Something About Fran

I finally got fucked on my full-size mattress. 

His dick was good.

His jawsome was awesome.

And he likes to cuddle afterwards.

Oh yea, dude accidentally came in my hair.  

I Wanna Put You To Bed

I’ve owned my full size mattress for two years, and have never had sex on it.

The ex hated my bed, said it was too firm.  So nights were spent in his soft king size bed.  Too bad you can’t select an orgasm when you select your sleep number.

So aside from wanting to get fucked on the wall, I may need to start off small and get fucked on my bed.

How Real Is Your Shit?

I only own two real designer purses.  Each gift was purchased in the store, accompanied with a certificate of authenticy.

On the other hand, I have personally purchased several questionable designer purses from a Vietnamese woman on Canal Street.  Nothing verifies their authenticy.  But an oversized Gucci for $80 beats a Berkin at $15K.

Some women put too much emphasis on authenticy.  Who the hell cares if a chick rocks a fake Loius.  Instead of labeling her as a trifling, perpetuating bitch attempt to consider that she may enjoy designer looks but cringes at the price of a purse worth more than a semester of school.

The same chicks rocking authentic $3K Chanel purses are still rolling with counterfeit, trifling ass men.  Your purse and its certificate do not outshine the fact that your man is wack as hell.  Fraudulent as fuck.  Treats you like shit.  And is banging three other broads on the side.  And one of them is rocking that “NewNew’” Canal shit and your man loves it.

So babygirl, trust and believe your shit ain’t no more authentic than mine.  And to make matters worse, I saved a couple of G’s while managing to slide my number to your man while you were busy strolling through Saks looking for a purple Chloe purse.

Open your eyes and stop focusing on being able to recognize a real Fendi purse and become trained in the art of recognizing a real man.

Stop concerning yourself with what’s hanging off the arm of the next chick and pay close attention to the arm you hang unto and call the real thing.

This Ain't No Love Thing, We Just Kickin' It

I waited almost a year to fuck Deondre, and I’m glad I did.  I had to make sure that I could interpret the rush of endorphins to my head as being nothing more than physical pleasure.

I am extremely aware of the fact that having sex with a man doesn’t mean anything more than you had sex with that man.

When I realized that I liked Deondre and wanted more than sex, I knew sex was not an option.  I actually considered leaving my boyfriend to date him but knew that shit only worked in the movies.  So I decided to stay with the ex and made a good effort at not imagining I was fucking Deondre while riding the ex’s dick. 

I cut Deondre out of my life.  The visits to his office ended.  Sushi for lunch was replaced with turkey sandwiches the ex prepared.  Our late night conversations dwindled into late night texts, which came to a halt when the ex went sneaking through my phone and read that, “I miss it”.

He knew what IT was.  I knew what IT was.  But we both ignored it and went to sleep.

A platonic relationship between Deondre and I bloomed in the spring semester.  He had a new girlfriend, wanted to marry her, and I was faking happy (and multiple orgasms) with the ex.  Life was perfect. 

I knew I was ready to fuck him when he told me that he planned on extending their engagement date, and I felt nothing.  I wasn’t happy.  I didn’t visualize him getting a ring sized for me instead of her.

All I saw was the imprint of his dick in those royal blue balling shorts he loves to wear.

So I told him I wanted to fuck him.  He was shocked but nonetheless interested.

The problem a lot of women have is that they overanalyze sex.  Fuck being a bag lady and bringing your past drama into a new relationship.  Women need to stop lugging in the idea that after sex a man will want more and there will be more into the bedroom.

Usually, when a woman sleeps with a man for the first time she begins to suffer from thoughts of grandeur: “What does this mean?” “What does this make us?”  “Where will this go?”  Hoping that the answers will lead to an emotionally healthy stable relationship.

Get up, get dressed and accept that the answers are: We had sex.  Fuck buddies.  Hopefully unto the floor with you on your knees and me fucking you from behind.

On the other side of the bed, the man is thinking, “Damn, that shit was good”.  He is not considering you as his next girlfriend or if he should cancel his fuck appointments for the upcoming week and deem you his exclusive fuck.

Sex is sex.  It is not the beginning of a monogamous relationship.  Instead it may be the last time you see him.

He is not your next boyfriend, he is the next sexual partner added to your list. 

He is not your man; you are not his boo.

He is a tongue, dick, and balls. 

You are not a pretty face; you are a pussy.  A wet and willing pussy.  And when you leave there will be another one awaiting his thrust.

And if you chose to attach your heart to your clit and allow him to eat and devour both then you are at fault, not him. 

We become enraged when men try us by leaving out the fact that in their world oral sex implies intercourse.  But can you imagine how a man feels when the conditions of monogamy and a long-term relationship are not brought to the table during negotiations.

When they are finally revealed after multiple orgasms.

They freak!  They still fuck us, but they freak.

I just wish some women (including myself) would stop playing the victim, stop getting played, and learn the rules of the game:

Sex is sex.  Cum does not belong on your glasses.  Raw dawg is a never.  And apparently oral sex does imply intercourse.

What A Gwan?

There's this guy that apparently has attended my school for a few years, yet I never noticed his fine ass until last week.

It's amazing how being played can open your eyes to new potentials.

So dude is like really cute.

He's tall.  Nice complexion.  Gorgeous smile.  Not too slim.  Well-groomed facial hair.  Decent dress.

Only problem is he does this weird accent thing.

He stopped me in the library last week.

My clit began to tingle.  I was a little too excited that he knew my name.

I tried to seem intrigued by his conversation but was dishelved by a fake Jamaican accent.  I told him that I was American hoping this would bring him back and stop "pretty gal" from being inserted at the beginning of each sentence.

I was hoping it was a one-time thing but today he had a phony French accent.

When I asked him what was up, dude told me he was a scitzo.

I am completely turned off by all this personality confusion but I'd still fuck him if I had the chance.

I'd fuck him.  The Jamaican.  I'd pass on the French.  The Latino could definitely eat my pussy.  But the Haitian sensation would get the deuces!

I Am Not Princess Fiona!

This plump man in my program is trying extremely hard to get up in my pussy.

He alleges that at the last social event I was soliciting my pussy, and he being too kind of a gentleman to turn me down, accepted on the spot.

The only problem is no one from that evening but his intoxicated ass can attest to this "Fuck me tonight" offer

Now I've been known to become an aggressive flirt while drinking, but I only flirt with men who when I'm sober would make my clit tingle.

This little man makes my clit twitch.  Twitch in a mode of urgency to get the fuck out of his eyesight.

He is so far from my fucking type.  And he's entirely too wack and little to even eat my pussy.

He definitely needs to commit suicide.

So when he reminded me of that night, I was flooded with the image of fucking his Pillsbury doughboy dick.  All I could do was laugh in his face.  It was more of an evil cackle followed by a snort.

You know how some men just appear to be slanging that King-Kong make you wanna squirm in the middle of class Mandingo dick?

Well this dude is NOT!  This stocky midget of a man looks like he is slinging nothing but HOT Krispy Kreme donuts.

So I politely informed him that I would never in a wet dream or while masturbating want to fuck him.

Obviously I wasn't frank enough because dude is still trying me.  He compliments me everyday and today was extremely extra.

He told me that I looked exceptionally beautiful and would give me anything in the world I wanted.

I told Shrek that what I want in this world is for a man twice his height with muscles and a big dick to fuck me dry and then commence to eat my pussy and make me scream in delight.

He replied that I shouldn't doubt his size and he recently got a subscription to LA Fitness.

Tomorrow I'm going to bring papa smurf a package of plastic knives.

How Many Dicks are In My Pussy?

This dude is keeping mad tabs on my plight to catch an orgasm.

He is entirely way too invested in my sex life.

He always manages to fill my BBM with the 5W's:

Where is Deondre's girlfriend gonna be when he fucks you?

What you plan on doing when Deondre comes over tonight?

Why you ain't fucked Deondre yet?

When you gone fuck Deondre?

Who else you plan on fucking other than Deondre?

One day I lost it and sent him a voice note demanding he chill out on the interrogatories.

But he just didn't get it.

I had to relay my frustration to his bust it baby. I told her that if dude was not in my pussy, then stop being in it.

I'm sure he remains puzzled to this day on what that means.

It means if you ain’t fucking me, trying to fuck me, or thinking about fucking me then by all means get your nose, mouth, and tongue out of my pussy and focus on the one you're supposed to be in.

How Much Is Too Much?

Deondre just might be a sociopath.

Dude straight flipped the script on me a few hours ago.

Provided below is a snippet of our conversation.  Pay close attention to his utter bullshit.

Deondre: We can meet for dinner but I'm not buying. I have an investor meeting that finishes at 830 we can meet after.

Me: Wow that's fucked up. What the hell did I do to you?

Deondre: What's messed up?

Me: You not buying.

3 hours later...

Me: Why don't you just come over here so we can talk.

Deondre: No. We can just scratch it all. I don't want some1 who's gonna say its fucked up bc I don't buy them dinner. As if I havent done that plenty times in the past. Is it abt us talking and seeingwhere each other is at or is it abt dinner? I don't want a woman who's like that.

Me: D I don't have my finaid so I can't afford dinner. If I could it wouldn't be a problem. I wanna see you and talk and wk something out.

Deondre: O ok. Well nxt time say that and please don't make me feel like I'm being used and supposed to do it. I want to get to know YOU.

This nigga is straight playing mind games, and to make it worse he thinks I have no clue what's really good.

Faye advises I leave his fuck ass alone, but I'm not ready.

After all this, I deserve an orgasm.  No fuck that shit, I deserve multiple orgasms!

This dude is officially about that fuck shit, and I swear I'll physically flip on his ass if his dick is wack.

Going Dutch

Deondre still wants to do dinner.

But he's not buying.

WTF!

Yes, You Got Caught

***For those mentioned in this entry, do not take offense to the random truths discussed. You know if I have a problem with you, it is handled face to face and not via internet***

While at yesterday's ceremony, two of my friends were IM-ing each other about Deondre and I.

My homegirl who came with me was actually using my Berry and forgot to delete the conversation.

They were going back and forth about me forgiving Deondre too quickly.

I was a little thrown off by this comment considering I don't remember sending a news flash or even posting a blog entry that all has been forgiven and forgotten.

Just because I allowed him to hold my hand so he could fantasize about covering my red glasses with sticky white goo, does not mean I have forgiven him.

Just because I put aside my beef with him and came to his ceremony does not mean I have forgotten that he played me last week.

Its funny how females talk about you or advise you on how to live. How you should let that nigga go, or move on and get another dude to fuck.

Or that your man is a dawg and to leave him, or remain patient for Mr. Right.

When they spew advice they do not even use themselves. The same women who preach about being strong-willed and not falling for a nigga's BS are the same ones that let a man treat them like shit and continue to fuck him.

The same ones who after every relationship, jump from their current dick and ride another because they fear being alone each night.

The same ones who have no idea how to just listen, shut the fuck up, and not respond when you are venting about things in your life.

So stop giving advice that you would reject yourself. Realize that when people are ready to move on they will, and your job as a "true friend" is to be there, remain there, and not doubt or talk shit about that person no matter how much you may disagree with their actions.

We all have weaknesses, but my weakness does not make me a weak woman.

So please get over yourself, step down from your pedestal and realize that you too are just as fucked up as me!