Monday, September 29, 2008

why you wanna go and do that pt. 3

part one
part two

as we made our way to the bedroom, the falsetto notes of a lover's lust made melodic thrusts 'tween the sighs of a tight silence.

"...six on a thursday night 'n u be jonesin' babe
for a brotha to hold u tight 'n keep on goin' ..."

"maxwell?" i asked without expecting an answer as a smirk shaped my lips, "damn, got this down to a science, huh?"
his chuckle was a gutteral sound scratching the air around us.
"uh, i'm serious," i deadpanned in response, feeling like the lone discordant note in an orchestrated song of seduction.

here's the quandry, folk...on the one hand, i do expect my lovers to be relatively experienced when it comes to sex and its variants. however, the skill of the truly experienced lies in the ability to make it all look as though it occurred spontaneously. i can recall a few times when i went to a brotha's house for dinner and next thing you know i was on my back with my legs in the air and the only thing i remember before that moment was being kissed senseless. i couldn't even be mad at it. all i could do was admire the skill necessary for him to get me from arrival to bent over and butt-ass naked before my mind caught on. it was literally like i was just walking along, tripped on a hairy crack, and landed on a dick.

unlike the guy sitting there wearing jeans but no underwear, his hand on the condom in his pocket, a burned cd of 'skrait fuckin' slow jams set to go when the cd player detects a sista's panties are at 90% saturation, and red or blue lights on a dimmer switch triggered by the the sound of her bra being unclasped. it's kinda like when i'm driving on a highway in the backwoods and i see a billion signs on the side of the road warning me about "mabel's sex imporium up ahead" and there's the continual image of this blowsy white chick with a bad bleach and boob job skeeted onto a huge billboard like semen onto an intern's dress. then i gotta see that same shit for the next hundred miles until finally it's at the next exit and all i wanna do is go and burn down the spot so the crabs won't spread.

in other words, seduction should be subtle, not something to beat me over the head until the only reason i've acquiesed is because dude has knocked me unconscious with it.

and come on...'til the cops come knockin? dude might as well have played 'we be strokin' for all the subtlety the song provided.

"'guy who evidently took notes on seduction from the movie 'american pimp' next...should we exit?"

i could actually feel my pussy drying up like a puddle of water beneath a desert sun.

and then we arrived at the intended destination. he opened the door to the bedroom...and i stopped cold.

"'bedroom reminiscent of an infected prostitute's twat' in next two feet"

it was like walking into the folds of an enflamed vagina. every last inch of it was drowning in various blushes of red. the room was dominated by a king-sized platform bed placed dead center like a distended vulva while the carnal glow of a blood-red bulb cascaded down the walls before staining the black satin sheets with its plasmic splash. was like walking into the folds of an enflamed vagina during aunt flo's visit.

i sniffed in covert bursts, sure i would get a wiff of some topical medication meant to get rid of a pesky std or the rotting odor of a discarded tampon.

"so evidently," i stated in a matter-of-fact tone after a full minute of my gaze creeping across every inch of the room from the scarlet curtains to the cardinal carpet, "you dig red."

he winked at me.

and then i hear this whirring noise.

that is NOT what i think it is...

my gaze shot towards the bed as i squinted fiercely just to be sure i wasn't seeing things.

the bed was...


"'infested prostitute twat with vibrating dildo shoved into it'...straight ahead."

"fingaz," i quelled the gasp sitting at the back of my throat, "that is NOT a vibrating bed."

"actually, it's not."

i breathed a sigh of relief.

"it's a cra.ftmatic," he finished proudly.


did he just say...

i began shaking... my nipples hardened into painful points. i crossed my legs to squeeze out the desire that had sprung with sudden intensity in between my thighs.

folk, you don't understand...

this bed is made for fucking. period. now i'm sure the commercials advertise it as an adjustable bed perfect for old folk with bad backs looking to get a good sleep. meanwhile, it's quite obvious this bed should be marketed to the folk with bad backs who like exotic sexual positions but not the back strain that goes with them (that would be me). do you realize how many positions can be accomplished with this contraption?!?

as far as i'm concerned, a cra.ftmatic bed should be just as essential to sexual activity as condoms.

my decision to bounce was no longer so easy to make.

let's run down the list of pros and cons, shall we?

his game was the fred flinstone feet of finesse.
that bedroom had me thinking about my time of the month.

his genes had delivered a pretty sizable package to the front of his pants and i was ready to sign for it.
his was the bed i'd been dreaming of fucking on for at least a decade.

a split decision...shit.

i ran my hand reverently over the mattress, my mind still muddled as to what i should do. however, i knew it was important to play down my excitement until the votes had been tallied.

"nice bed," i muttered, straining to keep the awe out of my voice, "where'd you get this? it must have cost a fortune!"

there was a slight pause before he spoke.

"um," he began, hesitance in his stance, "i inherited it from my gran-gran after she died."

i snatched my hand from the bed like the sheets were on fire.

"wait a minute," i said, "is this the gran-gran you told me passed away at home?"

he nodded.

"so you're saying..."

"yes," he interrupted, the words dropping from his lips like timed bombs, "she died on this bed."




there simply aren't enough insects/amphibians to list how much silence was encompassed in the subsequent moments as i digested that bit of news. saying i was speechless would have been the understatement of the century. i was feeling like the infant who had yet to discover the existence of words. my mind was blank. all i could do was stare at him in horror with my mouth slightly ajar.

"y-your g-gran-gran...," i gulped the bile down, the words falling like corpses into a grave silence. he nodded in slow motion, as if by doing so my mind would be able to better understand the implications.

my glance ran from his face to the bed and back again. there was a new addition to the 'con' list and it was pretty huge. i mean, i have never to my knowledge fucked on a bed where someone else had died. frankly, i had a few questions for fingaz:

1. how in da hell could he sleep on the bed, let alone FUCK on the bed his gran-gran died on?!?
2. wait...that's about it.

so i asked straight up, cuz i thought it was the equivalent of boinking on top of a corpse.

"dude," i whispered with a shiver, "how could you..."

"fuck on gran-gran's bed?" he finished for me when it was obvious i was having difficulty stitching the inquiry to my lips.



"well," he began with a sigh, "i try not to think about it. i just remember gran-gran when she was well, not when she was sick."

shiiiiit. speak for yourself, buddy.

if there was such a thing as a clit retreating like a turtle into its shell, i'm thinking that's what my clit did. there was just no getting around the fact that he expected me to fuck on top of a grave. fuck all the 'pros'. somebody had died on that bed and i wasn't 'bout to get on it. i could get the death cooties or something.



i turned to leave.

"i'm sorry, but i can't do it." i said as i practically ran to the living room. i was stuffing my feet into my sandals and grabbing for my keys at the same time. i wasn't even gonna say goodbye. shit. this mothafucka was crazy! he reached for me just as i opened the door.

"WAIT!" he burst, his fingers wrapped around my hand on the doorknob, "you can't leave like this."

"yes da hell i can!" i responded, a shiver splintering my spine.

and then this fool pulled me back to him, nestling his dick right in between my butt cheeks as he wrapped his lips around the skin on the side of my neck. he began nibbling with sensual intent. i squeezed my eyes shut, my toes curling as i felt the moist pressure of his mouth...and then his tongue...SHIT. his dick lengthened until it felt like a small tree against my back.


"let's make happy memories on that bed," he whispered into my ear as his teeth tugged on my earlobe gently. i could feel myself getting wet again, my clit throbbing terribly. i sighed with resignation.

damnit, i was about to fuck this cat on a deathbed.

"sista too horny to know better than to get the fuck out...right here..."

part four will come eventually...LOL

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

the truth about cats dating dogs

you two have been talking on the phone religiously for about a week now after meeting online and now the first date is set. you're a bit nervous because you really like this guy, even though you have a few reservations about him you choose not to acknowledge because he's cute according to the pictures you've seen of him. plus, he's been so attentive (well, as attentive as a guy on the phone can be). after all, he texts you a few times a day to find out what you're doing right before he calls. that means he cares what you're doing, right? so what if during many of the conversations he confuses cynicism with callousness. that means he's got an 'edge', and that goes ever so nicely with his high level of intelligence. so what if his curiosity about you doesn't extend much past asking questions he knows will make him sound as if he cares, i.e. "how was your day" or "what you doing"? if he wants to know more about you, he'll ask eventually, right? (one guy actually told me that recently when i asked him if he had any questions for me. needless to say, he didn't make the cut).

see, these are the kinds of things folk ignore, yet they're the most glaring evidence when it comes down to figuring out why first dates don't extend into second dates or relationships end early. dating again has provided its share of rejection as well as rejuvenation for me. the nikki from about fifteen years ago would have been sitting by the phone after the first horrible date, eagerly waiting for mr. bonehead to call. the nikki of today sees the signs way ahead of time and while she's still a bit slow with acknowledging incompatibility, it's only cuz shit...she's ready to fuck already...

so after some time in the field, i've come across some self-evident truths that need to be recognized. they're put in the easy to decipher "if...then" scenarios...

1. if the guy likes to make generalizations about the entire population of the human race, then he's probably a close-minded asshole. my most recent first (and last) date began quite dubiously with the following exchange:

him: people are stupid.
me to myself: i really hate when folk say shit like that...
me to him: how so?
him: people don't want the truth. they say they want the truth, but they can't handle the truth.
me to myself: i really like that scene when the judge was like "and the witness will address this court as Judge or Your Honor. i'm quite certain i've earned it." my panties were a lil wet after that...
me to him: what do you mean by that, colonel jessup?

he was not amused.

the point is, i still ended up making out with this guy, even though one of the first things he said to me on the first (and last) date had me thinking he wasn't 'the guy'. why? um, haven't you been reading? NIKKI IS READY TO FUCK.

wait...the OTHER point is that dude:

a. made a sweeping generalization and called everybody stupid.
b. he pulled out that 'truth' shit, which always irks me. when i eventually asked him what was the truth according to him, he gave me the blank stare.

meanwhile, the close-minded asshole STILL got to taste the nikki lips. i have simply GOT to be more discriminating...

2. if he says he's 'selective' when it comes to women, then it's best to assume he's talking about the women he selects to be his girlfriend/wifey, not the women he selects to fuck. col. jessup told me he had high standards when it came to choosing his women, i guess with the delusion that i would somehow feel better about myself because he had chosen me to date. when the petting got to the stage where the question of sex came into play, he was like "my animal instinct is taking over."

me to myself: what are you, a transformer?
me to him: i'm attracted to you, too. however, you know i don't do casual sex. you told me you were selective.
him: i am, but sometimes my animal instinct just takes over.

me: aiight, bumblebee.

again, he was not amused.

the thing is, i should have seen that one coming because of the conversation we'd had about a day prior to the date:

me: you know, some women out there are naive enough to believe that when a guy invites her to his house at night, he's not gonna rape her if she says no to sex. they shouldn't be punished for being naive.
him: but the odds are he's gonna try her if she's there. she shouldn't be over there. it's almost like she's asking for it if she is.
me: so you're saying men don't have the wherewithall to control themselves? that's utter bullshit. if that's the case, i should never be alone with a guy ever cuz i might get raped.
him: if she doesn't want him trying to fuck her, she doesn't need to be at his house alone with him.
me: so folk can't kiss cuz kissing is automatic foreplay to fucking.
him: i'm saying the odds are against her not getting fucked.

there are like fifty billion clues right there in that one exchange, yet i still found myself at his house on my back with my bra unfastened.

speaking of which...

3. if he was the one who unfastened your bra yet doesn't at least offer to help you refasten it, then you're dealing with a selfish and/or non-attentive lover who will not listen to you when you say "move it a lil over there" and/or will fall asleep as soon as he's got his, whether you get yours or not. this one simply cannot be overlooked. it's the equivalent of a guy telling you he just shaved off all his pubic hair to get rid of the crabs. act like you know and respond accordingly (which is the equivalent of getting the fuck OUT of there). as i stood in col. jessup's bathroom straightening my bra, i berated myself for allowing it to get that far when the misgivings had pricked my skin until my attraction for him had bled out.

4. if, after the date and make out session, he says "i'll call you." then it's a 99.9% chance he's not gonna call. come on, you know what's up. if a guy is still interested, he'll be like "call me when you get home." shit, he might even call you as soon as you leave from in front of him. however, when he says "i'll call you" what he's really saying is "don't hold your breath." that's what col. jessup said to me and i knew that was the last time i'd be seeing him. what's so funny is that i actually felt bad he rejected me, despite the fact there had been numerous moments throughout our association where i was practically smacked in the mouth with our incompatibility. in fact, i was sure i wouldn't want him to call me. however, i wanted to be the one to reject him, not vice versa.

which reminds me...

5. if you're thinking during the phone/online conversations that you're not a good match, then don't let his physical attractiveness (or your horniness) cloud the issue by meeting him in person. i don't think this is applicable to all situations, but there are times when what a sista needs to do is walk away. phone conversations happen for a reason. there is a high level of information exchanged...desires, beliefs, ideas...all crammed into conversations for the purpose of either confirming or denying compatibility. don't dismiss that info and bank everything on the actual meeting just cuz he's cute. when you hear that voice in your head say "well, that's not cool but i can live with it i think..." or "i'm gonna change his mind about that..." then you already working from a deficit. just know you won't be able to live with it and you won't be able to change his mind. if you meet in person and the physical attraction is strong, you'll have even more incentive for getting with a guy you know isn't right for you. physical attraction doesn't equal compatibility.

as i lay in my bed at the end of that night, having already deleted col. jessups number from my phone, my ego stumbled through the many potholes of my poor decision-making that day, leaving it both chagrined and bruised.

but perhaps a bit wiser.

and me a whole lot hornier.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

reclamation of september 11 for its original purpose...

dear lil bro,

loving you hasn't always been easy. being thirteen months apart in age didn't automatically make us close as kids.when you first hit the scene, all i knew was i was no longer gonna be the center of attention and i was having none of it. i can admit to this now that we're adults...yeah, that was me hiding your diapers in the trash. i loved to watch you cry out in discomfort cuz you were waiting for someone to change you. it made my lil toddler heart leap with joy. plus it had the double benefit of making you stink so much, no one would want to hold you. yes, i was a nefarious lil thing even at the age of two.

you have to admit it though, you deserved it. you were just too damn cute for your own good. i used to hate looking at you because i had to begrudgedly admit you were one of the cutest kids on the block (behind me of course). you had that smooth dark chocolate skin and those big ole baby cheeks that made you look like you were always blowing bubbles. i used to look into those soulful brown eyes of yours and think to myself "i really wish i could kill you and get away with it..."

yeah, you were adorable and i couldn't STAND yo ass.

well, let me rephrase that...i didn't really like you, but for some reason i had a really big issue with other people teasing you. remember when you were in first grade and i had to kick that dude ricky's ass because he called you midget cuz you were so short? never mind the fact that i laughed when he said it (i thought everything that boy said was funny). when i saw you burst into tears though, i think i blacked out or something cuz next thing i know, i'm standing over ricky's sprawled ass on the grass and he's got a busted lip with blood all on his shirt. i'd had a crush on ricky, too. you were ALREADY cock-blocking a sista.

and it was sooooo your fault i got those thirteen stitches in my leg at seven. i know it was my idea to put the hamster cage in the bathroom so he could watch us take a bath. however, i'm pretty sure i wasn't the one who suggested leaping over said cage into the bathtub. you better be glad i didn't get a spanking for that. that's the only thing that saved you from feeling some serious big sister wrath.

remember when i was molested and you blamed me for it? yeah...not cool. however, you were only six when it happened so it's not like you knew any better. unfortunately, it took me a number of years before i got over the guilt from that and it took even longer for me to trust you with my spirit again.

thank you for apologizing for it when you got older.

then there was the time we were running down that really steep hill and i tripped over a rock and fell and cut my hand really deeply. i was all dusty and crying and bleeding...and you were laughing your ass off. you told me you were laughing at spi.derman...i still don't believe yo ass.
i used to hate/love how you'd fall in love with a line from a movie and then commence to repeating that sucka for at least the following six months. i hated it when it was "braxton...get out the car...go home..."(r.i.p. richard and robert) and loved it when it was "HOLY MOLY! IT'S THE KILLER!" (r.i.p. scatman) or "redrum...redrum...redum...redRUM...REDRUM! REDRUM!" (you know that movie STILL scares the shit outta me).

no, it was not a good look when you kicked me in the head and knocked me unconscious. mom and dad took you out of karate class after that. i really enjoyed being able to truly terrorize your ass for the next eight years without any fear of repercussions from you after the 'rents said you couldn't hit me no matter the circumstances. that was like being able to commit all kinds of crimes and having a 'get out of jail free' card to bail me out every time. sweeeeeeet.

your favorite phrase to me when we were growing up was "IMMA TELL MOMMA!" and yo ass would tell, too. meanwhile, you were right there with me doing the dirt, but i was the one who got in trouble cuz i lured you into doing the dirt with me. i felt, even at that age, that i was being treated mightily unfair. come on, you should have gotten the strap for being so fucking gullible! folk shouldn't be rewarded for being sheep led off the cliff.

i still get hot when i think about that time you told mom i was up the street kissing marcus. damn, a thirteen-year old got NEEDS. marcus was the love of my life that week and it was soooo not a good look when mom came and snatched my fast ass out of his driveway. it took me WEEKS to live that one down at school.

then again, turned out marcus couldn't kiss worth a shit, so i guess you helped me out. good lookin', kid.

you were good for looking out when i was still the young girl growing into her body. i remember you giving the mean mug to all those dirty old men and filthy young men who were eyeing me as i made my way down the street. you, still about a foot and a half shorter than me, barking like an angry lil puppy and snapping at their feet if they dared look at me like 'that'. you were such a fearless little thing and so very protective of me.

i know you didn't really like it when i beat down those two guys who were messing with you on the basketball court when you were eleven, but surely you didn't expect me to sit back and let them push you around, right? i mean, i was all for knocking you around every now and again just to keep shit honest, but that's a right reserved to big sisters! meanwhile, i still can't believe i took them both out, but you started whimpering and it was a wrap. next thing you know, i'm stomping them both in the ground like dust. luckily i didn't have a crush on either one of those ugly mofos.

and then there was the christmas of my fourteenth year i wasn't supposed to get not one gift because i had gone behind mom's back to be in the class play after i'd been caught forging my report card. i was sooo not looking forward to that morning and the propect of finding nothing for me under the tree. i remember waking up that morning and finding the teddy bear you bought me with your own money, just so i would have one gift on christmas. it was indeed the only gift i got that christmas and it is the most treasured gift i've ever received. i will be buried with that bear right next to me, u hear me? BURIED WITH THAT BEAR.

that following summer you shot up five inches and surpassed me in height had to be the darkest summer of my entire LIFE. i remember looking down and no longer seeing your face...then the slow and painful climb of my eyes up your suddenly taller form. that smirk on your face made me wanna punch you right in the mouf. my heart sank as i realized my days of pushing you around were officially over. i can still hear you and mom laughing at me cuz i was crying at the fact you were taller than me.

when you told me you were following me to famu, i was both ecstatic and full of dread. you are NOT an easy person to live with and that year we lived together was no exception. i have never lived with a higher maintenance man in my ENTIRE LIFE. when you called mom to whine cuz i wasn't cooking for you, i thought you were a punk. there was plenty of ramen noodles and pinto beans and tuna in the cupboard. you should have stopped that whining shit and made you some ramen pinto tuna casserole or just drink alot of water. that's what i did. you did the next best thing you a girlfriend stupid enough to cook for yo ass instead.

no, i totally didn't appreciate your cock-blocking tendencies re-surfacing then, either. wally and i had been dating for a year before you got there, so i wasn't sleeping around. there was absolutely NO need for you to confront him and tell him he didn't need to be sleeping with me and that he snored too loudly. then you had to tell mom, who told dad, who suddenly wanted to drive down to beat wally's ass. i was SO GLAD when you moved out.

when you graduated from college, it was like i was walking across that stage with you. i thought about all the men in our family before you who hadn't gotten their degrees and all the boys after you who then knew a college education was obtainable because of you. i know for a fact you are the reason most of our younger male cousins have gone off to college. you are the bridge between dreams and reality. all of our family alive, dead, and yet to be born, thank you for that.

as adults we have cultivated our relationship to where now it is the strongest bond i experience in my life. you are my confidant, my cheerleader, my moral compass, my spiritual guide. you love me unconditionally and listen to me faithfully and without judgement. let's not get it still get on my nerves every now and again. sometimes i shake my head at you cuz ain't nothing else i can do.

meanwhile, if you ever doubted it, here's the are the person in the world i would die for happily and without reservation of any kind. my love for you shows me i have the capacity to love unreservedly and selflessly and constantly. your love for me shows me i am deserving of all the things i dream of.

you're my buddy, my ace, my lil bro.

i treasure you.

happy birthday, 'swad.

Monday, September 08, 2008

stones and glass houses

that mothafucka is PATHETIC.

i was introduced to this guy while watching the documentary love me, love my dolls on the b.bc ame.rica channel last night. for the first five minutes, my mouth was completely agape while my stomach turned just a bit. it was difficult for me to wrap my mind around the image of a guy putting makeup on a doll's face, brushing its hair (while referring to 'it' as 'her') and saying things like "she's laying in bed asleep...we had a really satisfying morning session you know..." while the narrator says "he had to exchange her 'awake' face for her 'sleeping' face". i was real quick to label each and every guy as a pathetic, anti-social loser who was probably doing us women a favor by shoving his penis into artificial pussy. i mean, would YOU want a guy like that fertilizing your eggs?

but then, isn't it a relief to see someone you perceive as being 'worse off' than you are? the guy with no feet looks at the cat with no legs and thinks to himself * least i've got my legs!*

on the one hand, that's definitely the positive way to look at things. the focus shouldn't be on what one doesn't have, but what one has, right?

however, there are times when that kind of thinking can make one positively obnoxious. many of us (me included) sometimes fall into the pattern of seeing other folk handle their dilemmas in a way we judge to be 'pathetic' or 'desperate'. i mean, my situation is bad, but it ain't THAT bad, right? shit, i might be a divorced and relatively embittered chick with no trust in many of the males around her and doubting her worth, but surely i'm not as bad as the guy sticking his dick in a chick with no clit who can't twitch in response, right?

meanwhile, the advantage of being one of the guys in the documentary is the fact that the challenges are tangible. folk know exactly what they get if/when they get with these dudes. however, there is a portion of the remaining population of folk who sleep with, nuture, and hold on tightly to, the spirit sucking companions from past relationships.

instead of seeing the doll sitting in the chair and knowing she's got some work ahead of her, many of us get the guy with issues we need an enigma machine in order to decipher the code in his behavior..."okay, so he didn't call when he said he would. does that mean he's trying to end it without saying anything or is he just really busy?...that's just what eric did to me, right before i found out he was cheating on me!"

or the sista a cat can't figure out without a book of translations..."she told me nothing was wrong with her yet i can feel her rolling her eyes at me when my back is turned so now i gotta walk on egg shells all night cuz i know something is wrong but she acting like it ain't...that's the same shit nicole used to do..."

shit, at least with the doll i know who the enemy is.

as i think back on the guy who was massaging his doll's feet and how i derisively laughed at his barren task, i am reminded of all the times i've fruitlessly fondled foolish fantasies, fully expecting an erection of perfection to appear before me.

how different are we really?

another one said it was just easier to hold onto his doll girlfriend because he wouldn't be lied to or cheated on or have to work at feeling comfortable.

probably just as easy as it's been for me to hold onto the anger and resentment fueled from previous relationships where i was lied to, cheated on, and never found emotional comfort.

one of the guys said he was too ugly to get the kind of woman he wants. his skin was terrible, his teeth were jacked up, and his looks were just totally unappealing (his words, not mine). so in his mind, it made sense to take his destiny in his own hands and find him something that would provide satisfaction in his otherwise unsatisfactory existence.

how many times have i said to myself i wasn't smart enough or beautiful enough or good enough for happiness? shit, even if i didn't say it, my actions were telling on me cuz i would do things like remain in emotionally unfulfilling relationships or unhappy situations because i believed i wasn't 'enough' of whatever i needed to be in order to actively go after my dreams or be in something better. i found satisfaction in my inaction. as long as i wasn't dreaming, i wasn't responsible for changing anything.

being back on the dating scene has provided almost daily skirmishes with the words meant to pummel at my esteem. rejection has a way of making one second-guess her appeal, even when it was obvious the brotha was not 'the one'. i've fallen into the old habit of wondering what it was missing from my attributes instead of seeing it as just the wrong match. i've actually said to myself recently that it must be something about me that was making him act that way towards me. can you believe that shit?

i was straight up trying on his issues like i was ready to purchase those mofos...checking myself from various angles of lonliness, bargaining the price of my pride for a chance to choke myself within the fraying cloak of his insufficient affection.

funny how his issues were tailored to fit me, so long as i was still wearing my own...

anyway, so further into the documentary is one guy who has eight dolls and the potential for a living, breathing girlfriend (lbg). eventually he would introduce lbg to his dolls. lbg was creeped out, but she said she had no problem with it, so long as he didn't desire sex with the dolls over sex with her.

a week later, she broke up with him.

i think on the times i've introduced the man in my life to my issues like they were valued relatives i wanted him to embrace...then got mad when he was like "um, nah." i mean, how dare he not want me and my distrust of men and intimacy issues!!!

then i think on the times when i've rejected a guy because he wasn't as flawless as he appeared to be from afar. i got wind of his less than positive attitude or emotional distance and he was removed from the rotation without further notice before i even found out why or for that matter, realized that he had other qualities which made the emotional investment in him worth the effort.

another guy in the documentary stated his dolls were used as a 'stop-gap' of sorts...the in-between pussy found while one in search of a more meaningful relationship with an 'organic female' (i am not making that phrase up...). he said it took the desperation out of the search cuz he was having sex, so he could look for a girl for something other than sex. in other words, the doll was his cut buddy.

now who can't identify with THAT?

i've had 'stop gap' relationships where i dealt with guys cuz i didn't want to be alone, even though i knew they weren't gonna be 'the one', no matter how long they were around. i went out on dates, kissed them, fucked them, and the whole time i was thinking to myself "if only someone better would come along so i can stop fucking with this guy..." sure, it takes the desperation out of the search, but how ready could a sista possibly be for 'the one' when she still got the smell of 'the other one's semen on her breath?

in the light of a gray morning made bleary from doubt's reign, i was humbled by the parallels found in the existences of a bunch of 'silicone girlfriend fucking' guys to that of a celibate sista dating in the atl.

yet another reminder that one should never point at another with the silent relief that "at least i'm not THAT cat..."

the quest for happiness is a universal one and i can't belittle someone else just cuz i don't get down with the path they're taking to get there.

cuz i damn sure respect that journey.