there was a time when i simply couldn't get enough of my dildo. i masturbated twice a day everyday and was aiight with it cuz i was single and had no prospective dick on the horizon. eventually though, i had to take a step back and check my behavior. turns out i was addicted to the damn dildo.
so in an attempt to help out sistas everywhere who might find themselves in a similar situation, i've devised a list of symptoms for the 'dildo addict'. hopefully you don't see yourself in any of these things as i did. if you do, i'll pray for your salvation. LOL
1. you've named your dildo.
now this isn't to say that you shouldn't name it. it's only a problem when you take longer than five minutes to name it, like you actually put more effort into naming it than you would in naming your firstborn. i came up with the name 'stroker ace' after ten minutes of trying to find a name that was both witty and apt. i wanted the name to sound melodious when i screamed it at the height of my orgasm, which brings me to the second symptom of 'dildo addiction'...
2. you call out its name at any time during your masturbation session.
uh, it's an inanimate object. it's the equivalent of yelling out 'sofa' after finding bliss within its cushions or exclaiming 'car' after it saved you a couple of bucks on gas. if you can't get a response from it, then you don't need to be yelling out its name. when i did it the first time, i had to giggle at myself for doing such a ridiculous thing. after i did it again, i had to wonder if i should be institutionalized.
3. you dream about it at night.
i'm not just talking about dreaming about it laying on your nightstand. i mean having sex dreams about it and waking up with bedsheets drenched in your cum. i mean dreaming of marrying it and having little mini dildos to be sold off later at an adult toy store and actually mourning the loss of your 'children' as they're being sold into sex slavery. if you've dreamed of being impregnated by your dildo, it's definitely time to put that sucka on the shelf for a while.
4. you have to fantasize about it in order to get horny enough to orgasm...during sex with an actual human being.
sure it's the perfect lover in alot of respects. i mean, except for the low whirring noise of the vibrating mechanism, it's relatively silent. it won't be giving you grief a week later when you haven't called it, won't be blowing up your cell phone with stupid inquries about where you are and who you're with. it won't cheat on you and it doesn't mind being under your complete control. all that said, it's still only a penis shaped instrument made of rubber. it's rather limited in what it can do, and there are times when you don't want to have to use your arm to get off. that's where live dick comes in. of course there are risks. live dick could be carrying an std, but that's what condoms are for. live dick could be attached to a cat who will end up bugging the living shit out of you about when you two can get together again. live dick might even be small dick, which comes with its own set of problems. either way, live dick can stroke you deeply and thoroughly and hit you at angles your dildo just can't. oh, and live dick is attached to a body you can hold close and lips you can kiss to your hearts content. those attributes make it the naturally superior choice between the two. if you can't see that, put the dildo down. NOW.
5. you fiend for it when you're away so you keep it in your bag at all times.
i was so nose open over 'stroker ace', i was forced to carry it everywhere with me cuz it seemed like my clit was forever calling out for it. i almost had to slap the bitch silly when she whined to me about how lonely she was and how she just wanted it to stroke her for a second, until she didn't feel lonely anymore. her voice was in my ears, pleading for me to bring stroker to work with me. i ultimately relented, but i wasn't happy about it. one time i actually had to leave a meeting because the pull was so strong. i grabbed stroker and headed for my car, where i had at it for about five minutes. mind you, i was amazingly relaxed afterwards, but i'm sure somebody smelled the scent of sex on my skirt...
6. you treat it like a human being.
when 'it' turns into 'he', that's the beginning of the end. when you envision introducing 'him' to your friends and then watching them grow green with envy after viewing 'his' obvious perfection, then you're close to the end. when you start contemplating ways of inviting 'him' over to your parents' house to meet mom and pops, the end is right before you. anything else like buying 'him' clothes, telling 'him' you'll pay his bills, and/or cooking 'him' what you perceive to be his favorite dish means you've jumped off the deep end. let's not even BEGIN to address what's wrong with you if you start TALKING to 'him'. your sanity has left you and you are now officially a crazy mothafucka.
7. your clit has overdosed on its presence.
overdosed as in 'it hurts to close your legs cuz you been shaking the shit out of your clit'. there is such a thing as too much exposure. if your dildo sees more of your clit than your boyfriend would (if you had one), then it's time for an intervention. i remember times when my clit hurt so bad i considered having the damn thing removed. then there was the time when i had to fake an orgasm with a fuck buddy because my clit was so sensitive, every time he stroked it felt like my clit was being scratched with sandpaper. you do not want this to happen to you. if you feel your clit becoming overly raw from your constant dildo action, stop yourself before you do permanent damage.
8. you try to give it oral sex.
there is no joy in sucking a penis-shaped piece of rubber. there just ain't. there is no pre-cum to lick off of the sensitive head. there are no veins pumping with life to trace with your tongue. there is no heat to feel on your lips or in your mouth. there is no responsive stick jumping and throbbing as you engulf it down to the base. there is no scrotum to take in your mouth before humming. there is no warm cum to swallow. all you've got is a cold, vibrating piece of rubber. if you find that appealing, you might as well just stick a shoe in your mouth.
if you've experienced any of the aforementioned symptoms, it's time for you to drop that dildo and seek counseling. in the meanwhile, stay away from cucumbers, zuchini, thick writing utensils like jumbo sharpies, tv remote control pads, staplers, sixteen or twenty ounce bottles, or any other elongated item that might give you the uncontrollable urge to stick it up your twat.
cuz i'm telling you, staples hurt like FUCK when you're pulling them from your pussy lips. at least, uh...that's what i've heard...
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
translating womanese
i was reading t. casanova's blog and his public service announcement meant to assist us sistas in better understanding the meaning behind the motives of our men. after learning a thing or two about the workings of the male mind from his entry, i find it necessary to respond in kind with a public service announcement of my own.
guys, have you ever wondered what your woman really means when she says something to you? do you find yourself attempting to decipher her language when your gut feeling is telling you she's saying one thing but meaning another? have you found yourself in the doghouse and you have no earthly idea how you got there? well this post is for you.
i've devised a little cheat sheet on how you can avoid punishments such as sleeping on the couch when there's warm pussy you could be getting into in bed, eating a lukewarm t.v. dinner cuz she won't cook for you after you pissed her off, or a smack in the back of the head because you said or did something that left her with the uncontrollable urge to knock some sense into you. take note. some of these will surprise you.
1. if your woman asks you if she looks fat in her outfit, she probably looks fat in that outfit, but she asked you cuz she wants validation of her beauty and general sexiness.
meanwhile, i know the experts say to tell a white lie even if she looks like a biscuit roll about to bust out the can, but i disagree. this is a new era of woman you're dealing with. she wants to look as good as possible, and if she's putting effort into what she's wearing, she's doing it because she wants to look sexy to you, but she also wants to look so good that you won't be able to take your eyes off of her when you two are out. if you like the idea of her buttered rolls on display for consumption, then don't say shit. however, if tacky fat ain't sexy to you, then you need to let sista know. do have some tact about it, though.
wrong response: "hell yeah you look fat. you look so fat you make jabba the hut look like a swimsuit model."
right response: "that's probably not the most flattering outfit for you. i love love your shapliness and that outfit isn't showing it to its greatest advantage." or "you ain't fat, but that outfit makes you look like you are. in fact, it makes me want to eat your pussy right now."
2. if she asks you "what are you thinking about?" more times than not what she's really saying is "are you thinking about me and/or 'us'-related products?"
do you think about your favorite football team more than you do of her? are you more preoccupied with the thought of whether or not to sniff the toe jamb encrusted on your toe nail clippings than you are about how many ways you can please your woman sexually? if you've answered yes to either question, no doubt you've already got permanent residence in the doghouse where your constant companions are your right hand and a well used bottle of vaseline intensive care lotion. if you get this question from her, you're probably gonna have to lie. better yet, get the thoughts of the intoxicating smell of your toe jamb out of your mind and start thinking about your woman so you won't have to lie. again, make sure you come correct with your response though.
wrong response: "i'm thinking about the fact that you keep asking me that fucking question and your slow ass don't seem to understand the phrase 'i'm not thinking about yo ass.'"
right response: "i'm thinking about you, baby. i'm thinking about us and how lucky i am to have you. in fact, i'm thinking too much. let's stop thinking and start fucking. i'll start by eating out your pussy."
3. if she asks you if you have female friends, what she really wants to know is whether or not you've fucked or wanna fuck the females you're hanging with.
are you still hanging tight with a former 'friend with benefits'? if you haven't fucked her yet, are you hanging around her because you just waiting to get into the pussy? worse still, are you somebody else's 'dick behind glass'? your woman wants to know so she can decide if you're worth the ass kicking she might have to lay down on your female friends if they step out of line for whatever reason. if you're still hanging with a former 'friend with benefits', you might be in trouble, although there's a two year statute of limitations on this. if you haven't fucked the girl in two years or more, you aiight. if it's been between one and two years you might experience some coldness from your woman cuz the pussy prints of the former flame are still imprinted onto your dick (although they're fading at this point). if it's been less than a year, then your girl imagines smelling that other sista's cum on your scrotum and finding that other sista's pubic hairs caught in various male crevices. in other words, you got major trouble there.
meanwhile, she also doesn't want to think of you as the guy who's someone else's safeguard dick. that designation is for herbs and punks and guys who don't know how to pull women. in other words, she got her own 'safeguard dick', and she knows how fucked up she treats him. to think her own man would be in the same situation is ego crushing. she wants to know her man is appealing to all women, not vienna sausage only the starving pull out of the cupboard as a last resort after they ran out of castor oil.
ultimately, this is a tricky situation here. i don't advocate lying about it, though. your girl deserves the truth, but don't get insensitive about it.
wrong response: "yeah, i've got female friends. i've fucked two of them. of those two, one of them i was fucking for about a year. damn, but she had the sweetest pussy i've ever sank my dick into. it was so hot and tight i thought it'd been made by isotoner cuz it fit my shit like a fucking glove. oh, and the other one was a supreme headmistress. sista could suck the craters off the moon and she loved to swallow..."
right response: "yes, i've got female friends."
don't say SHIT ELSE. if she wants to know more (which she inevitably will) let her ask the sticky questions. if she got the balls to ask, then you respond with honesty. in the meanwhile, be real with yourself. you know whether or not you're hanging around those other women cuz you're waiting to stick it. if that's the case, then don't waste your woman's time by trying to be her man cuz you making her into 'meanwhile pussy'...the pussy you getting in the meanwhile until your female friend finally sees you as a sexual interest. if you see your female friend as potential pussy, then you gotta end one of those relationships. it's either your woman or your friend. distraction tactics are generally encouraged in such a situation as this...
righter response: "yes, i've got female friends. can i eat you out now?"
4. if, after sex, she asks you "was it as good for you as it was for me" what she's really asking is "did this pussy blow your mind and if so, did it blow your mind enough to the point where i won't have to worry about your ass stepping out on me?"
if it was just as good or better, the answer is simple. it's when the pussy was bad when the situation gets tricky. i don't care if it was the worst pussy ever. i don't care if it was so bad you had to envision jabba the hut in that swimsuit in order to shoot your load cuz her shit was just that much more unappealing. i don't care if the sex was so bad you know you're gonna have to look at alot of porn later just to remind yourself good sex does indeed exist. if she asks you this question, your only option is to lie.
wrong response: "HELL nah. the only way that could have been as good for me as it was for you is if it was bad as fuck for you."
right response: "yes. it was even better than i dreamed it would be and i dreamed it would be perfect."
righter response: "yeah, baby. now let's do it again and this time, i'm eating your pussy first."
5. if, after sex, you realize she hasn't cum but she says "i'm okay with it." SHE AIN'T OKAY WITH IT.
too many brothas make the mistake of assuming because she didn't get hers before he got his that it's okay. i'm here to tell you that it's NEVER okay for her not to get hers unless she told you ahead of time she was focusing on your pleasure during that encounter and even then i say play it safe and get her off ANYWAY. the only exception to this rule is if she's giving you "get your fucking rocks off so you can leave me the fuck alone" sex. at that point she just wants you to stop bugging her so she's willing to go without so the session can end and she can get her some fucking sleep.
wrong response: "you cool then..." followed by your instant snoring.
wronger response: "was i supposed to be concerned with whether or not you came? oops..."
response that will guarantee you never get your hands on her pussy again: "women have orgasms?!? i had no idea!"
actually, the second one is just as bad as the third one...
right response: "it ain't aiight. i'm taking care of you right now."
righter response: "woman, i was just getting started. don't think for a second i was gonna let you go without getting yours. we've got all night..."
response that will guarantee you never have to use your hands to cum again unless you want to: "i've been doing tongue exercises for the last month in preparation for this moment. let me stick this pillow behind my head so i can get comfortable...now just sit on my face, baby cuz i'm ready to EAT DAT PUSSY."
no matter the situation, no matter what she says, you'll find the translations of womanese on the walls of her carnal cavern. in order for you to decipher the language, you best to get in close and stick in your probing instrument. oh, and you gotta clean the walls in order to read them clearly.
in other words, if you wanna translate womanese, you gotta first SPEAK IN TONGUE...
guys, have you ever wondered what your woman really means when she says something to you? do you find yourself attempting to decipher her language when your gut feeling is telling you she's saying one thing but meaning another? have you found yourself in the doghouse and you have no earthly idea how you got there? well this post is for you.
i've devised a little cheat sheet on how you can avoid punishments such as sleeping on the couch when there's warm pussy you could be getting into in bed, eating a lukewarm t.v. dinner cuz she won't cook for you after you pissed her off, or a smack in the back of the head because you said or did something that left her with the uncontrollable urge to knock some sense into you. take note. some of these will surprise you.
1. if your woman asks you if she looks fat in her outfit, she probably looks fat in that outfit, but she asked you cuz she wants validation of her beauty and general sexiness.
meanwhile, i know the experts say to tell a white lie even if she looks like a biscuit roll about to bust out the can, but i disagree. this is a new era of woman you're dealing with. she wants to look as good as possible, and if she's putting effort into what she's wearing, she's doing it because she wants to look sexy to you, but she also wants to look so good that you won't be able to take your eyes off of her when you two are out. if you like the idea of her buttered rolls on display for consumption, then don't say shit. however, if tacky fat ain't sexy to you, then you need to let sista know. do have some tact about it, though.
wrong response: "hell yeah you look fat. you look so fat you make jabba the hut look like a swimsuit model."
right response: "that's probably not the most flattering outfit for you. i love love your shapliness and that outfit isn't showing it to its greatest advantage." or "you ain't fat, but that outfit makes you look like you are. in fact, it makes me want to eat your pussy right now."
2. if she asks you "what are you thinking about?" more times than not what she's really saying is "are you thinking about me and/or 'us'-related products?"
do you think about your favorite football team more than you do of her? are you more preoccupied with the thought of whether or not to sniff the toe jamb encrusted on your toe nail clippings than you are about how many ways you can please your woman sexually? if you've answered yes to either question, no doubt you've already got permanent residence in the doghouse where your constant companions are your right hand and a well used bottle of vaseline intensive care lotion. if you get this question from her, you're probably gonna have to lie. better yet, get the thoughts of the intoxicating smell of your toe jamb out of your mind and start thinking about your woman so you won't have to lie. again, make sure you come correct with your response though.
wrong response: "i'm thinking about the fact that you keep asking me that fucking question and your slow ass don't seem to understand the phrase 'i'm not thinking about yo ass.'"
right response: "i'm thinking about you, baby. i'm thinking about us and how lucky i am to have you. in fact, i'm thinking too much. let's stop thinking and start fucking. i'll start by eating out your pussy."
3. if she asks you if you have female friends, what she really wants to know is whether or not you've fucked or wanna fuck the females you're hanging with.
are you still hanging tight with a former 'friend with benefits'? if you haven't fucked her yet, are you hanging around her because you just waiting to get into the pussy? worse still, are you somebody else's 'dick behind glass'? your woman wants to know so she can decide if you're worth the ass kicking she might have to lay down on your female friends if they step out of line for whatever reason. if you're still hanging with a former 'friend with benefits', you might be in trouble, although there's a two year statute of limitations on this. if you haven't fucked the girl in two years or more, you aiight. if it's been between one and two years you might experience some coldness from your woman cuz the pussy prints of the former flame are still imprinted onto your dick (although they're fading at this point). if it's been less than a year, then your girl imagines smelling that other sista's cum on your scrotum and finding that other sista's pubic hairs caught in various male crevices. in other words, you got major trouble there.
meanwhile, she also doesn't want to think of you as the guy who's someone else's safeguard dick. that designation is for herbs and punks and guys who don't know how to pull women. in other words, she got her own 'safeguard dick', and she knows how fucked up she treats him. to think her own man would be in the same situation is ego crushing. she wants to know her man is appealing to all women, not vienna sausage only the starving pull out of the cupboard as a last resort after they ran out of castor oil.
ultimately, this is a tricky situation here. i don't advocate lying about it, though. your girl deserves the truth, but don't get insensitive about it.
wrong response: "yeah, i've got female friends. i've fucked two of them. of those two, one of them i was fucking for about a year. damn, but she had the sweetest pussy i've ever sank my dick into. it was so hot and tight i thought it'd been made by isotoner cuz it fit my shit like a fucking glove. oh, and the other one was a supreme headmistress. sista could suck the craters off the moon and she loved to swallow..."
right response: "yes, i've got female friends."
don't say SHIT ELSE. if she wants to know more (which she inevitably will) let her ask the sticky questions. if she got the balls to ask, then you respond with honesty. in the meanwhile, be real with yourself. you know whether or not you're hanging around those other women cuz you're waiting to stick it. if that's the case, then don't waste your woman's time by trying to be her man cuz you making her into 'meanwhile pussy'...the pussy you getting in the meanwhile until your female friend finally sees you as a sexual interest. if you see your female friend as potential pussy, then you gotta end one of those relationships. it's either your woman or your friend. distraction tactics are generally encouraged in such a situation as this...
righter response: "yes, i've got female friends. can i eat you out now?"
4. if, after sex, she asks you "was it as good for you as it was for me" what she's really asking is "did this pussy blow your mind and if so, did it blow your mind enough to the point where i won't have to worry about your ass stepping out on me?"
if it was just as good or better, the answer is simple. it's when the pussy was bad when the situation gets tricky. i don't care if it was the worst pussy ever. i don't care if it was so bad you had to envision jabba the hut in that swimsuit in order to shoot your load cuz her shit was just that much more unappealing. i don't care if the sex was so bad you know you're gonna have to look at alot of porn later just to remind yourself good sex does indeed exist. if she asks you this question, your only option is to lie.
wrong response: "HELL nah. the only way that could have been as good for me as it was for you is if it was bad as fuck for you."
right response: "yes. it was even better than i dreamed it would be and i dreamed it would be perfect."
righter response: "yeah, baby. now let's do it again and this time, i'm eating your pussy first."
5. if, after sex, you realize she hasn't cum but she says "i'm okay with it." SHE AIN'T OKAY WITH IT.
too many brothas make the mistake of assuming because she didn't get hers before he got his that it's okay. i'm here to tell you that it's NEVER okay for her not to get hers unless she told you ahead of time she was focusing on your pleasure during that encounter and even then i say play it safe and get her off ANYWAY. the only exception to this rule is if she's giving you "get your fucking rocks off so you can leave me the fuck alone" sex. at that point she just wants you to stop bugging her so she's willing to go without so the session can end and she can get her some fucking sleep.
wrong response: "you cool then..." followed by your instant snoring.
wronger response: "was i supposed to be concerned with whether or not you came? oops..."
response that will guarantee you never get your hands on her pussy again: "women have orgasms?!? i had no idea!"
actually, the second one is just as bad as the third one...
right response: "it ain't aiight. i'm taking care of you right now."
righter response: "woman, i was just getting started. don't think for a second i was gonna let you go without getting yours. we've got all night..."
response that will guarantee you never have to use your hands to cum again unless you want to: "i've been doing tongue exercises for the last month in preparation for this moment. let me stick this pillow behind my head so i can get comfortable...now just sit on my face, baby cuz i'm ready to EAT DAT PUSSY."
no matter the situation, no matter what she says, you'll find the translations of womanese on the walls of her carnal cavern. in order for you to decipher the language, you best to get in close and stick in your probing instrument. oh, and you gotta clean the walls in order to read them clearly.
in other words, if you wanna translate womanese, you gotta first SPEAK IN TONGUE...
Friday, February 24, 2006
what is it like for you?
what does it mean to fall in love? what does it mean to BE in love? how does it make you feel? how many times have you been in love? is falling in love really that rare?
i ask because i've never been in love. EVER. at least, it's never been more than infatuation or a case of serious lust. if i fell in love i probably wouldn't even know it. i'm a romantic at heart but really, it can't be like they write about in novels. that simply seems too unrealistic to me. all that stuff about heart palpitations and sweating and yearning and burning stuff is overly dramatic, isn't it? doesn't that stuff have more to do with lust than love?
someone help me out here. i need some damn clarity.
i ask because i've never been in love. EVER. at least, it's never been more than infatuation or a case of serious lust. if i fell in love i probably wouldn't even know it. i'm a romantic at heart but really, it can't be like they write about in novels. that simply seems too unrealistic to me. all that stuff about heart palpitations and sweating and yearning and burning stuff is overly dramatic, isn't it? doesn't that stuff have more to do with lust than love?
someone help me out here. i need some damn clarity.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
pushing off weight, pt. 2
part one
when his letter came a week later, i almost didn't even recognize his handwriting. that's when i realized this was the first letter he'd ever written to me.
dear nikki,
i know you're still upset about what happened and i'm sorry for that. i know there is nothing i can do to make it better. all i can do is tell you how much i love you.
when you told me you couldn't love me because you didn't know me, that really hurt me. you know you know me. i'm still the same brotha you fell in love with two years ago. i'm the same brotha who rubbed your feet at night after you'd come home from a hard day at work. i'm the same brotha who reached for you at night so that we could make love until the wee hours.
before you past judgement, just hear me out. yes, i knew skeeter had the weed on him. no, i didn't think we'd get caught because i was doing the speed limit. when we were stopped by the sheriff, i was calm. i thought they'd only give me my ticket and send me on my way, but skeeter was acting strange and the sheriff ended up searching my car, which is when he found the weed in the glove compartment box. we were held overnight until kurt posted bond the next morning. i didn't tell you this because i knew you'd be upset with me.
nikki, please understand that i did this for us. you know my job doesn't pay much and i wanted to be able to take you out more often. i want you to have the finer things in life. i don't want you to have to worry about bills getting paid or whether or not we'll have food on the table. i'm the man of the house and i should be able to give you those things. i know i made a bad decision, but just try to understand where i'm coming from.
i'm sitting here in my cell thinking about how much i hate being here. when they say freedom is a precious thing, they weren't lying. i can't do nothing here on my own. it seems like i can't even shit without asking permission first. my cellmate is a guy named james. he's in here because he was beating up on his woman. he seem aiight but i can tell he's got a problem with his anger. i just hope a brotha don't act up, cuz then i might have to do more time after i kick his ass.
anyway, let me know you aiight. let me know we aiight. i need your support while i'm here. come down to visit me if you can. visiting hours are saturdays from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. i wanna hear you're coming to see me.
i need you nikki. i love you.
hold it down.
leron
i read the letter with mixed emotions, still unsure of who the person was who wrote the letter. i mean, i knew it was leron, but the leron i knew wasn't the kind of brotha who'd get himself into trouble like this.
or was he?
i remembered when we first met. i had walked into burger king to get something to eat. he was one of the guys working in the back. after i placed my order, i was standing to the side waiting on them to get it together. when he came from the back bringing my food with him, i paid him little attention. come on, he was a grown ass man working at burger king! i was a girl recently returned home from college, my nose tilted upward just a bit cuz college made me better than some cat who could do no better than a job at a fast food joint.
when he placed my food on the tray, he leaned across the counter to speak.
"you're beautiful, you know that?" he whispered softly into my ear.
i reached for my tray, my eyes intent on the fries as i turned to head for the condiment section. yeah, i pretended i hadn't even heard him. i'm a flirtatious type, but i wasn't about to flirt with this cat.
after i got my ketchup, filled my cup with pepsi, and headed to a corner table, i sat down facing the windows showing me the passing cars outside on memorial drive. i started digging into my food. burger king hamburgers are the SHIT. GRILLED beef, not that fried shit they got at mcdonalds. i swear, if micky d's didn't have the better fries, i'd never even go there.
my eyes were closed as i took a bite into the burger, savoring the grilled greatness of his royal highness with slow chewing, when i was interupted.
"so you chose to ignore me, huh?"
i opened my eyes and looked up. he was staring down at me with a half smile on his face. my brows furrowed as i absorbed his features. if his skin was a night sky, it'd be an infinite darkness, the surface unbroken by the blemish of enither moon nor star. it was just beautiful and brown and smooth. my eyes trace that skin across his face, noting the closely trimmed beard and gleaming white teeth. damnit, i'm a sucker for a nice smile. he had a nice one. actually, it was better than nice. it made his dark brown eyes crinkle mischieviously, like he was hiding some kind of juicy secret he was waiting to share with me if i was a good girl. what really threw me off were the longest, thickest eyelashes i'd ever seen on a man in my entire life. they framed his eyes like the lush leaves of a forest of trees shading the edges of a lake reflecting the shine of a noon high sun. i mentally added that feature to my list of 'must haves' for a potential boyfriend.
i swallowed before speaking.
"you spoke to me?"
his smile grew as he shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
"don't play like you didn't hear me," he responded, "i might have been whispering, but my mouth was close enough to your ear for you to hear me loud and clear."
oh shit. this cat had just called me out. no sista wants to hear she deliberately ignored a brotha, especially from the brotha who was ignored. it's a confirmation of bad manners and we like to convince ourselves we're the epitome of proper behavior when it comes to dealing with men. this way we don't feel bad when we treat 'em like shit.
i lifted an eyebrow and laughed silently.
"aiight," i finally admitted, "you got me there. i generally don't talk to strangers."
"especially strangers who work in burger king, right?"
what the fuck? now he's calling out my snooty behavior? hell to da NAW. on the one hand, brotha was very observant. on the other hand, a sista don't want to acknowledge the fact she's a snooty bitch. i flinched at the dig, even as i admired his candor. i ran my eyes over his attire. the navy blue and orange and yellow polyester uniform he was wearing wasn't doing this cat a bit of good. it appeared his body was average, which wasn't bad. it was obvious he had some meat to his legs, which is definitely one of nikki's 'must haves'. he didn't have a washboard stomach, that's for sure. his belly was why the buttons on his shirt were straining a bit. he held the weight well, though. it all looked solid. there were parts of him that went against my type, but the sum of the whole was very attractive. and he was confident. a confident brotha is another one of nikki's weaknesses.
"hmmm..." i thought before answering him, "i generally don't talk to cats serving me food, no."
he took what i said in stride. in fact, he sat down across from me as if it was the most natural move in the world. i thought about checking him for his presumptous behavior but frankly, i was intrigued. he got comfortable in the seat, stretching out his arm so that it fell gracefully over the seat next to him.
"oh, so you're one of those sistas."
i was immediately offended, until i realized he was right. i was one of those sistas. one of those sistas who wasn't gonna give a brotha the time of day because i'd already calculated his weekly take home pay and it wasn't in line with what i wanted my man to be taking home. i felt instantly contrite.
"you got me again." i replied, bringing my burger to my face to cover my embarrassment.
he stared at me intently, his eyes roving over my closely cut natural hair to my fingers framing the burger to my body sheathed in a blue jean mini dress. i felt like he was reading all of me, finding the words from all of the chapters in my life tatooed onto my skin, graffitied across my clothes, pressed into my scalp, engraved into my lips, floating in my eyes. he just kept staring at me so closely i stopped moving, uncomfortable with his level of concentration on me. the silence seemed like it pulled on forever.
"you don't have to be, you know." he finally said softly.
his voice made me jump with a start. the preceding silence had become so thick i was sure it had greedily eaten all sound. it took me a moment to register what he'd said. i looked at him, confusion on my face.
"uh, i don't have to be what?" i asked.
"one of those sistas."
i put the burger down and looked into his eyes. he held my stare, never wavering, never moving nervously at the level of contact, just held it like he was reiterating his ability to hold on to anything with an inner strength i was beginning to realize he had. he was letting me know he was worthy of me, not because he was a burger king worker, but because he was a prideful black man. my mind began separating one from the other as i begin seeing him for what he really was...a brotha who was down for doing what was necessary to take care of his folk, even if it meant having to work in a fast food joint and dealing with snooty folk like me who couldn't see the strong black man behind the polyester uniform, couldn't recognized the fact he deserved my respect.
he must have seen something in me change. i know i felt it. i had grown just a little. he grinned slowly, then leaned across the table and slid a piece of paper into my hand.
"here's my number," he said, a smile in his voice even as his face held all seriousness, "i'm one of those brothas. i treat my woman like the queen she is."
then he stood up with his eyes still upon me, nodded slowly, and walked back to the front of the restaurant where he stepped behind the counter and headed to his station.
i moved my hand and looked at the piece of paper he'd given me.
leron
404-555-1217
you know you want to, so just do it. you won't regret it.
i started contemplating what i should do...
when his letter came a week later, i almost didn't even recognize his handwriting. that's when i realized this was the first letter he'd ever written to me.
dear nikki,
i know you're still upset about what happened and i'm sorry for that. i know there is nothing i can do to make it better. all i can do is tell you how much i love you.
when you told me you couldn't love me because you didn't know me, that really hurt me. you know you know me. i'm still the same brotha you fell in love with two years ago. i'm the same brotha who rubbed your feet at night after you'd come home from a hard day at work. i'm the same brotha who reached for you at night so that we could make love until the wee hours.
before you past judgement, just hear me out. yes, i knew skeeter had the weed on him. no, i didn't think we'd get caught because i was doing the speed limit. when we were stopped by the sheriff, i was calm. i thought they'd only give me my ticket and send me on my way, but skeeter was acting strange and the sheriff ended up searching my car, which is when he found the weed in the glove compartment box. we were held overnight until kurt posted bond the next morning. i didn't tell you this because i knew you'd be upset with me.
nikki, please understand that i did this for us. you know my job doesn't pay much and i wanted to be able to take you out more often. i want you to have the finer things in life. i don't want you to have to worry about bills getting paid or whether or not we'll have food on the table. i'm the man of the house and i should be able to give you those things. i know i made a bad decision, but just try to understand where i'm coming from.
i'm sitting here in my cell thinking about how much i hate being here. when they say freedom is a precious thing, they weren't lying. i can't do nothing here on my own. it seems like i can't even shit without asking permission first. my cellmate is a guy named james. he's in here because he was beating up on his woman. he seem aiight but i can tell he's got a problem with his anger. i just hope a brotha don't act up, cuz then i might have to do more time after i kick his ass.
anyway, let me know you aiight. let me know we aiight. i need your support while i'm here. come down to visit me if you can. visiting hours are saturdays from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. i wanna hear you're coming to see me.
i need you nikki. i love you.
hold it down.
leron
i read the letter with mixed emotions, still unsure of who the person was who wrote the letter. i mean, i knew it was leron, but the leron i knew wasn't the kind of brotha who'd get himself into trouble like this.
or was he?
i remembered when we first met. i had walked into burger king to get something to eat. he was one of the guys working in the back. after i placed my order, i was standing to the side waiting on them to get it together. when he came from the back bringing my food with him, i paid him little attention. come on, he was a grown ass man working at burger king! i was a girl recently returned home from college, my nose tilted upward just a bit cuz college made me better than some cat who could do no better than a job at a fast food joint.
when he placed my food on the tray, he leaned across the counter to speak.
"you're beautiful, you know that?" he whispered softly into my ear.
i reached for my tray, my eyes intent on the fries as i turned to head for the condiment section. yeah, i pretended i hadn't even heard him. i'm a flirtatious type, but i wasn't about to flirt with this cat.
after i got my ketchup, filled my cup with pepsi, and headed to a corner table, i sat down facing the windows showing me the passing cars outside on memorial drive. i started digging into my food. burger king hamburgers are the SHIT. GRILLED beef, not that fried shit they got at mcdonalds. i swear, if micky d's didn't have the better fries, i'd never even go there.
my eyes were closed as i took a bite into the burger, savoring the grilled greatness of his royal highness with slow chewing, when i was interupted.
"so you chose to ignore me, huh?"
i opened my eyes and looked up. he was staring down at me with a half smile on his face. my brows furrowed as i absorbed his features. if his skin was a night sky, it'd be an infinite darkness, the surface unbroken by the blemish of enither moon nor star. it was just beautiful and brown and smooth. my eyes trace that skin across his face, noting the closely trimmed beard and gleaming white teeth. damnit, i'm a sucker for a nice smile. he had a nice one. actually, it was better than nice. it made his dark brown eyes crinkle mischieviously, like he was hiding some kind of juicy secret he was waiting to share with me if i was a good girl. what really threw me off were the longest, thickest eyelashes i'd ever seen on a man in my entire life. they framed his eyes like the lush leaves of a forest of trees shading the edges of a lake reflecting the shine of a noon high sun. i mentally added that feature to my list of 'must haves' for a potential boyfriend.
i swallowed before speaking.
"you spoke to me?"
his smile grew as he shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
"don't play like you didn't hear me," he responded, "i might have been whispering, but my mouth was close enough to your ear for you to hear me loud and clear."
oh shit. this cat had just called me out. no sista wants to hear she deliberately ignored a brotha, especially from the brotha who was ignored. it's a confirmation of bad manners and we like to convince ourselves we're the epitome of proper behavior when it comes to dealing with men. this way we don't feel bad when we treat 'em like shit.
i lifted an eyebrow and laughed silently.
"aiight," i finally admitted, "you got me there. i generally don't talk to strangers."
"especially strangers who work in burger king, right?"
what the fuck? now he's calling out my snooty behavior? hell to da NAW. on the one hand, brotha was very observant. on the other hand, a sista don't want to acknowledge the fact she's a snooty bitch. i flinched at the dig, even as i admired his candor. i ran my eyes over his attire. the navy blue and orange and yellow polyester uniform he was wearing wasn't doing this cat a bit of good. it appeared his body was average, which wasn't bad. it was obvious he had some meat to his legs, which is definitely one of nikki's 'must haves'. he didn't have a washboard stomach, that's for sure. his belly was why the buttons on his shirt were straining a bit. he held the weight well, though. it all looked solid. there were parts of him that went against my type, but the sum of the whole was very attractive. and he was confident. a confident brotha is another one of nikki's weaknesses.
"hmmm..." i thought before answering him, "i generally don't talk to cats serving me food, no."
he took what i said in stride. in fact, he sat down across from me as if it was the most natural move in the world. i thought about checking him for his presumptous behavior but frankly, i was intrigued. he got comfortable in the seat, stretching out his arm so that it fell gracefully over the seat next to him.
"oh, so you're one of those sistas."
i was immediately offended, until i realized he was right. i was one of those sistas. one of those sistas who wasn't gonna give a brotha the time of day because i'd already calculated his weekly take home pay and it wasn't in line with what i wanted my man to be taking home. i felt instantly contrite.
"you got me again." i replied, bringing my burger to my face to cover my embarrassment.
he stared at me intently, his eyes roving over my closely cut natural hair to my fingers framing the burger to my body sheathed in a blue jean mini dress. i felt like he was reading all of me, finding the words from all of the chapters in my life tatooed onto my skin, graffitied across my clothes, pressed into my scalp, engraved into my lips, floating in my eyes. he just kept staring at me so closely i stopped moving, uncomfortable with his level of concentration on me. the silence seemed like it pulled on forever.
"you don't have to be, you know." he finally said softly.
his voice made me jump with a start. the preceding silence had become so thick i was sure it had greedily eaten all sound. it took me a moment to register what he'd said. i looked at him, confusion on my face.
"uh, i don't have to be what?" i asked.
"one of those sistas."
i put the burger down and looked into his eyes. he held my stare, never wavering, never moving nervously at the level of contact, just held it like he was reiterating his ability to hold on to anything with an inner strength i was beginning to realize he had. he was letting me know he was worthy of me, not because he was a burger king worker, but because he was a prideful black man. my mind began separating one from the other as i begin seeing him for what he really was...a brotha who was down for doing what was necessary to take care of his folk, even if it meant having to work in a fast food joint and dealing with snooty folk like me who couldn't see the strong black man behind the polyester uniform, couldn't recognized the fact he deserved my respect.
he must have seen something in me change. i know i felt it. i had grown just a little. he grinned slowly, then leaned across the table and slid a piece of paper into my hand.
"here's my number," he said, a smile in his voice even as his face held all seriousness, "i'm one of those brothas. i treat my woman like the queen she is."
then he stood up with his eyes still upon me, nodded slowly, and walked back to the front of the restaurant where he stepped behind the counter and headed to his station.
i moved my hand and looked at the piece of paper he'd given me.
leron
404-555-1217
you know you want to, so just do it. you won't regret it.
i started contemplating what i should do...
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
connection confirmed, reflection continued
this was yesterday, after the funeral, before the drinking, during one of the few moments i had to myself to contemplate the loss of my favorite uncle. later, as i perused through all of the photos of myself during this trip, i realized my smile was a fleeting brightness, like the lone lucent line of lightening lashing through the skin of a night sky, submerging the ground below with the raindrops bleeding from the gaping wound.
i guess that's where my spirit was most of the time, in a place precipitating pain, making it damn near impossible for my mouth to lift itself past the flood of grief deluging my countenance, washing away all traces of former smiles so that my lips had no blueprint for the move and were left searching for clues on how to create it again.
the blueprint was remembered during a conversation in the airport. his voice brought to mind an ex-boyfriend from college, only different. his was a combination of brooklyn bite and southern sarcastic steel, tempered into a compelling texture by the human afflictions of a cough he refused to acknowledge as more than a minor aggravation and a cigar habit he admitted was still too rewarding to give up.
initially we tip toed through a meadow blooming with the familiar flowers of conversations past, as our interaction evolved from a bond linked through wit and words on a monitor to whispers and laughter emitted to the ear, each word burgeoning with yearning and affection, each sentence uttering a thread of knowing woven together to form an unbreakable connection. the moments collected, flowing into each other to form an ocean of future feeling i was eager to explore, the time past as though hours were minutes and minutes were seconds and i was craving second and third helpings and gorging myself with the bountiful booty full found within the confines of his mind.
and then the conversation was over and i was left with the thoughts hovering on the edges of my mind like irritating flies i couldn't swat away. they buzzed and buzzed and i fought against their cries with the remembered comfort i found within the sound of his voice. i called on his sound alot that day and for the rest of the trip, wrapping myself in his tender tenor, feeling both trepedation and elation at the fact that he was planting the seeds of his being, within me.
he's knowing me
he's growing me
and with those seeds he's sowing me
i only hope if the time comes i can bloom true when i worship at the alter of his harvest.
i guess that's where my spirit was most of the time, in a place precipitating pain, making it damn near impossible for my mouth to lift itself past the flood of grief deluging my countenance, washing away all traces of former smiles so that my lips had no blueprint for the move and were left searching for clues on how to create it again.
the blueprint was remembered during a conversation in the airport. his voice brought to mind an ex-boyfriend from college, only different. his was a combination of brooklyn bite and southern sarcastic steel, tempered into a compelling texture by the human afflictions of a cough he refused to acknowledge as more than a minor aggravation and a cigar habit he admitted was still too rewarding to give up.
initially we tip toed through a meadow blooming with the familiar flowers of conversations past, as our interaction evolved from a bond linked through wit and words on a monitor to whispers and laughter emitted to the ear, each word burgeoning with yearning and affection, each sentence uttering a thread of knowing woven together to form an unbreakable connection. the moments collected, flowing into each other to form an ocean of future feeling i was eager to explore, the time past as though hours were minutes and minutes were seconds and i was craving second and third helpings and gorging myself with the bountiful booty full found within the confines of his mind.
and then the conversation was over and i was left with the thoughts hovering on the edges of my mind like irritating flies i couldn't swat away. they buzzed and buzzed and i fought against their cries with the remembered comfort i found within the sound of his voice. i called on his sound alot that day and for the rest of the trip, wrapping myself in his tender tenor, feeling both trepedation and elation at the fact that he was planting the seeds of his being, within me.
he's knowing me
he's growing me
and with those seeds he's sowing me
i only hope if the time comes i can bloom true when i worship at the alter of his harvest.
i'm back
thanks to all the folks who emailed me out of concern for my welfare. i was out in new york with fam for the burial of my uncle. everything turned out aiight. i'll be posting about it later today. now i just gotta get myself back into atl mindset. it's hard coming back from being with family to essentially being alone.
Friday, February 17, 2006
grown folk grow.
you know what i hate?
i hate being manipulated.
isn't that the most juvenile shit ever? isn't that what we used to do in high school with each other? grown folk don't do that shit, or do they? maybe i should say grown folk SHOULDN'T do it. we should recognize our own weaknesses and just step the fuck back and let shit play itself out without our orchestration, cuz the bottom line is folk are grown and are gonna do what the fuck they wanna do. if we know about ourselves, then we know what situations make us more likely to try to manipulate the people involved so that we have the desired outcome.
we're all guilty of it. we've all fallen victim to it.
this ain't a self-righteous rant. this is me acknowledging the fact that because i've done it, i know it when i see it. in the past, my low sense of self esteem at the time had me behaving carelessly with folk. i mean, i was sincere enough. at the time, when i told brotha i liked him, i thought i meant it. however, it was more likely because he was assuaging my fragile ego. he made me feel good about myself because he was digging me. i would cultivate his like for me because i liked the feeling of being liked. that's what made me feel giddy. it made me feel worthy. it made me feel beautiful. but did i really give a fuck about his feelings? no. did i experience any personal growth as a result? no. did i get to experience the powerful nature of love between grown folk? HELL nah. the only fulfillment i got was a stroke to my fucking ego.
as i got older i recognized that weakness within myself. that's the kind of behavior i NEVER wish to exhibit again. it is not a reflection of the kind of person i am or want to be. if i have to resort to that kind of shit in order to find emotional satisfaction, then evidently that relationship ain't healthy for me. part of being a grown up who does grown up things is being able to recognize bullshit and nipping it in the bud, even if the bullshit just so happens to be coming from me.
i understand falling in love ain't easy, but when it's between grown folk it shouldn't be overly hard.
it shouldn't be drama-filled
shouldn't be full of doubts
shouldn't be insecurities cropping up when people resurface or other friends are discovered
shouldn't be about 'winning'
shouldn't be about 'losing'
shouldn't be about one minute feeling one way when hanging with one person and then another way when hanging with someone else
shouldn't be about telling only what's necessary to keep harmony
shouldn't be about falling into complacency and staying there because personal growth is too scary
shouldn't be about doubting one's own appeal
when two grown folk are in love, there's only truth. there is only confidence and security in the relationship because there is confidence and security within the two grown folk doing the loving. grown folk tell it even if it means they might not be looked at in the best light afterwards, but they tell that shit anyway cuz the continued good health of the relationship depends on it. grown folks might not always have control over their feelings but they damn sure know when to check them if they're gonna hurt or get hurt in the process. grown folk know right from wrong and behave like they do. they don't just get lost in the fucking moment just because the situation was out of their control. grown folk hold themselves accountable for their actions and if that action is a selfish one, grown folk grow out of the habit.
in other words, GROWN FOLK KEEP GROWING.
there are plenty of fucking people in the world who make us feel, plenty of folk who touch us in one way or another if we have the courage to put ourselves out there honestly and truthfully. we, as grown folk, make the fucking CHOICE whether or not to act on how folk make us feel. we analyze what's going on with ourselves, what's creating the vulnerability necessary for a person to reach us emotionally. sometimes our feelings are spurred by our own insecurities and sometimes they're spurred because of the realness of the situation, the bond that's created because two souls came together and found harmony based on truth. it ain't always of a romantic nature and it don't always work out, but grown folk keep it moving, because life is full of experiences, both fulfilling and unfulfilling. if we grown we learn and move on, more empowered for the next encounter.
so regardless of what i may or may not feel for folk, ultimately i am responsible for the choices i make. you folk know i'm not happy in my current relationship. meanwhile, i won't be stepping out on him. EVER. i could flirt til daybreak, write about fucking, sing about sucking, drink in thoughts of someone else in my imagination from time to time but the bottom line is that i'm grown and that means i can't be the child who selfishly goes after what i want simply because i want it. my heart might want to do it, but this is where my brain steps in and thank goodness for that.
cuz no matter what i feel, all of that shit is superceded by the respect i have for him and myself and the relationship itself. if i don't show respect for this relationship, what does that say about any relationship i have in the future? what does that say about me? any relationship i have in the future is jeopardized because my integrity is in question. any brotha i get with will wonder why i felt the need to cheat, and then wonder if he's gonna be the next victim because i was too much of a coward to just end it and instead chose to sneak around like a child. see, cuz grown folk don't cheat.
yeah, i said it. let me repeat. IF YOU CHEATING, YOU AIN'T GROWN AND YOU AIN'T GROWING.
cuz if you were, you'd either bounce up outta your situation or find a way to live with what you got. if you bounce, you do it because it's the best thing to do for everyone involved. you do it because your personal growth depends on it, not because you've got someone else to fall back on. that's childs play. that's riding a ten speed with training wheels.
if you see someone who has a history of leaving one mate for another, bounce the fuck up away from that person because he or she ain't grown or growing. they don't know what the fuck they want and therefore, keep running from one person to the next, constantly searching for the missing 'thing' from their life. whatever the fuck they looking for, they ain't gonna find it in you. that's some inner shit they gotta figure out, cuz happiness begins and ends with self. a person who's happy with him or herself won't have to leave one mate for another because ultimately, his or her life is fulfilling with or without a mate. that shit was me, folk. i was always getting out of one relationship only to get into another one, thinking i'd finally find the happiness eluding me. i had to grow up to figure that shit out.
and if you the one who always finds him or herself attracted to someone who got someone, check yourself. why do you always find yourself wanting what someone else has? why are you so fucking cool with the idea of someone disrespecting their relationship just to be with you? do you think that just cuz someone made the choice to either jeopardize or leave what they got now that somehow, you're more valued? do you really think it means you're the 'better' choice? cuz really, it only means someone chose to run away like a kid would do and you just happen to be the convenient way out, the perfect hiding place for them to fold themselves into and fuck facing their responsibilities or the repercussions of their actions or their own inner demons that make them run away in the first place. so either it's pedophilia and you fucking with a child or you both two children who don't have a fucking clue as to how to do it grown folk style. either way, you're being used. you're tissue that person uses to wipe his or her ass, and believe me when i tell you the shit's gonna be all on you.
see? i get it now. i'm a grown folk growing.
my heart might be selfish but i'm gonna try my damndest not to let my actions reflect it because i believe folk get what they give to the world. i've been bitten in the ass too many time by karma's sharp teeth to not have eventually learned that lesson. i believe that in order for me to continue my personal growth, i have to stop being victimized by other folk's poor decision making, stop pulling the 'well, she's doing it, so i had to go along with it' excuse because she ain't me and my decisions are mine. only i have control over my actions. if i pull a selfish move, i'm gonna own up and reconfigure shit so there's less of a chance of that shit happening again.
getting 'caught up' in a situation might be cute and romantic for a minute, but it also means i let outside forces control me instead of the other way around. love ain't about getting 'caught up' in the wave, unequipt to either swim or save yourself from drowning. it's about choosing to riding that fucking wave with the security and strength of a world-class surfer and diving in the depths with the self-assured strokes of a certified deep sea diver.
it's about equipting yourself emotionally via education through learning from experience so that when the love is there, you recognize it, you savor it, you drink it in, you float in it, you swim in it, you immerse yourself in it cuz you ain't afraid of it. as a result you're uplifted by it, buoyed by it, refreshed and cleansed and rejuvinated by it, yet you're always equiped enough, educated enough, strong enough emotionally to never let the waves overcome you, never let the depth of it overwhelm you to the point where it's drowning you, and you always got the tools necessary to bring your ass back safely to shore if that shit get too choppy or storm-filled.
so when this situation is all over i'll be able to leave with a clear conscience because i will have been completely honest with him and myself, like grown folk are supposed to be. and if love don't find ME, that's cool too. meanwhile, i'm grown, so any applications submitted to me in the future must be from GROWN FOLK ONLY.
if you see yourself in these lines, don't get mad at me. that's the childish thing to do. instead do what grown folk do. recognize...
...and GROW.
i hate being manipulated.
isn't that the most juvenile shit ever? isn't that what we used to do in high school with each other? grown folk don't do that shit, or do they? maybe i should say grown folk SHOULDN'T do it. we should recognize our own weaknesses and just step the fuck back and let shit play itself out without our orchestration, cuz the bottom line is folk are grown and are gonna do what the fuck they wanna do. if we know about ourselves, then we know what situations make us more likely to try to manipulate the people involved so that we have the desired outcome.
we're all guilty of it. we've all fallen victim to it.
this ain't a self-righteous rant. this is me acknowledging the fact that because i've done it, i know it when i see it. in the past, my low sense of self esteem at the time had me behaving carelessly with folk. i mean, i was sincere enough. at the time, when i told brotha i liked him, i thought i meant it. however, it was more likely because he was assuaging my fragile ego. he made me feel good about myself because he was digging me. i would cultivate his like for me because i liked the feeling of being liked. that's what made me feel giddy. it made me feel worthy. it made me feel beautiful. but did i really give a fuck about his feelings? no. did i experience any personal growth as a result? no. did i get to experience the powerful nature of love between grown folk? HELL nah. the only fulfillment i got was a stroke to my fucking ego.
as i got older i recognized that weakness within myself. that's the kind of behavior i NEVER wish to exhibit again. it is not a reflection of the kind of person i am or want to be. if i have to resort to that kind of shit in order to find emotional satisfaction, then evidently that relationship ain't healthy for me. part of being a grown up who does grown up things is being able to recognize bullshit and nipping it in the bud, even if the bullshit just so happens to be coming from me.
i understand falling in love ain't easy, but when it's between grown folk it shouldn't be overly hard.
it shouldn't be drama-filled
shouldn't be full of doubts
shouldn't be insecurities cropping up when people resurface or other friends are discovered
shouldn't be about 'winning'
shouldn't be about 'losing'
shouldn't be about one minute feeling one way when hanging with one person and then another way when hanging with someone else
shouldn't be about telling only what's necessary to keep harmony
shouldn't be about falling into complacency and staying there because personal growth is too scary
shouldn't be about doubting one's own appeal
when two grown folk are in love, there's only truth. there is only confidence and security in the relationship because there is confidence and security within the two grown folk doing the loving. grown folk tell it even if it means they might not be looked at in the best light afterwards, but they tell that shit anyway cuz the continued good health of the relationship depends on it. grown folks might not always have control over their feelings but they damn sure know when to check them if they're gonna hurt or get hurt in the process. grown folk know right from wrong and behave like they do. they don't just get lost in the fucking moment just because the situation was out of their control. grown folk hold themselves accountable for their actions and if that action is a selfish one, grown folk grow out of the habit.
in other words, GROWN FOLK KEEP GROWING.
there are plenty of fucking people in the world who make us feel, plenty of folk who touch us in one way or another if we have the courage to put ourselves out there honestly and truthfully. we, as grown folk, make the fucking CHOICE whether or not to act on how folk make us feel. we analyze what's going on with ourselves, what's creating the vulnerability necessary for a person to reach us emotionally. sometimes our feelings are spurred by our own insecurities and sometimes they're spurred because of the realness of the situation, the bond that's created because two souls came together and found harmony based on truth. it ain't always of a romantic nature and it don't always work out, but grown folk keep it moving, because life is full of experiences, both fulfilling and unfulfilling. if we grown we learn and move on, more empowered for the next encounter.
so regardless of what i may or may not feel for folk, ultimately i am responsible for the choices i make. you folk know i'm not happy in my current relationship. meanwhile, i won't be stepping out on him. EVER. i could flirt til daybreak, write about fucking, sing about sucking, drink in thoughts of someone else in my imagination from time to time but the bottom line is that i'm grown and that means i can't be the child who selfishly goes after what i want simply because i want it. my heart might want to do it, but this is where my brain steps in and thank goodness for that.
cuz no matter what i feel, all of that shit is superceded by the respect i have for him and myself and the relationship itself. if i don't show respect for this relationship, what does that say about any relationship i have in the future? what does that say about me? any relationship i have in the future is jeopardized because my integrity is in question. any brotha i get with will wonder why i felt the need to cheat, and then wonder if he's gonna be the next victim because i was too much of a coward to just end it and instead chose to sneak around like a child. see, cuz grown folk don't cheat.
yeah, i said it. let me repeat. IF YOU CHEATING, YOU AIN'T GROWN AND YOU AIN'T GROWING.
cuz if you were, you'd either bounce up outta your situation or find a way to live with what you got. if you bounce, you do it because it's the best thing to do for everyone involved. you do it because your personal growth depends on it, not because you've got someone else to fall back on. that's childs play. that's riding a ten speed with training wheels.
if you see someone who has a history of leaving one mate for another, bounce the fuck up away from that person because he or she ain't grown or growing. they don't know what the fuck they want and therefore, keep running from one person to the next, constantly searching for the missing 'thing' from their life. whatever the fuck they looking for, they ain't gonna find it in you. that's some inner shit they gotta figure out, cuz happiness begins and ends with self. a person who's happy with him or herself won't have to leave one mate for another because ultimately, his or her life is fulfilling with or without a mate. that shit was me, folk. i was always getting out of one relationship only to get into another one, thinking i'd finally find the happiness eluding me. i had to grow up to figure that shit out.
and if you the one who always finds him or herself attracted to someone who got someone, check yourself. why do you always find yourself wanting what someone else has? why are you so fucking cool with the idea of someone disrespecting their relationship just to be with you? do you think that just cuz someone made the choice to either jeopardize or leave what they got now that somehow, you're more valued? do you really think it means you're the 'better' choice? cuz really, it only means someone chose to run away like a kid would do and you just happen to be the convenient way out, the perfect hiding place for them to fold themselves into and fuck facing their responsibilities or the repercussions of their actions or their own inner demons that make them run away in the first place. so either it's pedophilia and you fucking with a child or you both two children who don't have a fucking clue as to how to do it grown folk style. either way, you're being used. you're tissue that person uses to wipe his or her ass, and believe me when i tell you the shit's gonna be all on you.
see? i get it now. i'm a grown folk growing.
my heart might be selfish but i'm gonna try my damndest not to let my actions reflect it because i believe folk get what they give to the world. i've been bitten in the ass too many time by karma's sharp teeth to not have eventually learned that lesson. i believe that in order for me to continue my personal growth, i have to stop being victimized by other folk's poor decision making, stop pulling the 'well, she's doing it, so i had to go along with it' excuse because she ain't me and my decisions are mine. only i have control over my actions. if i pull a selfish move, i'm gonna own up and reconfigure shit so there's less of a chance of that shit happening again.
getting 'caught up' in a situation might be cute and romantic for a minute, but it also means i let outside forces control me instead of the other way around. love ain't about getting 'caught up' in the wave, unequipt to either swim or save yourself from drowning. it's about choosing to riding that fucking wave with the security and strength of a world-class surfer and diving in the depths with the self-assured strokes of a certified deep sea diver.
it's about equipting yourself emotionally via education through learning from experience so that when the love is there, you recognize it, you savor it, you drink it in, you float in it, you swim in it, you immerse yourself in it cuz you ain't afraid of it. as a result you're uplifted by it, buoyed by it, refreshed and cleansed and rejuvinated by it, yet you're always equiped enough, educated enough, strong enough emotionally to never let the waves overcome you, never let the depth of it overwhelm you to the point where it's drowning you, and you always got the tools necessary to bring your ass back safely to shore if that shit get too choppy or storm-filled.
so when this situation is all over i'll be able to leave with a clear conscience because i will have been completely honest with him and myself, like grown folk are supposed to be. and if love don't find ME, that's cool too. meanwhile, i'm grown, so any applications submitted to me in the future must be from GROWN FOLK ONLY.
if you see yourself in these lines, don't get mad at me. that's the childish thing to do. instead do what grown folk do. recognize...
...and GROW.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
thank you
you showed up right on time. this has been a rough time for me and you showed up right on time to listen and to offer guidance. thank you for your wisdom and your divination. thank you for caring enough to take time out of your day to listen to me. thank you for putting your own troubles aside for the moment just so you could help me with my own. thank you for thinking of me. thank you for showing your concern sincerely instead of just offering lip service. shit, just thanks for fucking representing and staying real and never allowing doubt in your integrity to exist. you've been around for a while and in this moment, you truly stepped up. i'm constantly reminded of just how many kindred spirits exist for me in the world. you are one of them. thank you for being my friend.
brothas like you should be appreciated more.
know i appreciate you.
brothas like you should be appreciated more.
know i appreciate you.
i still can't write
i'm suffering from writer's block. i know why. part of my mind is constantly spinning around the fact that my uncle's dead. part of my mind is overwhelmed with the idea of having to make moves after having chilled for the last couple of years, and part of my mind is focused on sex. it seems like everything is making me horny today.
shit, looking at the word 'FUCK' is making me horny. so is looking at the word 'horny'. i can't sit in my office seat for long because i want to close my door and masturbate. i might do that on my lunch break. then again, i don't want the office smelling like my pussy...the men might come in and never want to leave.
why are my nipples so fucking sensitive today? when i was washing my hands after using the bathroom earlier, i glanced into the mirror and all i saw were two very erect nipples poking through both my t-shirt AND my sweatshirt. it was like they were determined to be seen no matter what. then i had a meeting to attend and i'm leaning over because i'm thinking other folk see my erect nipples and think the token negro can't control her hornosity.
i just want to tweak them. just once. jusssssst onccccccce. i gotta flex my fingers to stop myself from doing just that. what the fuck is going ON with me???
i know what it is. i got to thinking about an ex-boyfriend of mine. man, his dick was a work of art. i was painting that shit everyday, my bushstrokes leaving his erect canvas gleaming with my cream. we were drawn into each other, an intricate illustration of angles and curves, synonymous in suspended animation...right before...right before...SHIT...gotta stop thinking about that or i'll never make it.
thirty minutes later...
aiight, i'm better. evidently i had to pee, which is why my clit was twitching like that. i'm still horny, but it's not as bad now. i refuse to think about my ex. i REFUSE, DAMNIT.
*sigh*
STOP IT, HAND!
my fingertips stroke the keypads slowly, caressing into sentences my need to get fucked. fucked well and fucked SOON.
oh please let it be soon. 'stroker ace' is getting tired...
i guess this is a blessing because if i think about sex i can't think about my uncle. maybe that's why i'm thinking so much about it, because i don't want to consider the task ahead of me. i've gotta fly to new york to bury my favorite uncle.
no, let me just think about fucking. let me think about calling out 'his' name, the name that makes me shiver whenever i say it out loud. the name that makes me quiver at the thought of whispering it into his ear as he strokes me slowly while telling me how loquacious i am and how he loves it when i genuflect in front of him right before sliding his dick into my mouth. then i'd have him talk to me in dirty french words...
aiight nikki, ENOUGH.
shit, looking at the word 'FUCK' is making me horny. so is looking at the word 'horny'. i can't sit in my office seat for long because i want to close my door and masturbate. i might do that on my lunch break. then again, i don't want the office smelling like my pussy...the men might come in and never want to leave.
why are my nipples so fucking sensitive today? when i was washing my hands after using the bathroom earlier, i glanced into the mirror and all i saw were two very erect nipples poking through both my t-shirt AND my sweatshirt. it was like they were determined to be seen no matter what. then i had a meeting to attend and i'm leaning over because i'm thinking other folk see my erect nipples and think the token negro can't control her hornosity.
i just want to tweak them. just once. jusssssst onccccccce. i gotta flex my fingers to stop myself from doing just that. what the fuck is going ON with me???
i know what it is. i got to thinking about an ex-boyfriend of mine. man, his dick was a work of art. i was painting that shit everyday, my bushstrokes leaving his erect canvas gleaming with my cream. we were drawn into each other, an intricate illustration of angles and curves, synonymous in suspended animation...right before...right before...SHIT...gotta stop thinking about that or i'll never make it.
thirty minutes later...
aiight, i'm better. evidently i had to pee, which is why my clit was twitching like that. i'm still horny, but it's not as bad now. i refuse to think about my ex. i REFUSE, DAMNIT.
*sigh*
STOP IT, HAND!
my fingertips stroke the keypads slowly, caressing into sentences my need to get fucked. fucked well and fucked SOON.
oh please let it be soon. 'stroker ace' is getting tired...
i guess this is a blessing because if i think about sex i can't think about my uncle. maybe that's why i'm thinking so much about it, because i don't want to consider the task ahead of me. i've gotta fly to new york to bury my favorite uncle.
no, let me just think about fucking. let me think about calling out 'his' name, the name that makes me shiver whenever i say it out loud. the name that makes me quiver at the thought of whispering it into his ear as he strokes me slowly while telling me how loquacious i am and how he loves it when i genuflect in front of him right before sliding his dick into my mouth. then i'd have him talk to me in dirty french words...
aiight nikki, ENOUGH.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
i'm gonna get to part two of 'pushing off weight' i promise.
i've gotta get myself together. i can't seem to get my thoughts straight today. it's probably all that lack of sleep i got last night.
anyway, while i'm still sad, i'm not broken. my spirit is intact. i'm not gonna wallow in this overlong.
i got a favor to ask though.
i'm in the hunt for some new music to buy cuz i'll be heading back to new york and i want to know what to get when i get there. if you've got suggestions, let me know. i'm down for whatever, as long as the music is good, so don't think cuz i'm black and poor all i want to listen to is nelly or t.i. thanks in advance.
oh yeah, i don't celebrate v-day, so i didn't do anything special and wouldn't have even if uncle curt hadn't passed on.
then again, i've been known to get giddy with v-day, but that's only if my heart's in it. unfortunately, it ain't right now.
you know what, uncle curt's passing really put shit in perspective. why did it occur within a couple of days of me writing about how i have to change my life? is god trying to tell me something? if he is, i'm listening. i might not be here tomorrow, but i'm damn sure here today. i gotta start feeding my spirit and fuck all the shit that's trying to starve it.
so i've signed up for hands on atlanta, which is a volunteer service with all kinds of programs that need help from volunteers. i notice i always feel better after i've donated my time to folk/organizations in need.
am i rambling? what the fuck! somebody told me the other day i run off on a tangent. he used the word 'loquacious', trying to fool me into thinking it was a compliment cuz the word sounded so beautiful. well, if someone tells you to genuflect before them, don't mistaken it for something like standing before them beautiful and proud. no, that mothafucka's telling you to grovel like a punk before him.
hey, 'somebody'... if you're reading this...FUCK YOU. i know you were just telling me i talk too fucking much! LOL
i'm yawning and can barely keep my eyes open and i've got another couple of hours here at work before at least an hour of working out at the gym. ARGH. i swear, if someone could just come up with a straw that could suck off the extra junk from my trunk, i would carve out my vagina and hand it to him on a platter, cuz you know...my pussy's worth its weight in fat folds.
now i must return to yawning in front of this monitor. i can't eat boiled eggs in the morning anymore. i've been farting all over the place and my breath STANK.
anyway, while i'm still sad, i'm not broken. my spirit is intact. i'm not gonna wallow in this overlong.
i got a favor to ask though.
i'm in the hunt for some new music to buy cuz i'll be heading back to new york and i want to know what to get when i get there. if you've got suggestions, let me know. i'm down for whatever, as long as the music is good, so don't think cuz i'm black and poor all i want to listen to is nelly or t.i. thanks in advance.
oh yeah, i don't celebrate v-day, so i didn't do anything special and wouldn't have even if uncle curt hadn't passed on.
then again, i've been known to get giddy with v-day, but that's only if my heart's in it. unfortunately, it ain't right now.
you know what, uncle curt's passing really put shit in perspective. why did it occur within a couple of days of me writing about how i have to change my life? is god trying to tell me something? if he is, i'm listening. i might not be here tomorrow, but i'm damn sure here today. i gotta start feeding my spirit and fuck all the shit that's trying to starve it.
so i've signed up for hands on atlanta, which is a volunteer service with all kinds of programs that need help from volunteers. i notice i always feel better after i've donated my time to folk/organizations in need.
am i rambling? what the fuck! somebody told me the other day i run off on a tangent. he used the word 'loquacious', trying to fool me into thinking it was a compliment cuz the word sounded so beautiful. well, if someone tells you to genuflect before them, don't mistaken it for something like standing before them beautiful and proud. no, that mothafucka's telling you to grovel like a punk before him.
hey, 'somebody'... if you're reading this...FUCK YOU. i know you were just telling me i talk too fucking much! LOL
i'm yawning and can barely keep my eyes open and i've got another couple of hours here at work before at least an hour of working out at the gym. ARGH. i swear, if someone could just come up with a straw that could suck off the extra junk from my trunk, i would carve out my vagina and hand it to him on a platter, cuz you know...my pussy's worth its weight in fat folds.
now i must return to yawning in front of this monitor. i can't eat boiled eggs in the morning anymore. i've been farting all over the place and my breath STANK.
last night
last night i needed you. only you weren't around, and i understand because you have your life to live. you have to do what you have to do to be happy.
and yet still, i needed you last night.
i needed you because you have a way of putting things in perspective for me. you make me feel as though i can lean on you for just about anything and you will hold me up. i needed you because you make me laugh, and i really needed to laugh last night.
but you weren't around, and i was lost.
i kept waking up
i kept waking up hoping
i kept waking up hoping you'd be
i kept waking up hoping you'd be there
cuz i really needed to share
share all the memories of my uncle with you because i knew you'd understand and appreciate just how beautiful the man really was. share all the jokes he told me (almost all of them dirty) with you because i knew you'd laugh and tell me how witty my uncle was. share my fears about the fact that death comes in threes and i've got two uncles down and one to go.
two uncles down and one to go.
i've only got one uncle left.
and you would have understood my fear because you too have suffered the death of a loved one and you know how it feels. you know how it feels to love the living and suddenly find out you're loving someone who's no longer alive and yet the love never dies.
the love never dies.
and how because love is always alive, so is that person's spirit. you would have told me that. you would have told me to celebrate his life and not to dwell on his death because you always keep it concise yet compassionate.
and i really, really needed you last night, because the darkness was more than i could take. i couldn't close my eyes for more than a couple of minutes at a time because i kept thinking about the fact that my uncle died all alone.
he died all alone.
i wasn't there to ease him into the after. i wasn't there to tell him i loved him so that the last words he heard before he died were 'i love you.' i wasn't there to hold him so that he knew he wasn't alone, knew i would take care of him, keep him until he transitioned.
i just wish you had been there.
but i understand. i have to understand. because addiction isn't good. it's not good to need that much. i have to find the strength to get rid of that need.
but for just one night, i wished you had been there.
cuz i needed you last night.
and yet still, i needed you last night.
i needed you because you have a way of putting things in perspective for me. you make me feel as though i can lean on you for just about anything and you will hold me up. i needed you because you make me laugh, and i really needed to laugh last night.
but you weren't around, and i was lost.
i kept waking up
i kept waking up hoping
i kept waking up hoping you'd be
i kept waking up hoping you'd be there
cuz i really needed to share
share all the memories of my uncle with you because i knew you'd understand and appreciate just how beautiful the man really was. share all the jokes he told me (almost all of them dirty) with you because i knew you'd laugh and tell me how witty my uncle was. share my fears about the fact that death comes in threes and i've got two uncles down and one to go.
two uncles down and one to go.
i've only got one uncle left.
and you would have understood my fear because you too have suffered the death of a loved one and you know how it feels. you know how it feels to love the living and suddenly find out you're loving someone who's no longer alive and yet the love never dies.
the love never dies.
and how because love is always alive, so is that person's spirit. you would have told me that. you would have told me to celebrate his life and not to dwell on his death because you always keep it concise yet compassionate.
and i really, really needed you last night, because the darkness was more than i could take. i couldn't close my eyes for more than a couple of minutes at a time because i kept thinking about the fact that my uncle died all alone.
he died all alone.
i wasn't there to ease him into the after. i wasn't there to tell him i loved him so that the last words he heard before he died were 'i love you.' i wasn't there to hold him so that he knew he wasn't alone, knew i would take care of him, keep him until he transitioned.
i just wish you had been there.
but i understand. i have to understand. because addiction isn't good. it's not good to need that much. i have to find the strength to get rid of that need.
but for just one night, i wished you had been there.
cuz i needed you last night.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
they found my uncle this morning, dead in his apartment
he was my favorite. he was my godfather. he was the one who told me stories about his younger brother, my father, who'd died before i was old enough to know him and appreciate him.
he called me his 'little lady'. no matter as the years went by and i was no longer a little girl, i was still his 'little lady'.
when i was born, he told me all of my father's friends were willing to fight to see who'd be my godfather. he told them they'd be wasting their time because 'this little lady is mine.'
he told me he fell in love with me on sight.
he said he remembered holding me for the first time and how i slept in his arms and didn't make a sound.
the last time i was in his presence, he was handing me a twenty to pay for my cab to the airport. then he hugged me tightly. i couldsmell the combination of his cologne and his favorite drink on his clothes (he was a smirnoff vodka man, straight, no chaser cuz chasers was for punks). that was last month.
the night after we buried his brother, my other uncle, uncle curt had me laughing so much as he told us stories about how he was part of a gang and how the gang actually had a war counselor.
"a WAR COUNSELOR???" i asked in amazement.
" why yes, little lady," he replied. "i was the president, then we had a vice president, a secretary of treasury, and a war counselor."
my brother and i looked at each other and grinned. that wasn't a gang, that was a club, like the 4-h club. he and the rest of the guys there said they were like 'the warriors' from that movie, only better. aswad and i laughed some more. that was a great night.
when i spoke to him last week, he told me he loved me so much. we were talking about him being retired and coming to visit me. he said he had to bring one of his 'senior citizens'. it wasn't until later i realized he meant he had to bring one of his 'big ladies..." i laughed so hard when he told me his mom, my granny, called him a couple of months back asking him what he was doing. well, he was getting busy with one of his 'senior citizens', but he couldn't tell her that. imagine that...a brotha 65 years old getting him some booty. and then telling his niece he was still getting some.
we talked for at least two hours that day, about everything that was on our minds and in our hearts. we poured ourselves into that moment, finding a common bond in our love for each other. that was truly the best conversation i'd ever had with him. it was as if my father orchestrated it, as if he knew it was to be our last conversation with each other. daddy made sure it was perfect.
thank you god, for letting me get to know him better before he left me.
thank you god, for giving me the gift of his unconditional love.
thank you god, for letting me keep him for as long as i could.
he was such a good man. please take care of him up there, will you? i'm gonna miss him so much i really am.
i love you so much uncle curt. i'm so glad you knew how much.
he called me his 'little lady'. no matter as the years went by and i was no longer a little girl, i was still his 'little lady'.
when i was born, he told me all of my father's friends were willing to fight to see who'd be my godfather. he told them they'd be wasting their time because 'this little lady is mine.'
he told me he fell in love with me on sight.
he said he remembered holding me for the first time and how i slept in his arms and didn't make a sound.
the last time i was in his presence, he was handing me a twenty to pay for my cab to the airport. then he hugged me tightly. i couldsmell the combination of his cologne and his favorite drink on his clothes (he was a smirnoff vodka man, straight, no chaser cuz chasers was for punks). that was last month.
the night after we buried his brother, my other uncle, uncle curt had me laughing so much as he told us stories about how he was part of a gang and how the gang actually had a war counselor.
"a WAR COUNSELOR???" i asked in amazement.
" why yes, little lady," he replied. "i was the president, then we had a vice president, a secretary of treasury, and a war counselor."
my brother and i looked at each other and grinned. that wasn't a gang, that was a club, like the 4-h club. he and the rest of the guys there said they were like 'the warriors' from that movie, only better. aswad and i laughed some more. that was a great night.
when i spoke to him last week, he told me he loved me so much. we were talking about him being retired and coming to visit me. he said he had to bring one of his 'senior citizens'. it wasn't until later i realized he meant he had to bring one of his 'big ladies..." i laughed so hard when he told me his mom, my granny, called him a couple of months back asking him what he was doing. well, he was getting busy with one of his 'senior citizens', but he couldn't tell her that. imagine that...a brotha 65 years old getting him some booty. and then telling his niece he was still getting some.
we talked for at least two hours that day, about everything that was on our minds and in our hearts. we poured ourselves into that moment, finding a common bond in our love for each other. that was truly the best conversation i'd ever had with him. it was as if my father orchestrated it, as if he knew it was to be our last conversation with each other. daddy made sure it was perfect.
thank you god, for letting me get to know him better before he left me.
thank you god, for giving me the gift of his unconditional love.
thank you god, for letting me keep him for as long as i could.
he was such a good man. please take care of him up there, will you? i'm gonna miss him so much i really am.
i love you so much uncle curt. i'm so glad you knew how much.
pushing off weight
his mouth was agape as he stared at me in shocked disbelief.
actually, he was staring at my asscheeks, currently being gripped, split, and flipped without quit by some cat with a long, strong dick and mobile hips. darius and i were at it doggie style, which up until that moment had been my favorite position.
unfortunately, it prevented me from seeing leron when he walked through the threshhold of my bedroom door.
so my moan for darius to "hit that spot right there, daddy" was greeted not by darius' emphatic response, but by leron's furious shout.
"what the FUCK is going on here???"
what the...
i twisted my head so fast i got dizzy, my wide-eyed gaze surprised as it landed on leron's shocked countenance.
oh SHIIIT!
darius, equally surprised by the unexpected interruption, had damn near fallen off of the bed as he pulled out so swiftly he lost his balance, landing sprawled on the edge of the mattress, his stiff dick glistening and bouncing bone straight in the air like an eager child trying to get the teacher's attention.
there was a long moment of tense silence. the three of us stared at each other with expressions ranging from fury to wariness to dismay as we tried to digest what had just happened.
slowly the anger began building within me. my eyes narrowed as i jumped from the bed and in my butt naked glory, stood right in front of him with my hands on my hips. questions were running through my mind.
what the fuck are you doing here? what gives you the right to think you can just barge in here like this? what did you expect after all the shit you'd put me through?
i spread my legs spread in a combative stance and glared up at him.
he glared back.
the battle had begun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
six months prior to that moment he'd told me he had a court date, acting like he was going to traffic court. leron hadn't made it home the night of the court date, and i grew worried. so when his boy kurt called me the next day to tell me where leron was, i was more than just a little anxious and ultimately, more than a little shocked...
"wait a sec...," i said with as much self control as i could muster, " you're telling me leron was convicted of drug posession???"
kurt was silent a moment as he contemplated how to answer.
"uh, yeah." he finally answered.
my hands curled into fists as i held onto the phone tightly, trying to control my sudden desire to kick a hole in the wall next to me. mothafucka hadn't even bothered telling his own girlfriend he was pushing weight. his girlfriend of two fucking years. shit, brotha had always been broke as fuck so if he'd been pushing weight he was stashing his funds somewhere else.
"why the fuck didn't he bother to tell me he was on trial for drug posession??," i asked incredulously,"he acted like all he had was a fucking speeding ticket!"
"he didn't want you to know what had happened," kurt explained, "he knew you'd be upset about it."
"upset? UPSET? what the fucking fuck?? that doesn't even begin to describe how i'm feeling right now," i replied, my voice rising as the anger boiled to steaming point within me, " that's not even the tip of the fucking iceberg of what i'm feeling right now!"
i could sense kurt getting nervous. meanwhile, i didn't give a shit. leron's trife ass hadn't even bothered telling me HIMSELF he was gonna be in jail. he'd had his friend tell me! what kind of cowardly bullshit was that? i started wracking my brain to see if i could remember when i'd last seen his scrotum cuz that shit seemed to have disappeared as if it'd never existed.
kurt cleared his throat.
"look nikki," he said, attempting to placate me as i silently fumed, "leron didn't want you worrying about him. he knew you'd be going down to macon with him if he'd told you the real reason he had to go to court."
i said nothing, the red sea of fury storming in my brain making it impossible for me to put together any intelligible sequence of words.
"leron's really sorry," kurt continued, "he's gonna be calling you soon and he wanted me to make sure you'd receive the phone call."
i just stood there with the phone to my ear, trying hard not to hang up the phone on kurt's ass.
"oh, so he had you call me to butter me up," i finally spoke, my voice detached as my mind continued trying to wrap itself around the situation, "you're the fucking lubricated condom on his dick trying to make this particular fuck a smooth one."
"shit, nikki!" kurt gasped irritatedly, "all i'm doing is calling you to let you know he'll be calling you. you do what you gotta do when the call comes. bye!"
and then the phone call ended on a slam from his end.
i'm not sure how long i remained standing in the hallway before the phone was ringing again. i jumped, startled out of my thoughts as i glanced at the number on the caller id pad. the call came from macon, ga. i breathed in deeply as the phone continued to ring, finally picking it up on the ring right before it went through to voice mail.
"hello?"
an automated message responded.
"you are being contacted from an inmate at macon state prison. if you would like to receive this phone call, please say 'yes' to accept the charges."
i was rapidly getting pissed again. i hesitated, wondering if i should accept the charges or not.
"NIKKI!" i heard leron's voice yelling through the poor connection, "accept the charges! PLEASE!"
shit! i rolled my eyes, tapped my fingers on my thigh, then took another deep breath before finally responding.
"YES, i'll accept the charges."
the call was connected.
i refused to say a word. i was too upset to speak. i was cussing him out in my mind, though.
you fucking idiot! what the fuck did you think you were doing? don't you know a black man got enough obstacles without being a drug convict too?
he spoke first.
"i know you're upset with me right now," he said in a low voice.
what?
"leron, that's like me saying i know the sky is blue," i replied sarcastically, "what kind of shit is that?"
i heard him sigh deeply on the other end.
"look," he started, "i don't have alot of time on the phone so let me just say what i gotta say aiight?"
"i'm listening," i replied derisively.
"when i drove to south carolina last month and brought back my boy skeeter, he had a pound of weed on him."
the blood was raging through me as i remained silent while he continued.
"when we got pulled over by the cops, skeeter stashed the weed in my glove compartment box. next thing you know the cops are finding the weed and arresting us."
i inhaled loudly, wanting him to know i was barely keeping the anger in.
"you're telling me that you were two black men driving a gray buick in south georgia and you thought the cops wouldn't stop you?," i asked disbelievingly, "have you forgotten where you at, leron?!? you're a black man in the south! you can't drive ANYWHERE without the threat of being pulled over! you took the chance of carrying a pound of fucking weed on you and for what? was it skeeter's weed or yours? what the fuck were you gonna do with a pound of fucking weed???"
my voice had raised to shouting level by the time i'd finished with my rant. there was silence on his end as he waited for me to say something else.
"no, i'm done, leron. i don't have shit else to say."
"nikki," he sighed heavily,"my time is almost up. i'll be here for six months. i'll write to you and explain everything. all i ask is that you accept the letters and write back to me. don't let us end this way."
i fiercely gripped my anger, realizing that leron didn't need me yelling at him like that. brotha was probably depressed about having to spend the next six months behind bars.
"aiight, leron." i said finally. "i'll wait for your letter and i'll write back..." i stopped, waging war with my fury at him and the situation. two years. TWO FUCKING YEARS. i've known this cat two fucking years and i realized i didn't know him at all. i closed my eyes, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose painfully as i came to grips with everything.
"stay safe in there and try to remain as strong as you can," i eventually said as i kicked into supportive girlfriend mode. "don't let this break your spirit."
"thank you nikki." he hesitated before adding " i love you, you know that right?"
"yeah, i know."
the silence grew loud between us. he waited expectantly.
"you're waiting for me to say i love you too, right?" i finally asked.
"that would be nice to know, nikki."
i shook my head to clear it of all of the thoughts crowding it. only one thing remained clear through it all.
"leron, i can't tell you i love you when i don't know you."
he let out a breath i guess he'd been holding for a while.
"hold it down for me, nikki," he said with sadness in his voice. "bye."
"bye."
i remained standing in the hallway for a long time, contemplating what the next few months would mean for leron and i.
actually, he was staring at my asscheeks, currently being gripped, split, and flipped without quit by some cat with a long, strong dick and mobile hips. darius and i were at it doggie style, which up until that moment had been my favorite position.
unfortunately, it prevented me from seeing leron when he walked through the threshhold of my bedroom door.
so my moan for darius to "hit that spot right there, daddy" was greeted not by darius' emphatic response, but by leron's furious shout.
"what the FUCK is going on here???"
what the...
i twisted my head so fast i got dizzy, my wide-eyed gaze surprised as it landed on leron's shocked countenance.
oh SHIIIT!
darius, equally surprised by the unexpected interruption, had damn near fallen off of the bed as he pulled out so swiftly he lost his balance, landing sprawled on the edge of the mattress, his stiff dick glistening and bouncing bone straight in the air like an eager child trying to get the teacher's attention.
there was a long moment of tense silence. the three of us stared at each other with expressions ranging from fury to wariness to dismay as we tried to digest what had just happened.
slowly the anger began building within me. my eyes narrowed as i jumped from the bed and in my butt naked glory, stood right in front of him with my hands on my hips. questions were running through my mind.
what the fuck are you doing here? what gives you the right to think you can just barge in here like this? what did you expect after all the shit you'd put me through?
i spread my legs spread in a combative stance and glared up at him.
he glared back.
the battle had begun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
six months prior to that moment he'd told me he had a court date, acting like he was going to traffic court. leron hadn't made it home the night of the court date, and i grew worried. so when his boy kurt called me the next day to tell me where leron was, i was more than just a little anxious and ultimately, more than a little shocked...
"wait a sec...," i said with as much self control as i could muster, " you're telling me leron was convicted of drug posession???"
kurt was silent a moment as he contemplated how to answer.
"uh, yeah." he finally answered.
my hands curled into fists as i held onto the phone tightly, trying to control my sudden desire to kick a hole in the wall next to me. mothafucka hadn't even bothered telling his own girlfriend he was pushing weight. his girlfriend of two fucking years. shit, brotha had always been broke as fuck so if he'd been pushing weight he was stashing his funds somewhere else.
"why the fuck didn't he bother to tell me he was on trial for drug posession??," i asked incredulously,"he acted like all he had was a fucking speeding ticket!"
"he didn't want you to know what had happened," kurt explained, "he knew you'd be upset about it."
"upset? UPSET? what the fucking fuck?? that doesn't even begin to describe how i'm feeling right now," i replied, my voice rising as the anger boiled to steaming point within me, " that's not even the tip of the fucking iceberg of what i'm feeling right now!"
i could sense kurt getting nervous. meanwhile, i didn't give a shit. leron's trife ass hadn't even bothered telling me HIMSELF he was gonna be in jail. he'd had his friend tell me! what kind of cowardly bullshit was that? i started wracking my brain to see if i could remember when i'd last seen his scrotum cuz that shit seemed to have disappeared as if it'd never existed.
kurt cleared his throat.
"look nikki," he said, attempting to placate me as i silently fumed, "leron didn't want you worrying about him. he knew you'd be going down to macon with him if he'd told you the real reason he had to go to court."
i said nothing, the red sea of fury storming in my brain making it impossible for me to put together any intelligible sequence of words.
"leron's really sorry," kurt continued, "he's gonna be calling you soon and he wanted me to make sure you'd receive the phone call."
i just stood there with the phone to my ear, trying hard not to hang up the phone on kurt's ass.
"oh, so he had you call me to butter me up," i finally spoke, my voice detached as my mind continued trying to wrap itself around the situation, "you're the fucking lubricated condom on his dick trying to make this particular fuck a smooth one."
"shit, nikki!" kurt gasped irritatedly, "all i'm doing is calling you to let you know he'll be calling you. you do what you gotta do when the call comes. bye!"
and then the phone call ended on a slam from his end.
i'm not sure how long i remained standing in the hallway before the phone was ringing again. i jumped, startled out of my thoughts as i glanced at the number on the caller id pad. the call came from macon, ga. i breathed in deeply as the phone continued to ring, finally picking it up on the ring right before it went through to voice mail.
"hello?"
an automated message responded.
"you are being contacted from an inmate at macon state prison. if you would like to receive this phone call, please say 'yes' to accept the charges."
i was rapidly getting pissed again. i hesitated, wondering if i should accept the charges or not.
"NIKKI!" i heard leron's voice yelling through the poor connection, "accept the charges! PLEASE!"
shit! i rolled my eyes, tapped my fingers on my thigh, then took another deep breath before finally responding.
"YES, i'll accept the charges."
the call was connected.
i refused to say a word. i was too upset to speak. i was cussing him out in my mind, though.
you fucking idiot! what the fuck did you think you were doing? don't you know a black man got enough obstacles without being a drug convict too?
he spoke first.
"i know you're upset with me right now," he said in a low voice.
what?
"leron, that's like me saying i know the sky is blue," i replied sarcastically, "what kind of shit is that?"
i heard him sigh deeply on the other end.
"look," he started, "i don't have alot of time on the phone so let me just say what i gotta say aiight?"
"i'm listening," i replied derisively.
"when i drove to south carolina last month and brought back my boy skeeter, he had a pound of weed on him."
the blood was raging through me as i remained silent while he continued.
"when we got pulled over by the cops, skeeter stashed the weed in my glove compartment box. next thing you know the cops are finding the weed and arresting us."
i inhaled loudly, wanting him to know i was barely keeping the anger in.
"you're telling me that you were two black men driving a gray buick in south georgia and you thought the cops wouldn't stop you?," i asked disbelievingly, "have you forgotten where you at, leron?!? you're a black man in the south! you can't drive ANYWHERE without the threat of being pulled over! you took the chance of carrying a pound of fucking weed on you and for what? was it skeeter's weed or yours? what the fuck were you gonna do with a pound of fucking weed???"
my voice had raised to shouting level by the time i'd finished with my rant. there was silence on his end as he waited for me to say something else.
"no, i'm done, leron. i don't have shit else to say."
"nikki," he sighed heavily,"my time is almost up. i'll be here for six months. i'll write to you and explain everything. all i ask is that you accept the letters and write back to me. don't let us end this way."
i fiercely gripped my anger, realizing that leron didn't need me yelling at him like that. brotha was probably depressed about having to spend the next six months behind bars.
"aiight, leron." i said finally. "i'll wait for your letter and i'll write back..." i stopped, waging war with my fury at him and the situation. two years. TWO FUCKING YEARS. i've known this cat two fucking years and i realized i didn't know him at all. i closed my eyes, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose painfully as i came to grips with everything.
"stay safe in there and try to remain as strong as you can," i eventually said as i kicked into supportive girlfriend mode. "don't let this break your spirit."
"thank you nikki." he hesitated before adding " i love you, you know that right?"
"yeah, i know."
the silence grew loud between us. he waited expectantly.
"you're waiting for me to say i love you too, right?" i finally asked.
"that would be nice to know, nikki."
i shook my head to clear it of all of the thoughts crowding it. only one thing remained clear through it all.
"leron, i can't tell you i love you when i don't know you."
he let out a breath i guess he'd been holding for a while.
"hold it down for me, nikki," he said with sadness in his voice. "bye."
"bye."
i remained standing in the hallway for a long time, contemplating what the next few months would mean for leron and i.
Monday, February 13, 2006
i confess
*i initially posted this a couple of days ago and then pulled it because i thought it was being unfair to the party involved. all i ask is that you consider the fact that he is human and capable of the same errors in decisions as anyone else. however, he is a wonderful person.
ultimately, i needed to go ahead and post this because in my efforts to remain true to my feelings in the year 2006, this is a part of that journey. i cannot run away from that which isn't pleasant. i have to find a way to cope and move forward, stronger than before. a friend reminded me how important it was to stay true to myself, and therefore, i shall.*
i confess
i am not happy.
with you.
with me being with you.
i am not happy with us.
it was never about you. it was always about me choosing you when i really shouldn't have. it was me telling myself i was doing right by choosing you. you, who have seen me at my best and my worst and still stood by as my friend. you who watched me date other guys while you waited, content with the knowledge that i'd come back to you.
and i did.
only now i know it was a mistake.
actually, i've always known, deep down. i've always known. i knew when we first got together and i broke it off after a few months. i knew then we weren't meant to be together. but you were so nice to me. you were so supportive of me when i was down. you were so patient when my mood swings made me intolerable to everybody.
yes, you've been the constant thread through which my life has woven itself for the last thirteen years. you were there to watch me evolve from college student to homeowner to homeless person to college student. you have witnessed my journey in all its pitfalls and triumphs. you have given yourself and i love you for it. you're a good guy. shit, you're a GREAT guy.
but you're not the great guy for me.
see, cuz despite all of the support and affection you've given to me over the years, you don't really know me.
you know the nikki you think you fell in love with all those years ago. the nikki from afar, the nikki you helped because you were her friend and you thought you loved her.
but you didn't know me, so you were only in love with an aberration. you didn't know i was still having nightmares from being molested and raped. you didn't know the body you were so eager to worship was the same body i was trying to discard of because it had become my prison, because whenever i looked into the mirror i would see 'his' hands squeezing my breasts painfully or feel 'his' hot breath on my neck, 'his' heavy body on me as he tore through my vagina with violent force. you didn't know how uncomfortable i still was of a man's attention. you didn't know i was so afraid of disappointing those around me that i lied about everything i was going through because i thought i was a totally worthless human being. all you saw was a wounded soul you were ready to swoop in and save, be the knight in shining armor for me and i'd be forever grateful.
but you never really wondered about how i was wounded or whether or not i could heal without you. you wanted me to depend on you. you wanted the damaged me because damaged folk don't recognize their own worth, don't recognize they have needs or their right to demand those needs be met. they're just so damn happy to have been saved. even when i told you everything, i didn't feel as though you knew me. i think you were still seeing the poor sista who needed saving. you didn't see me as the sista strong enough to save herself, strong enough to make herself whole again and emerge from her darkness still willing to be your girlfriend. you made the decision to see her as the same powerless person she saw herself to be.
and i didn't do right by you. i leaned on you too much. i should have realized i had to get my shit together by myself before i'd be worth anything to anyone else. it became convenient for both of us.
i should never have become your mate. we'd been friends so long that it just seemed the natural thing to do but we should never have done it. we should have just remained friends. but everyone made a point of reminding me of what a good guy you were when i would tell them i didn't think we should be together. you were the good brotha we sistas talk about but never get with because we don't want a nice guy. i wanted to prove everybody wrong. i wanted them to know i could appreciate having a good guy in my life.
but i now realize that i want more than a good guy. i want and deserve a guy who shares a love and passion for the things that are important to me. i want a partner in action, not just someone who's nice and respects me but doesn't know really know the me inside. i want someone who feels the same love for words and music and knowledge and community that i do. i want someone who cares about the same things i care about.
don't you want more for yourself? don't you want a woman who will love everything about you and not wish for you to be different? that's what you deserve! you deserve a woman who will love the fact that you keep the television on speedvision all day everyday without a desire to watch anything else that isn't car related. you deserve a woman who is fine with you not wanting to engage in self-introspection because you don't care about that nonsense. you deserve a woman who doesn't hound you about the fact that you never think of new ways to spend time together because you're comfortable with routine. you deserve a woman who doesn't hound you about volunteering because she thinks you're being too passive in the face of injustice. you deserve a woman who shares your passions, not one who hordes her own because she sees you don't share them.
you don't deserve someone like me. i cannot love you as you deserve to be loved. we both deserve to be happy and we won't find it here. with this.
both of our spirits are withering right now. both of us will hurt when this ends. but these shouldn't be the only things two people in a relationship have in common.
i confess
the me i am with you is not the me i want to be.
ultimately, i needed to go ahead and post this because in my efforts to remain true to my feelings in the year 2006, this is a part of that journey. i cannot run away from that which isn't pleasant. i have to find a way to cope and move forward, stronger than before. a friend reminded me how important it was to stay true to myself, and therefore, i shall.*
i confess
i am not happy.
with you.
with me being with you.
i am not happy with us.
it was never about you. it was always about me choosing you when i really shouldn't have. it was me telling myself i was doing right by choosing you. you, who have seen me at my best and my worst and still stood by as my friend. you who watched me date other guys while you waited, content with the knowledge that i'd come back to you.
and i did.
only now i know it was a mistake.
actually, i've always known, deep down. i've always known. i knew when we first got together and i broke it off after a few months. i knew then we weren't meant to be together. but you were so nice to me. you were so supportive of me when i was down. you were so patient when my mood swings made me intolerable to everybody.
yes, you've been the constant thread through which my life has woven itself for the last thirteen years. you were there to watch me evolve from college student to homeowner to homeless person to college student. you have witnessed my journey in all its pitfalls and triumphs. you have given yourself and i love you for it. you're a good guy. shit, you're a GREAT guy.
but you're not the great guy for me.
see, cuz despite all of the support and affection you've given to me over the years, you don't really know me.
you know the nikki you think you fell in love with all those years ago. the nikki from afar, the nikki you helped because you were her friend and you thought you loved her.
but you didn't know me, so you were only in love with an aberration. you didn't know i was still having nightmares from being molested and raped. you didn't know the body you were so eager to worship was the same body i was trying to discard of because it had become my prison, because whenever i looked into the mirror i would see 'his' hands squeezing my breasts painfully or feel 'his' hot breath on my neck, 'his' heavy body on me as he tore through my vagina with violent force. you didn't know how uncomfortable i still was of a man's attention. you didn't know i was so afraid of disappointing those around me that i lied about everything i was going through because i thought i was a totally worthless human being. all you saw was a wounded soul you were ready to swoop in and save, be the knight in shining armor for me and i'd be forever grateful.
but you never really wondered about how i was wounded or whether or not i could heal without you. you wanted me to depend on you. you wanted the damaged me because damaged folk don't recognize their own worth, don't recognize they have needs or their right to demand those needs be met. they're just so damn happy to have been saved. even when i told you everything, i didn't feel as though you knew me. i think you were still seeing the poor sista who needed saving. you didn't see me as the sista strong enough to save herself, strong enough to make herself whole again and emerge from her darkness still willing to be your girlfriend. you made the decision to see her as the same powerless person she saw herself to be.
and i didn't do right by you. i leaned on you too much. i should have realized i had to get my shit together by myself before i'd be worth anything to anyone else. it became convenient for both of us.
i should never have become your mate. we'd been friends so long that it just seemed the natural thing to do but we should never have done it. we should have just remained friends. but everyone made a point of reminding me of what a good guy you were when i would tell them i didn't think we should be together. you were the good brotha we sistas talk about but never get with because we don't want a nice guy. i wanted to prove everybody wrong. i wanted them to know i could appreciate having a good guy in my life.
but i now realize that i want more than a good guy. i want and deserve a guy who shares a love and passion for the things that are important to me. i want a partner in action, not just someone who's nice and respects me but doesn't know really know the me inside. i want someone who feels the same love for words and music and knowledge and community that i do. i want someone who cares about the same things i care about.
don't you want more for yourself? don't you want a woman who will love everything about you and not wish for you to be different? that's what you deserve! you deserve a woman who will love the fact that you keep the television on speedvision all day everyday without a desire to watch anything else that isn't car related. you deserve a woman who is fine with you not wanting to engage in self-introspection because you don't care about that nonsense. you deserve a woman who doesn't hound you about the fact that you never think of new ways to spend time together because you're comfortable with routine. you deserve a woman who doesn't hound you about volunteering because she thinks you're being too passive in the face of injustice. you deserve a woman who shares your passions, not one who hordes her own because she sees you don't share them.
you don't deserve someone like me. i cannot love you as you deserve to be loved. we both deserve to be happy and we won't find it here. with this.
both of our spirits are withering right now. both of us will hurt when this ends. but these shouldn't be the only things two people in a relationship have in common.
i confess
the me i am with you is not the me i want to be.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
a-maize-ing (pants on fire pt. 2)
i'd first met him on the train. i was on my way back from an impromtu birthday gathering at fat tuesdays in underground and i was just a little tipsy. when i first noticed he was staring at me, i dismissed him immediately. he definitely wasn't my type. i mean, i like them tall and dark-skinned but this cat had an innate corniness about him. i couldn't put my finger on it. maybe it was his pants that were just a bit too tight and a bit too high in the cuff or it could have been the white blazer that looked just a bit too dolemite-ish for me as it stretched snugly across his shoulders and chest. either way, despite the fact that his body looked damn near flawness underneath the clothing, the shallow side of me reared it's ugly head and screamed "HELL nah girl! that cat looks corny as FUCK."
so i turned my attention to the night time landscape speeding past my window, basking in my shallowed glory. i had been sitting there for about five minutes when i felt someone close by. i turned my head and found myself face to face with corny boy.
"hello," he said in a deeply-timbred voice that brought to mind a wool coat warming me in winter. i was taken aback.
corny boy has a voice like that? a few kernels dropped off of him but he was still carrying at least a bushel of the stuff on him.
"'sup," i replied, trying to keep the exchange as casual as possible. i mean, to say 'hello' might have him thinking i was interested. 'sup' is a greeting that implies indifference. i usually reserve this greeting for guys who do not immediately pique my interest.
he had moved from his seat across the aisle and was now sitting next to me. upon closer inspection, he wasn't bad looking at all. a short 'fro framed his face, which was all african, a strong and prominent nose that stood out beneath brown eyes fringed with thick black eye lashes. his lips had a sensual fullness to them. those look like pussy sippin' lips right there...
aiight, so corny boy was cute. he still had a herb-like quality to him, though.
"so..." he began, "where you headed?"
"home," i stated. it was best to keep my answers as short as possible. if i start using multi-syllabic words, brotha might think i was interested, which i wasn't. either he was oblivious to my disinterest or he was just determined to get me interested, cuz he continued on.
"i'm just leaving church myself."
church? on a saturday night? this cat must be a holy roller. HELL nah. i looked at him and said nothing.
"i'm a member of world changers church"
oh shit...one of creflo's folk.
now let me first say i have no problem with god or the church. i think god is good and church is there cuz folk need it. meanwhile, many of creflo's folk, in their eagerness to get other folk to believe in the word, have been known to get friendly with perfect strangers with the express purpose of trying to convince them to join their church. i've been approached by fine brothas in the past only to discover they were looking to recruit me into the church. i wanna kick creflo's ass for getting a sista's hopes up so high like that.
i squinted my eyes, suddenly suspicious of his intentions.
"you're not trying to get me to join your church, are you?"
"no, ma'am." he said quickly, trying to abate my reservations, "i just wondered to myself 'what's a beautiful girl like you was doing sitting on a train at night all alone?'"
"cuz i'm grown," i answered.
he chuckled. it was a nice sounding chuckle. i relaxed a bit, settling myself into the seat a little more. we regarded each other quietly. i knew i was looking pretty damn good in my short, black sundress with spaghetti straps crossing the back. my legs were crossed to expose just a little thigh, although that wasn't with the intention of catching anyone's attention. you know how it goes...we sistas are just naturally sexy. i saw him take a quick glance at my legs before returning his gaze to my face. my mouth tilted into a sly grin. yeah, i knew you couldn't resist at least one little peek. he returned the sly grin, as if to say i wasn't resisting it.
"so where's home?" he asked.
"i live in stone mountain."
"whereabout in stone mountain?"
"now do i look like the kind of fool that would tell a perfect stranger 'whereabout' i'm living in stone mountain?"
he sat back and looked at me as a smile parted his lips.
"no, i guess not."
"you could be a serial killer or something," i speculated. "or worse, you could be some overzealous church person determined to save me from the lure of satan. i think i'd prefer it if you were a serial killer."
we both laughed at that. man, but he had a nice laugh. that was an appealing trait. i was starting to reassess the situation.
as the train made its way towards my station, we continued making small talk. turns out we had a friend in common, which was good because i could grill her about his ass when i got home. when it was time for me to exit the train, he followed me onto the platform.
"so can i get your number and give you a call sometime?"
i thought about it for a second, quickly listing the pros and cons in my mind.
pros - great sense of humor, easy to smile, diesel bod, pussy sippin' lips.
cons - dresses like a starving pimp, appears to be a bit conservative with his views, is a member of a very large, very aggressive church.
hmmmmz...if he knows how to work those lips, i won't be giving a shit about what he's wearing.
"aiight," i finally answered.
we exchanged numbers, then i walked to my car, got in, and drove home. and then i called our mutual friend, kim.
five minutes into the conversation, kim had me thinking i had just exchanged numbers with the most pious, most repressed brotha in atlanta.
"is he really that much of a tight ass?" i asked her incredulously.
"girl, demetrius is such a tight ass, shit gotta come out of his asscheeks sideways!"
we both dissolved into giggling idiots at her joke while my overly active imagination began visualizing how that could happen.
"don't worry," kim reassured me, "he's pretty cool. i've worked with him for almost two years. he's the brotha who's always on time. i don't think he's ever been late for anything."
"oh," i sighed with relief,"that has to account for something."
_________________
i was remembering that conversation i'd had with kim last week as i stood there looking at the same cat she said was never late for anything. the same cat who was standing in my foyer after making me wait for two hours for his ass while he was at home, enthralled with the flawless fucking of his hands.
demetrius stood there expectantly.
"so are we still on?" he asked, a trace of nervousness in his voice.
i thought about the fact that he was still corny as hell. then i thought about the fact that he'd probably jacked his dick raw in the last two hours, which meant i wasn't gonna get any ass that night even if i'd wanted to. i thought about the velvet box in my hand. the box i still hadn't bothered to open. after a moment more of contemplation, i focused my attention on his face.
pussy sippin' lips...
"aiight," i finally answered.
come on folk. did you really think i was gonna say no??? i mean, not only does he have pussy sippin' lips, but brotha might let me watch him while he yanks his chain. i can't say no to that!
i walked to the coat rack, grabbed my coat and handed to him to help me get into it. as i'm placing my arms into the sleeves of the coat, i realize i've still got the box in my left hand. demetrius noticed it, too.
"aren't you going to open your gift?"
shrugging the coat onto my shoulders, i place a hand over the top of the box and opened it. nestled within the satin folds were a pair of earrings. a pair of peridot earrings. my birth stone. how did...
"kim told me your birthdate."
he was standing in front of me with a little more confidence in his stance. i lifted a brow in surprise at his thoughtfulness. so this gift was purchased in advance...
the kernels began falling from his form with a swiftness...
so i turned my attention to the night time landscape speeding past my window, basking in my shallowed glory. i had been sitting there for about five minutes when i felt someone close by. i turned my head and found myself face to face with corny boy.
"hello," he said in a deeply-timbred voice that brought to mind a wool coat warming me in winter. i was taken aback.
corny boy has a voice like that? a few kernels dropped off of him but he was still carrying at least a bushel of the stuff on him.
"'sup," i replied, trying to keep the exchange as casual as possible. i mean, to say 'hello' might have him thinking i was interested. 'sup' is a greeting that implies indifference. i usually reserve this greeting for guys who do not immediately pique my interest.
he had moved from his seat across the aisle and was now sitting next to me. upon closer inspection, he wasn't bad looking at all. a short 'fro framed his face, which was all african, a strong and prominent nose that stood out beneath brown eyes fringed with thick black eye lashes. his lips had a sensual fullness to them. those look like pussy sippin' lips right there...
aiight, so corny boy was cute. he still had a herb-like quality to him, though.
"so..." he began, "where you headed?"
"home," i stated. it was best to keep my answers as short as possible. if i start using multi-syllabic words, brotha might think i was interested, which i wasn't. either he was oblivious to my disinterest or he was just determined to get me interested, cuz he continued on.
"i'm just leaving church myself."
church? on a saturday night? this cat must be a holy roller. HELL nah. i looked at him and said nothing.
"i'm a member of world changers church"
oh shit...one of creflo's folk.
now let me first say i have no problem with god or the church. i think god is good and church is there cuz folk need it. meanwhile, many of creflo's folk, in their eagerness to get other folk to believe in the word, have been known to get friendly with perfect strangers with the express purpose of trying to convince them to join their church. i've been approached by fine brothas in the past only to discover they were looking to recruit me into the church. i wanna kick creflo's ass for getting a sista's hopes up so high like that.
i squinted my eyes, suddenly suspicious of his intentions.
"you're not trying to get me to join your church, are you?"
"no, ma'am." he said quickly, trying to abate my reservations, "i just wondered to myself 'what's a beautiful girl like you was doing sitting on a train at night all alone?'"
"cuz i'm grown," i answered.
he chuckled. it was a nice sounding chuckle. i relaxed a bit, settling myself into the seat a little more. we regarded each other quietly. i knew i was looking pretty damn good in my short, black sundress with spaghetti straps crossing the back. my legs were crossed to expose just a little thigh, although that wasn't with the intention of catching anyone's attention. you know how it goes...we sistas are just naturally sexy. i saw him take a quick glance at my legs before returning his gaze to my face. my mouth tilted into a sly grin. yeah, i knew you couldn't resist at least one little peek. he returned the sly grin, as if to say i wasn't resisting it.
"so where's home?" he asked.
"i live in stone mountain."
"whereabout in stone mountain?"
"now do i look like the kind of fool that would tell a perfect stranger 'whereabout' i'm living in stone mountain?"
he sat back and looked at me as a smile parted his lips.
"no, i guess not."
"you could be a serial killer or something," i speculated. "or worse, you could be some overzealous church person determined to save me from the lure of satan. i think i'd prefer it if you were a serial killer."
we both laughed at that. man, but he had a nice laugh. that was an appealing trait. i was starting to reassess the situation.
as the train made its way towards my station, we continued making small talk. turns out we had a friend in common, which was good because i could grill her about his ass when i got home. when it was time for me to exit the train, he followed me onto the platform.
"so can i get your number and give you a call sometime?"
i thought about it for a second, quickly listing the pros and cons in my mind.
pros - great sense of humor, easy to smile, diesel bod, pussy sippin' lips.
cons - dresses like a starving pimp, appears to be a bit conservative with his views, is a member of a very large, very aggressive church.
hmmmmz...if he knows how to work those lips, i won't be giving a shit about what he's wearing.
"aiight," i finally answered.
we exchanged numbers, then i walked to my car, got in, and drove home. and then i called our mutual friend, kim.
five minutes into the conversation, kim had me thinking i had just exchanged numbers with the most pious, most repressed brotha in atlanta.
"is he really that much of a tight ass?" i asked her incredulously.
"girl, demetrius is such a tight ass, shit gotta come out of his asscheeks sideways!"
we both dissolved into giggling idiots at her joke while my overly active imagination began visualizing how that could happen.
"don't worry," kim reassured me, "he's pretty cool. i've worked with him for almost two years. he's the brotha who's always on time. i don't think he's ever been late for anything."
"oh," i sighed with relief,"that has to account for something."
_________________
i was remembering that conversation i'd had with kim last week as i stood there looking at the same cat she said was never late for anything. the same cat who was standing in my foyer after making me wait for two hours for his ass while he was at home, enthralled with the flawless fucking of his hands.
demetrius stood there expectantly.
"so are we still on?" he asked, a trace of nervousness in his voice.
i thought about the fact that he was still corny as hell. then i thought about the fact that he'd probably jacked his dick raw in the last two hours, which meant i wasn't gonna get any ass that night even if i'd wanted to. i thought about the velvet box in my hand. the box i still hadn't bothered to open. after a moment more of contemplation, i focused my attention on his face.
pussy sippin' lips...
"aiight," i finally answered.
come on folk. did you really think i was gonna say no??? i mean, not only does he have pussy sippin' lips, but brotha might let me watch him while he yanks his chain. i can't say no to that!
i walked to the coat rack, grabbed my coat and handed to him to help me get into it. as i'm placing my arms into the sleeves of the coat, i realize i've still got the box in my left hand. demetrius noticed it, too.
"aren't you going to open your gift?"
shrugging the coat onto my shoulders, i place a hand over the top of the box and opened it. nestled within the satin folds were a pair of earrings. a pair of peridot earrings. my birth stone. how did...
"kim told me your birthdate."
he was standing in front of me with a little more confidence in his stance. i lifted a brow in surprise at his thoughtfulness. so this gift was purchased in advance...
the kernels began falling from his form with a swiftness...
pants on fire
he arrived two hours late, wearing what looked to be a mud brown, pea green, and flourescent orange checked santeen shirt with dark green leather pants. when i opened the door (after simmering behind it for about three minutes trying to calm myself down), he was standing in front of me in all his tacky glory, a small box in his hand.
a gift on the first date?
i guess that was his 'i'm sorry i'm a trife mothafucka who's late for our first date' consolation present. i just stood there and glared at him. two and a half hours previous to that exact moment i was racing home from work, battling through an atlanta traffic comprised of every idiot who'd had to take his driving test at least three times before passing it, every little old lady who thought at age 85 she could still drive her model-t looking ancient assed vehicle during the height of rush hour traffic, every eighteen-wheeler driving maniac who didn't see my car in their rear-view mirrors as they swerved recklessly from lane to lane, and every fucking soccer-mom who, in between reaching behind herself to smack the shit out of her badd-assed kids, was grabbing for the dog who was determined to throw himself into oncoming traffic.
after an hour of that shit, i was slamming my car door furiously as i walked quickly to my front door, put the key into the keyhole, and let myself into my apartment. i'd quickly glanced at my watch. SHIT. i'd had thirty minutes to undress, wash my ass, find a halfway decent outfit, get dressed, and be fully presentable by the time he was scheduled to arrive. i was basically running from room to room, yanking off clothes and tossing them into the air, not caring where they landed. i had precious little time to concentrate on being neat about it, because i'd had only thirty minutes...no, make that twenty-four minutes, to get all that shit done before the time he was supposed to be ringing my doorbell.
ten minutes later i was stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body as i raced for the closet. flinging open the door, i'd frantically pushed through clothes until i found a dress i was cool with wearing. i shimmied into the dress, damn near pulled my arm outta the socket as i grasped for the zipper in the back, and was hopping around trying to put together the clasp on my sandals.
five minutes left.
i'd quickly checked myself in the mirror, tossing my head back in a weak attempt to give my locs a semblance of order. i ran back to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and was sitting on my couch when seven o'clock hit.
so by the time his ass finally showed up at 9 o'clock, i was a pissed bitch.
thinking back on the frantic hours that'd just past, my face grew into a scowl as i continued glaring at him.
"here." he said contritely, "this is for you."
i looked at the small box in his hand. is that velvet? what the hell is he doing bringing me a velvet encased gift on the first date?
...i wonder if it's shiny and expensive!
i took the box and stepped back, opening the door wide enough for him to step over the threshold. what the fuck is this cat wearing??? as he stepped past me, i turned to look at his backside.
leather pants! this cat's wearing LEATHER PANTS...
closing the door, i pursed my lips, swallowing the giggle tickling my throat.
he turned around to face me, took a deep breath, then opened his mouth to speak.
yeah, mothafucka...what weak-assed excuse you gonna come up with?
"i'm sorry i'm late for our date, but my roommate's dog got sick and i had to take him to the vet."
what? damn, brotha...that's the best you got? shit, you get an 'f' for effort. you probably that kinda brotha who thinks he put in work cuz he went longer then three minutes but shorter than seven.
and then i was paying him little attention, my mind focused on the weight of the little box in my hand. i gave it a furtive shake.
hmmm...sounds like jewelry, but a sista can't be too sure...
i focused my gaze on his face, noting how apologetic he appeared to be. i decided to fuck with him to see just how far he had thought this lie out.
"what's the pet's name?"
"spot," he replied, a little too quickly for my tastes...
"what kind of dog is spot?"
"rotweiller."
a rotweiller named spot? either this is so fucking lame it's true or brotha has no imagination worth a shit.
"what was wrong with spot?" i drilled him.
"he had some kind of pooping problem," he said with a growing look of bewilderment on his face.
what guy says 'poop' these days? say 'shit' like grown folk do! he might as well as say "this is gonna be a swell date! we're gonna have a gay time!"
i had to tell myself to shut up before i ended up ripping him apart in my mind.
"what kind of pooping problem?" i asked, hoping to sound genuinely interested.
he hesitated.
are you gonna make it this easy for me? come on...give a sista a challenge!
"uh, i'm not sure," he stated with a wary look in his eyes as he continued looking into mine.
"you're not sure?" i pinned him with my piercing stare, wishing i could carve him apart on sight, "so spot has a pooping problem so you take him to the vet..."
"yeah," he said with a sigh. i guess he was starting to realize he was in for the negro inquisition. damn right, ya bastid.
"so...spot's pooping alot?" i was starting to find pleasure in saying the word 'poop'. it was certainly more fun than having to wait two hours for his trife ass to show up. he was starting to look really nervous now. i almost rolled my eyes. this was ridiculous.
"yeah...," his brow furrowed as he looked to be trying to come up with additional addendums to the lie, "he was pooping all over the place!"
i responded quickly so he wouldn't have time to think.
"so spot was pooping all over the place so you decided to take him to the vet to end the pooping problem."
he nodded.
then i went in for the kill.
"which vet?"
silence.
i just looked at him and smirked. it took one minute to crack that lie. you're an idiot, aren't you?
he stood there with a vacant look on his face as he realized he didn't have shit to say. the silence continued for about thirty seconds as he silently debated what his next move should be. i decided to put him out of his misery. i slowly started shaking my head disgustedly as i shifted my weight to one foot, crossing my arms so that the token gift in the velvet box was sitting against my left arm.
"why you lying to me?"
he opened his mouth to speak. i interrupted him.
"it would be in your best interest to come with the truth this time."
he cleared his throat, shuffled his feet a little while never breaking eye contact with me. then he started rubbing his hands together slowly. he cleared his throat again.
"well..." he began, "it's like this. i haven't gotten any ass in three months, so i was jacking off and lost track of time."
i raised both eyebrows as i digested his confession. so brotha went from a bullshit lie to the painful truth. no middle ground with this fella...and it had to be the truth. think about it...what guy admits to jacking off and losing track of time? then again, what guy loses track of time while jacking off? was he that in love with his hand? did his hand suck him off, too? i mean, i love my vibrator. it's a long, black, thick rubber piece of perfection i call 'stroker ace' cuz it always strokes perfectly and is always an ace in the hole.
but uh, i ain't gonna miss a date and the potential for real dick cuz me and 'ace' got caught up in the moment.
i stood there trying to decide what i should do. on the one hand, he lied, and it wasn't even an inspired lie, really. he put very little effort into it, probably assuming he was dealing with a dumb broad. i felt insulted twice over.
strike one against his ass.
then there was his outfit, which was something straight up out of a pimp's closet. really...green leather pants??
strike two.
then he's got an unnaturally intimate relationship with his hand. i glanced at his hands to see if i could figure out which one was his 'bitch'. they both looked strong and well used with short, clean nails tipping them. apparently he was ambi-dick-strokes. i fought the inclination to breathe in deeply to see if there were any traces of his intimate encounter from earlier. i wasn't sure which hand he used, but just looking at them had me envisioning him with them wrapped around his dick, stroking it slowly...
whoa, nikki...rein that image in right now.
i blinked and raised my head to make eye contact with him. he was waiting expectantly for me to speak.
is the fact that he lost track of time because he was jacking off really a strike against him? i mean, if he wanted to jack off in the future, he might let me watch. that was a direct appeal to the sista in me who loves watching a guy jack himself off. i began weakening a little bit...
and then there's the gift...it sounded like jewelry and it was in a velvet case.
dilemmas, dilemmas...what's a girl to do?
_______________________________
so what do you think i did (or should have done?)
a gift on the first date?
i guess that was his 'i'm sorry i'm a trife mothafucka who's late for our first date' consolation present. i just stood there and glared at him. two and a half hours previous to that exact moment i was racing home from work, battling through an atlanta traffic comprised of every idiot who'd had to take his driving test at least three times before passing it, every little old lady who thought at age 85 she could still drive her model-t looking ancient assed vehicle during the height of rush hour traffic, every eighteen-wheeler driving maniac who didn't see my car in their rear-view mirrors as they swerved recklessly from lane to lane, and every fucking soccer-mom who, in between reaching behind herself to smack the shit out of her badd-assed kids, was grabbing for the dog who was determined to throw himself into oncoming traffic.
after an hour of that shit, i was slamming my car door furiously as i walked quickly to my front door, put the key into the keyhole, and let myself into my apartment. i'd quickly glanced at my watch. SHIT. i'd had thirty minutes to undress, wash my ass, find a halfway decent outfit, get dressed, and be fully presentable by the time he was scheduled to arrive. i was basically running from room to room, yanking off clothes and tossing them into the air, not caring where they landed. i had precious little time to concentrate on being neat about it, because i'd had only thirty minutes...no, make that twenty-four minutes, to get all that shit done before the time he was supposed to be ringing my doorbell.
ten minutes later i was stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body as i raced for the closet. flinging open the door, i'd frantically pushed through clothes until i found a dress i was cool with wearing. i shimmied into the dress, damn near pulled my arm outta the socket as i grasped for the zipper in the back, and was hopping around trying to put together the clasp on my sandals.
five minutes left.
i'd quickly checked myself in the mirror, tossing my head back in a weak attempt to give my locs a semblance of order. i ran back to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and was sitting on my couch when seven o'clock hit.
so by the time his ass finally showed up at 9 o'clock, i was a pissed bitch.
thinking back on the frantic hours that'd just past, my face grew into a scowl as i continued glaring at him.
"here." he said contritely, "this is for you."
i looked at the small box in his hand. is that velvet? what the hell is he doing bringing me a velvet encased gift on the first date?
...i wonder if it's shiny and expensive!
i took the box and stepped back, opening the door wide enough for him to step over the threshold. what the fuck is this cat wearing??? as he stepped past me, i turned to look at his backside.
leather pants! this cat's wearing LEATHER PANTS...
closing the door, i pursed my lips, swallowing the giggle tickling my throat.
he turned around to face me, took a deep breath, then opened his mouth to speak.
yeah, mothafucka...what weak-assed excuse you gonna come up with?
"i'm sorry i'm late for our date, but my roommate's dog got sick and i had to take him to the vet."
what? damn, brotha...that's the best you got? shit, you get an 'f' for effort. you probably that kinda brotha who thinks he put in work cuz he went longer then three minutes but shorter than seven.
and then i was paying him little attention, my mind focused on the weight of the little box in my hand. i gave it a furtive shake.
hmmm...sounds like jewelry, but a sista can't be too sure...
i focused my gaze on his face, noting how apologetic he appeared to be. i decided to fuck with him to see just how far he had thought this lie out.
"what's the pet's name?"
"spot," he replied, a little too quickly for my tastes...
"what kind of dog is spot?"
"rotweiller."
a rotweiller named spot? either this is so fucking lame it's true or brotha has no imagination worth a shit.
"what was wrong with spot?" i drilled him.
"he had some kind of pooping problem," he said with a growing look of bewilderment on his face.
what guy says 'poop' these days? say 'shit' like grown folk do! he might as well as say "this is gonna be a swell date! we're gonna have a gay time!"
i had to tell myself to shut up before i ended up ripping him apart in my mind.
"what kind of pooping problem?" i asked, hoping to sound genuinely interested.
he hesitated.
are you gonna make it this easy for me? come on...give a sista a challenge!
"uh, i'm not sure," he stated with a wary look in his eyes as he continued looking into mine.
"you're not sure?" i pinned him with my piercing stare, wishing i could carve him apart on sight, "so spot has a pooping problem so you take him to the vet..."
"yeah," he said with a sigh. i guess he was starting to realize he was in for the negro inquisition. damn right, ya bastid.
"so...spot's pooping alot?" i was starting to find pleasure in saying the word 'poop'. it was certainly more fun than having to wait two hours for his trife ass to show up. he was starting to look really nervous now. i almost rolled my eyes. this was ridiculous.
"yeah...," his brow furrowed as he looked to be trying to come up with additional addendums to the lie, "he was pooping all over the place!"
i responded quickly so he wouldn't have time to think.
"so spot was pooping all over the place so you decided to take him to the vet to end the pooping problem."
he nodded.
then i went in for the kill.
"which vet?"
silence.
i just looked at him and smirked. it took one minute to crack that lie. you're an idiot, aren't you?
he stood there with a vacant look on his face as he realized he didn't have shit to say. the silence continued for about thirty seconds as he silently debated what his next move should be. i decided to put him out of his misery. i slowly started shaking my head disgustedly as i shifted my weight to one foot, crossing my arms so that the token gift in the velvet box was sitting against my left arm.
"why you lying to me?"
he opened his mouth to speak. i interrupted him.
"it would be in your best interest to come with the truth this time."
he cleared his throat, shuffled his feet a little while never breaking eye contact with me. then he started rubbing his hands together slowly. he cleared his throat again.
"well..." he began, "it's like this. i haven't gotten any ass in three months, so i was jacking off and lost track of time."
i raised both eyebrows as i digested his confession. so brotha went from a bullshit lie to the painful truth. no middle ground with this fella...and it had to be the truth. think about it...what guy admits to jacking off and losing track of time? then again, what guy loses track of time while jacking off? was he that in love with his hand? did his hand suck him off, too? i mean, i love my vibrator. it's a long, black, thick rubber piece of perfection i call 'stroker ace' cuz it always strokes perfectly and is always an ace in the hole.
but uh, i ain't gonna miss a date and the potential for real dick cuz me and 'ace' got caught up in the moment.
i stood there trying to decide what i should do. on the one hand, he lied, and it wasn't even an inspired lie, really. he put very little effort into it, probably assuming he was dealing with a dumb broad. i felt insulted twice over.
strike one against his ass.
then there was his outfit, which was something straight up out of a pimp's closet. really...green leather pants??
strike two.
then he's got an unnaturally intimate relationship with his hand. i glanced at his hands to see if i could figure out which one was his 'bitch'. they both looked strong and well used with short, clean nails tipping them. apparently he was ambi-dick-strokes. i fought the inclination to breathe in deeply to see if there were any traces of his intimate encounter from earlier. i wasn't sure which hand he used, but just looking at them had me envisioning him with them wrapped around his dick, stroking it slowly...
whoa, nikki...rein that image in right now.
i blinked and raised my head to make eye contact with him. he was waiting expectantly for me to speak.
is the fact that he lost track of time because he was jacking off really a strike against him? i mean, if he wanted to jack off in the future, he might let me watch. that was a direct appeal to the sista in me who loves watching a guy jack himself off. i began weakening a little bit...
and then there's the gift...it sounded like jewelry and it was in a velvet case.
dilemmas, dilemmas...what's a girl to do?
_______________________________
so what do you think i did (or should have done?)
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
the moment of first meeting
i just found this cat through another ear attuned to the beauty of the perfect threading of living lyrics, molten melody, and volumptuous vocals. i don't even know how this cat came up. all i know is that all of a sudden i was downloading raheem devaughn. next thing you know, i was listening to the first song you while sprawled across the fluid form of his falsetto, riding the thrusts of his tenderly rendered declarations, ascending into a climatic note of his elation at finding the voice for his feelings and my revelation at finding my voice in his feelings, before finally descending into the quivering afterglow of his repeated whispers....
"you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...
you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me..."
i cradled that high for about 30 minutes, repeating the song over and over again, feeling the words echo through me, a soft stroke of fingers across an oversensitive clit still experiencing the lingering twitches from a powerful orgasm.
i was being mindfucked.
that shit felt SO.DAMN.GOOD.
then i played the next song...is it possible
"Can a smile lead to a hello
And a hello lead to a first date and
a first date to a can't wait to do it again
Ain't no pressure(no)
Can just let love develop
Get to know one another
From a sister
To a brother"
but frankly, after that first experience, we were past initial possibilities. i was already contemplating being the brotha's baby's momma. no...make that babies...
then he had the nerve to woo me with a classic. it was the equivalent of setting us up in a four star hotel when he would have gotten some ass in the back seat of his car. guess who loves you more had my ears licking verdine white's fingers for every last trace of the sampled riff can't hide love.
"Lady,lady,lady my darling darling baby
I wanna restore your hope forget about the past
this things gon last Oh (for the tears you used to shed)
I wanna dry them (when you tossed & turned in bed)
I wanna rock you to sleep the right way,what I'm tryna say is..."
you don't have to say another word, baby. no convincing me is necessary. i want you to dry my tears. dry my tears, wet my...oh well, you know what i'm sayin'...
yeah, boo did and he decided to get bold with it (he knew i liked that shit like that)...so he said to me, ask yourself
"i'll leave you happy yes
im well educated ooo
and me and the maker of love
we were both related yea
when i wrap my lips around you
baby baby your going to get faded yea
are you prepared for love on cloud 9 girl cause i can make it"
i don't have to ask myself shit after that, boo. come on...that line about wrapping your lips around me and getting me faded straight up left my clef trebling....
_________________
i have to say, my first meeting with raheem was magical. i know i was a bit fast in giving him my heart so completely, but i have no doubt he'll take good care of it.
that is, until brotha makes a song entitled it's over bitch!
"you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...
you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me...you inspire me..."
i cradled that high for about 30 minutes, repeating the song over and over again, feeling the words echo through me, a soft stroke of fingers across an oversensitive clit still experiencing the lingering twitches from a powerful orgasm.
i was being mindfucked.
that shit felt SO.DAMN.GOOD.
then i played the next song...is it possible
"Can a smile lead to a hello
And a hello lead to a first date and
a first date to a can't wait to do it again
Ain't no pressure(no)
Can just let love develop
Get to know one another
From a sister
To a brother"
but frankly, after that first experience, we were past initial possibilities. i was already contemplating being the brotha's baby's momma. no...make that babies...
then he had the nerve to woo me with a classic. it was the equivalent of setting us up in a four star hotel when he would have gotten some ass in the back seat of his car. guess who loves you more had my ears licking verdine white's fingers for every last trace of the sampled riff can't hide love.
"Lady,lady,lady my darling darling baby
I wanna restore your hope forget about the past
this things gon last Oh (for the tears you used to shed)
I wanna dry them (when you tossed & turned in bed)
I wanna rock you to sleep the right way,what I'm tryna say is..."
you don't have to say another word, baby. no convincing me is necessary. i want you to dry my tears. dry my tears, wet my...oh well, you know what i'm sayin'...
yeah, boo did and he decided to get bold with it (he knew i liked that shit like that)...so he said to me, ask yourself
"i'll leave you happy yes
im well educated ooo
and me and the maker of love
we were both related yea
when i wrap my lips around you
baby baby your going to get faded yea
are you prepared for love on cloud 9 girl cause i can make it"
i don't have to ask myself shit after that, boo. come on...that line about wrapping your lips around me and getting me faded straight up left my clef trebling....
_________________
i have to say, my first meeting with raheem was magical. i know i was a bit fast in giving him my heart so completely, but i have no doubt he'll take good care of it.
that is, until brotha makes a song entitled it's over bitch!
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