion.

A real man will always let you shine, he will always let your voice be heard. We've got to stop dominating our men because at the end of the day we want a strong man with two balls who will not concede to every thing. Who will stand up to opposition and us when necessary, but will fuck us good, love us right, then go out and buy us that Gucci.

For my dear friend, who just like me needs a strong man to put us in our place from time to time.

The Freaks Come Out At Night

2008-10-09T11:50:00.003-04:00

Last night my eyes were open to the clear fact that my friend is a man.

He’s always been a man, but for the past 3 years I’ve only been able to see him as a friend, a mentor, the person I can run to with all my fears and not worry that he’ll take advantage of my thoughts and try to fuck me over (or fuck me for that matter).

He is a wonderful person. A wonderful friend.

But the problem is, men hate being placed in the friend category because it removes the idea of sex.

So I placed him in the friend category because, well, he’s a friend. But I slipped up and one day noticed that he was a man. An attractive man. I made the mistake of caring while also wondering what sitting on his face would be like.

I opened Pandora’s box and told him how I feel. I put my pussy out there, not realizing that when pussy is involved he is a MAN.

A man who wants sex, and only sex. A man who can easily separate the emotions attached to friendship from the expected orgasm(s) attached to sex.

The problem is, I cannot separate the fact that he is my friend. I have love for him. I respect him. I admire him.

So how can I turn all of this off and fuck him? How can a friendly conversation at 10pm turn into a revelation of sexual fantasies and invitations to materialize such thoughts?

He told me that I talk a lot of shit but can't back it up. Since I can’t back my ass up on his dick and become open to the idea that us and sex is just sex makes everything I’ve written, everything I say a lie.

But it’s not that simple. I fuck men who are not worth anything to me but an orgasm. They serve only three purposes: to eat, fuck and leave. Once their task is complete they are disposable until I need them again.

They are dicks, balls, and tongues. I do not respect them. I respect the power of their thrust.

I do not admire them. I admire the skill they posses in their tongue.

But my friend, this man, is amazing. And even if he is amazing in bed I can’t allow myself to detach how I feel just to satisfy the new tingle in my clit.

Maybe I can’t separate my adoration for him from the simple concept that sex is nothing but a physical connection. But I’m okay with that, because if I had his mindset he’d become another victim. He’d become a man I fuck and not a friend I love.

So today I choose friendship over fuckship. I choose to have feelings rather than feel nothing but a thick dick thrusting inside of me. And hopefully when I see him today things will remain the same and the man, the freak, that emerged last night will still also be my friend.

Red Rain Go Away, Come Again Another Day

2008-10-08T09:54:00.000-04:00

My friend is visiting this week. I pray she’s ready to leave and catche a red eye Thursday evening because I really need time for myself. Plus I really want to get fucked this weekend.

Fran During the Day, Fiona At Night

2008-10-07T17:29:00.004-04:00

Turns out Shrek is a goon.

I love goons.

Well he’s more like a reformed goon. An educated goon.

He used to call me bust it baby, but now calls me jazzy bell. To him it means a lady in the streets but a freak in the bed.

He wants to put me on the wall, and…

For a quick second, my clit lost its usual twitch and began to tingle.

Good Fucks (and Friends) Come a Dime a Dozen

2008-10-06T23:24:00.004-04:00

I can go years without seeing a previous fuck or potential fuck and once horny (or desperate) enough can strike up a conversation with them about the past and quickly get to the present fact that we should be fucking instead of playing games.

Why is it so easy to revert back to our old habits and old fucks? Yet when I haven’t spoken to a female friend from back in the day when life existed outside of school, its almost unbearable to link up again for lunch and figure out what the hell happen.

I’d rather crawl back to the second most random fuck than call a friend who over time has become a memory. At least I can remember her name unlike some of those dicks I fucked. (j/k)

I flashback to a good fuck and automatically I want to call him and find out when he's free. But I can’t muster up the courage to call my friend and ask her, “Bitch, what the hell happened to you?”

I guess chasing an orgasm is much more effortless than salvaging a friendship.

You's a Hoe...Hoe! I Said That You's a Hoe!

2008-10-06T22:05:00.002-04:00

I had this homegirl in undergrad, and the entire four years of knowing her she was always with a man. There was never a two-month gap where she slept alone or in her own bed.

This used to piss me off and I began to consider her weak. She went from freshman boyfriend to Asian fuck friend to Kappa fuck friend, made him into her boyfriend, left him and met another fuck friend.

She has less than half the number of sexual partners I do, but chick was always fucking.

Women are constantly condemned for sexual exploration while men are praised for the same act. So instead of fucking a different man each week we choose to fuck one or two men and make whichever is the most reasonable into a boyfriend.

Now I realize how judgmental and naive I was. She wasn’t a weak female, chick just had serious hoe ass tendencies and could only control them by entering into random relationships with wack ass men to prevent fucking everyone in sight.

To think about it, a lot of my friends suffer from this condition. Shit, I may have it too. I think a lot of women jump from dick to dick and turn them into relationships to mask their true urge to fuck and buck as men do. And then rely on the explanation that fucking 10 boyfriends is better than fucking 10 random dudes whose names you can’t even remember.

But is it really? We jump into bed and into relationships with men to cover the fact that we want to freely fuck random men. And instead of exercising our fundamental right to fuck without commitment, we fuck and force commitment on ourselves to justify being young and horny.

So rather than be a single, horny, whore we become wifey. All the while waiting for the current relationship to end and the cycle to continue.

So now that I’m single and exceedingly horny, how many men will I fuck until subconsciously and socially forced to commit without being labeled a hoe?