ending is delayed

i'll post it on monday. wanna make sure it's just right. DON'T CUSS ME OUT. have a great weekend!

why u wanna go and do that? pt. 2

click here for part one (or just scroll down to the next entry ya lazy bastid...)

four weeks later, i was on my way to fingaz's apartment for the first time for a night of dinner and discussion. as i pulled up and parked, i winced at the less than affluent landscape greeting me when i got out of my car. the scattered bones of broken bottles protruded from the ground, bleeding beer onto the asphalt. a decaying car sat disemboweled and abandoned inbetween the white lines of a parking space a few feet from me like the skeletal remains of a murdered rape victim exposed in a shallow grave. piled next to its final resting place was a piquant mountain of rotting perishables. someone's attempt at a tombstone for the dearly departed dodge neon?

"here lies the remains
of a car whose owner thought leaving
the keys in the ignition while
she ran into the store for some cigarettes
was a good idea..."

even lojack can't guard against that kind of stupidity...but yet again, i digress (sorry chele).

anyway, the area looked like a cemetery for sobriety and security. now, i'm not a snob (for the most part) but i do prefer a guy who lives in a spot that won't have me fearful i'll be killed by a stray bullet shot from the gun of some twelve-year-old seeking initiation into the neighborhood gang. i ducked unconsciously, anticipating the need to protect myself from the invisible projectile headed towards me in the murkiness. the streetlights provided threadbare fluorescence, their silver filaments sticking upon the cloak of night like burnished balls of lint.

the hallway leading to his front door was gaping before me, a gingivitis sufferer yawning beneath an orthodontist's inquiry. the planks beneath my feet were gritty and uneven, two by fours discolored and cracked like rotting teeth. urine stained diapers lay embedded in the spaces between them like plaque. a bulb was suspended from the ceiling above me, an enflamed uvula emitting the off-white glow of infected illumination upon faded red enamel paint falling in flakes from the walls.

needless to say, i wasn't impressed.

i folded my upper lip over my nostrils as the stench of sour living stuck to me like flypaper.

gingerly stepping over a rusted bicycle, i made my way to his door, wiping my shoes on the welcome mat extending from his front step like a tongue. i gathered my body into a semblance of confidence before pulling the knocker. fingaz answered about 30 seconds later, standing there in a white wife-beater and a pair of jeans hung low from his hips.

"your hall has halitosis," i said in a weak attempt at cleverness.

"hunh?" he responded in confusion, letting me know i'd failed miserably.

"never mind."

his eyes were roaming over various parts of my body before finally settling upon the slightly ironic twist of my lips.

"dude, you gonna invite me in to dinner or devour me out here?" i asked, both flattered and irritated. his lips formed a small smile as he stepped back, opening the door wider.

"welcome to my abode," he said, bowing as he swept his arm behind him. i stepped across the threshhold and glanced around, quickly quelling my horror. it was definitely a bachelor's pad. i was standing in the living room where his couch took up most of the space. it was up against the wall, a mangy mongrel of matted brown wool, wide padded shoulders, and short pine legs, squatting low like it was about to drop a log. it looked pungent and flea-bitten and rabid.

no way in hell i was gonna sit on that couch.

i walked further into the room and almost thanked the lord aloud when i spied a plastic chair next to the mutt, i mean, couch. sitting down, i turned my attention to the rest of the decor, squinting my eyes in covert dismay at the black lacquer glass-topped coffee table sporting faux gold accents, a pimp's lean, and chinese tatoos. moving my gaze to the carpet, i clenched my mouth before it could fall agape. it looked like the head of a lice-infested child with its bald spots exposed between tufts of textile. not.a.good.look. luckily the lighting in the room was purposefully reduced to a weak glow, concealing most of the flaws behind a heavy application of shadow.

the walls were bruised, bare, and stabbed with holes, assaulted with the deadly weapons of metal tacks and picture frames. while it was obvious he didn't give much thought to his furniture, his electronics were another thing altogether. a huge plasma screen television hung from the wall to the right of me and there were speakers perched like crows in every corner of the room. directly to the left of the television was a receiver and multi-disc player, along with a tower of cds and dvds. my gaze fell upon the black box standing upright in the middle of the floor in front of the television, a shrine to hours of mindless activity.

"ps2...of course," i said knowingly. fingaz smirked.

"of course."

there was a scent wafting in the air...you know...the common smell found in all bachelor pads. it's the odor letting you know you're just one vagina in a long line of meaningless fucks...

"it smells like ass in here," i stated as i tilted my head upward and sniffed exaggerately, catching a wiff of cologne, "no...let me take that back...it smells like ass that's been splashed with 'farenheit'."

he played along (although to be fair, i wasn't joking).

"i've got some dirty drawers in my bedroom," he replied dryly, "wanna see?" (hopefully he was joking...)

"i'm sorry. it wasn't meant as an insult," contriteness colored my words, "i'm just sayin...every single guy i know has this same smell in his apartment."

"it comes with the cable," he deadpanned as he stepped around me and headed to the kitchen. a bark of laughter escaped my lips, ending in a hiccup. he turned to me with a brow lifted in inquiry.

"sometimes when i laugh, it ends with a hiccup." i said by way of explanation, shrugging nonchalantly. he nodded as he pulled two glass tumblers from his cabinet.

"you want anything to drink?" he asked, "i've got water, kool-aid, coke, wine, and henny."

"what kind of wine?"

"red."

"what kind of red wine?"

"the kind made from grapes fermented into an alcoholic beverage."

smart ass...

"i'll take a glass of that then."

how come dry wit makes me wet? that's a phenomena i've yet to figure out...

anyway, i was wet and we hadn't even eaten dinner yet. dinner turned out to be pizza ordered from da hut, with strawberries and cream for dessert (and no, that's not code for carnal activities ya nasty bastids). throughout the evening fingaz and i kept volleying barbs back and forth and i was enjoying myself thoroughly. he had a keen mind and as that's one thing guaranteed to make me wanna drop the grannies, i was ripe and ready by the time the midnight hour rolled around. meanwhile, i had to play it cool. eventually we were sitting side by side on the floor, paper plates pushed aside, ps2 controllers resting in our laps, a tumbler of wine in our hands. i was a bit lit and my whoremones were battling against my better judgement.

"it's getting late," i began with the statement certain to get a guy to speed up his action with a quickness, "i should be getting home."

he shook his head and smiled slyly, a devil's look in his eyes.

"it's still early. you don't have to leave now," he followed the script to a tee, adding seductively, "better yet, you don't have to leave at all..."

"nah," i continued with the farce, "i've gotta be somewhere in the morning."

fingaz stared at me intently. then he leaned over and plucked the tumbler from my hand, moving in to kiss me before i could say another word. his lips were...so very soft and warm, like the space beneath a down blanket on a winter morning. he slowly traced my lower lip with his tongue, painting illustrations of passion upon my mouth. i gasped as i opened my mouth eagerly and welcomed his invasion, slanting it beneath his like a droughted flower thirsty for a drop of rain. all of my senses overwhelmed me except for my common sense which had passed out an hour before, somewhere between the fourth and fifth glass of wine. the heat between us was building to an intolerable level as our hands began feverishly feasting on the form of the other. we ended up supine upon the floor, his body cloaking mine as i was pressed into the remnants of the rug. it was then i was briefly snatched out of the moment as the smell of dog shit hit my nostrils.

is that the carpet?!?

i quickly rolled us over until i was on top of him, pouring myself into him until we were a writhing mix of sipping lips, undulating hips, and straining grips. our clothes became cumbersome, muting the flames of our ardor like kindling that smoked but refused to spark. eventually the kiss ended with me slowly nipping his lips, unwilling to break the contact completely. we held each other closely until our breathing evened, then stared into each others eyes as the silence around us magnified the sound of our heartbeats.

it was time...

i rolled off of him until i was in a sitting position, dropping my chin to rest upon my drawn up knees. he stood up and held out his hand. i thought about refusing for all of a millisecond before i placed my hand in his. he pulled me up and led me to his bedroom...
_______________

pt. 3 tomorrow (don't be mad...it's too damn long as it is!)

why u wanna go and do that? pt. 1(conclusion tomorrow)

[i finally got around to finishing this story so i've gotta repost the beginning so you can understand the end...]

i couldn't believe it.

this mothafucka was lying to me all up in my grill, just like a scene out of one of those hood flicks where the brotha is standing there telling his girl "it ain't what it looks like" while his dick is standing at attention and glistening in the wind and some chick behind him is frantically pulling up her cum stained g-string panties with that 'this heffa look like she gonna beat the shit outta me' look on her face. it was positively surreal.

"i'm telling you, you dreamt that," he continued, his face straighter than baby girl's bang after a hit with the hot comb. meanwhile, my own expression was a nappy do of tightly coiled features, from the angrily braided brow right down to the cynically doubled-twisted lips sticking out from 'tween twin cheeks puffed with indignation. he was standing there in his boxers, his arms crossing his broad chest, the chest i had just a few hours earlier kissed over every inch with my lips. he looked damn sexy...and guilty as fuck.

"for real dude...i don't EVER dream about shit like that..." i replied, incredulous that he was continuing with this farce. if i had known the brotha was willing to boldface lie like this i wouldn't have fucked him in the first place. wait, i'm lying. i would have fucked him, but i wouldn't have stuck around long enough for him to have an opportunity to boldface lie to me.

it was three in the morning, way too late/early for us to even be having that discussion. certainly it should have been too early for him to straight up lie like that. i mean, the most effective lying takes place between the hours of of 7:30 a.m. and 1 a.m. when people fabricate plausible excuses for not going to work or come up with that effective bullshit line to make the booty call go down without incident. instead he was in that black hole of time when negros say ridiculous shit like "we don't need no condom" or "that's just my momma calling me". you know, when lies that have little chance of convincing a person with half a brain are uttered nonetheless.

i sighed deeply and waited for him to answer me, my mind drifting back to when i'd first met him a month before...
_________________

it was a friday night in july. a warm breeze made its way across my body like a lover's tongue, licking my skin and plastering my clothes to my body. candice and i had been to a club damn near every weekend since june, but we had yet to visit this spot. i stared at the building, noting the disheveled bricks making up the old building we were walking towards. it didn't look like much, but i was excited cuz i'd heard it was the most popular friday night spot in atlanta for us black folk. i could already hear the music from the live band kissing the air around us as we stepped in line and waited for entrance.

"what's the name of this place again?" i'd asked candice.

"'rollers'," she'd responded casually, as she glanced around her at the other people headed in the same direction.

pulling out my i.d., i looked up and into the face of one of the security guys at the door. i stopped mid-motion, caught up in the brown depths of his eyes. well looky here...

i placed my stare at his feet and climbed the mountain of his form with my eyes, finding a foothold on his thick thighs before leaping over the bulge between his legs, landing at the flat terrain of his stomach. i walked the rest of the way up, stopping to appreciate the scenery his broad shoulders provided before crawling up a thick neck. i took a leasurely stroll through the field of his soft lips, admiring the curve of his nose before finally ending at the oasis of his eyes.

now i could have said some really corny shit like "make sure you frisk me real thorough-like" but then i'd have had to supply the cheesy porn music. i can almost hear it...the gutter-grown guitar puffing out smoky notes to hover like rings in the air while the sleazy saxaphone skeets sound onto my eardrums. *shudders*

but i digre...uh, sorry chele...i mean, i've been led astray from the initial topic of discussion.

anywho, so dude was fine and gainfully employed, ergo he had potential. i handed him my i.d., my eyes still climbing his rugged terrain with a slow thoroughness. he frowned as he stared at it.

"just call me nikki," i replied before he could open his mouth and mangle my name. looking up, he smiled at the purposeful purr of my voice. his wireframe glasses sat on his cheeks, an attractive addition to an already damn near flawless facade.

"i'm 'fingaz'" * name has been changed to protect the guilty.

i leaned over slightly and sniffed him covertly. lavender and clove with a hint of cedar...cool...no baby powder, which means he doesn't have his balls coated in that shit.

"no baby powder," i murmured as i inhaled deeply.

"what?" he asked confused.

"uh, nothing," i said quickly, my face a mask of innocence.

candice, who had walked into the spot before me, stepped back through the doors and looked at me with that 'i can't take yo ass nowhere' look on her face.

"you ready?" she asked impatiently, her voice almost drowned out by the live music blasting through the opening. fingaz was definitely appealing but there were too many fine brothas up in the cut for me to be latching onto the first one at the door.

"yeah," i said as i turned to fingaz and held out my hand for my i.d.

"i'm gonna hold onto this," he said, his voice all dark and smoky like a jazz tavern with deliberately low lighting. it brought to mind miles davis sitting on a stool on a stage bathed in blue light, his lips seducing the notes to 'round about midnight' from the mouth of his trumpet while the burning butt of an unfiltered cigarette dangles precariously from the edges of a plastic ashtray placed next to his right knee. (sometimes my imagination gets too specific with shit...oh well). he tucked my i.d. in his shirt pocket and smiled devilishly. i lifted a brow at that.

"what for?"

"so you can't leave without talking to me."

a slow smile spread across my face as i took on the meaning of what he was saying and tucked it into my mind for comprehension.

"alright then..." i finally said nonchalant-like, although i'm sure my cheesy grin let him know what the deal was. so candice and i stepped into the pool hall and headed toward the stairs to get away from the crushing crowd. i tugged at the mini-skirt i was wearing, conscious of the open face of the steps which would give anyone standing beneath them a clear view to the granny panties i was wearing that night (hey, YOU might not mind the feeling of satin floss cutting into the crack between your sweaty buttcheeks but i ain't the one for that shit. i've got a big ass with a big crack. it was hot and the panties were cotton. 'nuff said.)

anyway, so candice and i are now upstairs chillin and checking out the brothas. meanwhile, my mind was on the cat holding my i.d. in his front pocket. i started cataloguing his features in my mind...about 6'2 give or take an inch, 220 to 230 lbs all in the right places, broad shoulders, nice tight ass, sculpted legs slightly bowed, full lips brushed with a mustache, high cheekbones, seductive brown eyes, a smoothly bald head, and skin dark and rich like a chocolate truffle. sheeyit!

"er, i'm going back outside," i said as i turned to candice. she smirked, a knowing look in her eyes, but said nothing. i sauntered down the stairs and through the front door, pulling out my cell phone as i did so. i used the patented 'call someone and play like you didn't really walk out there just to talk to that cat' move. i strut about ten yards away from fingaz (ever mindful of the fact his gaze was no doubt focused on my ass) and flipped my phone open, scanning the list to see who i could call.

the person i would usually call when using this particular maneuver was in the pool hall, so i had to go to tried and true number two - my brother. i quick dialed him as i turned and made a covert glance in fingaz's direction. he was staring at me. i dropped my gaze to the sidewalk and pressed the phone to my ear. of course swad would pick this night not to answer his damn phone. i hung up before it went to voicemail and started scrolling down the list of folk in my phone book. by this time fingaz had walked over and was standing next to me. i saw his dark shadow break up the concrete grey of the sidewalk and lifted my head to look at him. the devilish grin had returned.

"you know you came out here to talk to me so you can end that call now."

oh...it's like that?

i shook my head, rolling my eyes as i flipped my phone closed...

repost - ten signs you're addicted to your battery-powered friend

[reposting is really helping me to get myself back into blogging rhythm so here's another one.]

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...

a letter of apology

dear v

i've been meaning to write this letter for the longest time, only i've been too afraid because i know i have much to atone for. this is a letter of apology for all of the times i could have done right by you and didn't.

i think we started off on the wrong foot. the first time i met you was when that guy pointed you out to me and being so young, i had no idea who you were. i didn't know he wasn't supposed to touch you. i just did what i was told. it wasn't until afterwards when i told my brother the guy had put his hands on you that i realized i should have done a better job of protecting you. that experience left me feeling as if perhaps i shouldn't associate with you at all. you became dirty to me and i did everything i could to put thoughts of you out of my mind. i figured if i stopped thinking about you, you'd just disappear, but that was impossible. i mean, i had to use the bathroom so i was wiping you dry at least three times a day.

the next time i became aware of your presence, i was in a rather awkward position, remember? i had just finished perusing through some of my uncle's magazines when all of a sudden you came at me with demands i was ill-equipt to handle. i wasn't sure what you expected of me and ultimately became frustrated as you became more and more insistent. finally i took matters into my own hands, clumsily attempting to quiet you as i sat sprawled out on the bathroom floor of my grandmother's apartment. i didn't even know if my efforts would amount to anything but luckily, whatever it was i did seemed to calm you, even if was only a momentary reprieve. from that point on, our relationship changed. where once upon a time i was numbed to your existence, i suddenly couldn't move without being made aware of you.

my teenage years were littered with furtive minutes of fingers feverishly fondling the patched peach fuzz on your face, my attempts at getting a grip on your urges ultimately leaving both of us dissatisfied. my friends told me i couldn't handle you on my own, that i needed someone else to assist me in assuaging you. meanwhile, i still had bad memories of that guy and his hands and how he assaulted you and i just couldn't do it. little did i know i would again be unable to protect your interests.

in my defense, all i can say is i had no idea fred would behave as he did. i really thought he was a decent cat. looking back, i see the signs that should have clued me into his true nature, but i was only nineteen at the time and up until then had been relatively sheltered from the ills of the world. when i first met him, he had such a beautiful smile and i remember thinking to myself nobody with such a beautiful smile could be a bad person. that night he abused you, i never saw it coming. one minute we were watching television, the next minute we were arguing and he was tearing into you, bashing your face in with his 'night club' until all that was left was a landscape of raped innocence. i remember how you wept blood that night, your tears smeared all over his bedsheets, your lips swollen and cracked from the lashes of his brutal strokes. i touched you with my eyes closed, afraid i wouldn't recognize the feel of you. i cried for the loss of your pristine visage and then closed my legs, hoping to compress the distressing disfigurement into something whole again...only you weren't coal i could squeeze into a diamond 'tween my thighs.

over the succeeding years you were an open wound i carelessly bandaged with inadequate strips of casual copulation, unaware i would never find a salve of absolution within that kind of intimacy. you were there through it all...the crabs that that clung to your hair like lice, forcing me to shave you down to the skin...the foreign phalli choking you with their reckless invasions before belatedly retreating, the remains of their skeeted seed staining your terrain with shame...

you were always there, even when i wasn't. during those episodes, i could erase myself until you were all that was left, all they could see. i forced you to engage in scene with barely familiar partners, ad-libbing a bogus depiction of passion while they flubbed their lines of token pokes. i made you converse in faux contractions even when their actions left you bereft of satisfaction.

i'm not even sure when i stopped that kind of behavior. i guess it just became easier for me to go back to the tried and true method of handling your needs on my own. by this time i was older, so i was educated about various toys i could use to help you get what you wanted without all the bothersome stuff that came with actual physical intimacy. i thought you'd be fine with that considering all of the things that had happened before, but it's obvious you are no longer tolerant of this limited form of coupling. sometimes i hate writing about what i yearn for because i know you're just sitting there waiting for me to acknowledge what you've known all along...

our happiness is intertwined.

there, i admit it. i can no longer pretend you are not a porthole to my soul. i can no longer deny that when i allow for indifferent invasion of your domain i am also allowing for that same army to conquer my spirit. there really is no such thing as casual sex where i'm concerned. those past seminal experiences have heightened the importance of intimacy for me. i can joke about previous encounters and re-live those moments where i danced between laughter and tears with my bedmates, but i know i can no longer separate the act from the reaction. i can no longer just let a man thrust himself within me and trust i'll be aiight with no afterglow.

i deserve that afterglow. both of us do. i will settle for nothing less.

i will cherish you because i know in doing so, i also cherish myself. i ask that you be patient during this time because it means i'll have to continue the solo act of addressing your needs. i can't even promise you it'll be worth the wait because i'm still human, still learning how to trust, still discovering what it is i truly want. however, what i DO promise is that i will never again willingly allow anyone to disrespect you.

thank you for sticking with me through the highs and lows. i love you like a petulant sister.

nikki

p.s. my patience wants me to let you know she's wearing thin. evidently you've become insatiable as of late. i told her you just doing you, but the chick just won't let up. i think she still blames me for her dwarf-like stature. damn...sounds like another letter is in order, huh?

dating/sex myths debunked

myths are supposed to make the dating scene easier. i should be able to just look at a guy and based upon what i see, become instantly privy to intimate details regarding his dating/sexual habits. romantic comedies like coming to america should give me a realistic view of romance as it applies to my life. i should be able to walk out of my door and bump into a mullet-wearing african prince who came to america for the express purpose of marrying me and making me his princess.

but it just don't go down like that.

i don't know how many times i've been unpleasantly surprised to discover the myth i've accepted as truth is indeed a cruel falsehood. therefore, i have taken it upon myself to provide this public announcement entry hoping it will guide you around the pitfalls that come with believing dating/sex myths.

1. all black men have big penises.

if you've been reading my blog for a while you've already read about my encounter with the mini penis. well, he's a black dude. now it's a strong possibility the guy was born with partial nephritis, as his penis was unnaturally small in proportion to his 6'1, 210 lb body. however, in all likelihood he's just like millions of other black males out there. he just ain't packing the part. meanwhile, it's extra important for us women to be mindful of this particular untruth as there are brothas out taking advantage of our ignorance. they're getting dates and promises for sex based on the myth alone. they're gaining access to quality coochie and too many of us women are forced to not only put up with the puny pinky-like appendages, but we end up pissed off and writing entries about it, putting all our biz out in the streets.

2. all white men have small penises.

this is simply untrue. i've seen enough porn to verify this one (along with my own personal experiences, hehehe). plus, you can't tell me ger.ard butl.er has a small penis. no really, even if his is microscopic, don't tell me. he's too damn fine not to have a big penis.

3. black women don't suck dick.

i'm so sick of dudes telling me black women don't suck dick. we DO. if a black woman told you she doesn't suck dick it's probably cuz she doesn't wanna suck YOUR dick. she's probably smelling your balls through your tighty whiteys and fighting off nausea. have you even bothered to check down there to make sure your penile area is up to sniff? maybe she has seen your penis and finds it unattractive? you might have an ingrown hair or some other liquid secreting bump on or around your penis and who wants something smelly and/or ugly and/or bleeding in their mouths? certainly not me. if you want us to suck your dick, scrub the entire area, keep the hair groomed, and make the penis as pretty as possible. getting it circumsized if it hasn't been already isn't too much to ask. if you think it won't make a difference, consider this...jewish men are always smiling and it ain't just cuz they get to take offa work every other week for religious holidays.

then again, she might just be telling you that so you won't be expecting much. that way the act will be seen as a gift and better appreciated. remember how you play stupid at work so folk won't give you banal shit to do? same strategy here...

4. if he treats his momma like a queen, he'll treat you like a queen.

that ain't true cuz there can only be one queen, which means you're gonna be the peasant. if that dude has his momma on a pedestal, it guarantees you won't EVER be able to cook as good as his momma, clean as good as his momma, or take care of him as good as his momma cuz he probably living with his momma. while she's getting all the royal treatment like spa packages and dinners to expensive restaurants, you're left with a wooden stick with balls on the end and a coupon to ste.ak and sha.ke. fuck THAT. what you want is a guy who only treats his momma 'aiight'. he doesn't call her a bitch or smack her in the mouf, but he thinks she can be bitchy sometimes and he probably thought about smacking her once or twice but had the self control to prevent himself from doing so. he buys her stuff for her birthday but he spends more money on a prostitute. in other words, he's comfortable with the idea of lavishing attention and money on a female while also understanding that the woman who gives him sex is way more important than the woman who gave him life.

5. we all look the same with the lights off.

that's some bullshit. ugly ain't ultraviolet. you sit in the dark long enough and your eyes are gonna adjust. you'll be able to make out ugly cuz it glows. if you wanna know for sure where your own looks fall on the scale, turn off the lights. if you notice a phosphorous glow to your features, don't fret cuz knowing's half the battle. meanwhile, don't come looking for me cuz my looks are pitch black (and no, that is not a cloak i'm wearing, damnit.)

6. if he has a big penis, he's a good lover.

this is the kind of shit you might hear from a dude with a big dick:

"do you know how many women out there would kill to be stroked by this huge penis? hell, you needs to be glad i'm showing you attention at all."

"i don't do missionary, baby. either you on top or you out the door."

"what? you said something about stroking it a certain way to hit something called a 'g' spot? shit, i've got a big dick! i've hit spots representing the entire alphabet at least 20 times already without having to make one friggin move."

"DAMN girl! you told me you wanted me to get all up in dem guts, then when i do you curling up on the bed like a punk and complaining about how much the shit hurts. oh HELL nah..now you getting blood all on my sheets!"

"huh? you want me to eat your pussy? for real? look chick, i don't eat pussy. i've got a big dick. that's all i need. if you want someone to eat you out, call a dude with a little dick to do it."

only thing is...

7. if he has a small dick, he knows how to (or will willingly) eat the coochie.

is a lie too.

cuz if he has a small dick and he finds himself in the presence of naked vagina, he ain't wasting his time eating it when he knows this is probably the last time he's gonna see it this close for a while. thing is, women aren't stupid. if we're with a guy who can eat it out and he's got a small penis, that dude's gonna be eating it out ALL THE TIME. he might NEVER get a chance to stroke it. and seeing as dudes aren't stupid (most of the time anyway), they will withhold skills for the sake of achieving their own agendas. remember that strategy you use at work to avoid doing extra shit? works for them too...

8. if he's driving a luxury car, he's making money and that means nice stuff for you.

no, what that could mean is that he's barely making ends meet cuz he's paying a hellacious car note and insurance bill which in turn means alot of ramen noodle casseroles and nights where he says "let's just stay home and watch movies", which in turn is code for "i don't have enough money to cover gas, let alone movie tickets, and with your greedy ass i'll end up paying twenty bucks at the concession stand so we staying at the crib."

better yet, it could mean he saved up his money so he could rent that luxury vehicle for the weekend with the express purpose of finding gullible chicks like you who are easily enamored by leather seats and woodgrain dashboards. if his car or truck is notably absent from his driveway or apartment parking lot the following weekend, don't act surprised cuz you've been warned.

9. just because the male bought the female a dinner that cost over $200 per person doesn't mean she has to sleep with him.

oh yes the hell it does. you know good and damn well if the tables were turned the female would be looking at the dude like "i just paid two hundred bucks on your meal, buddy. you betta get naked, get down on your knees, and eat this coochie and you betta not stop until i tell you to or your tongue falls off, one or the other."

so if he put out loot for the grub, best to just get naked, lay back, turn off the lights, and hope he don't glow in the dark...unless you need the light to help you locate his miniscule penis.

10. you can tell when he's gay.

many times you can tell, but just as many times you can't. short of finding him with a dick up his butt or in his mouth, you're pretty much left to either asking him straight up if he's gay or checking the phone book on his mobile. if he's got an inordinant amount of male numbers in his phone, i.e. a ratio of like four guys for every one girl, then you're probably dealing with a guy who bats from both sides of the plate and he's probably only in your dugout for appearances sake. now there are some guys who are are heterosexual and actually have alot of frat brothers or athletic teammates, which is why this myth isn't completely true. meanwhile, if a single dude has like fifty males in his phonebook and only three or four females, i'm deducing he's gay until i ask him outright (and best believe, i'm gonna ask).

11. sonny from 'a bronx tale': "Alright, listen to me. You pull up right where she lives, right? Before you get outta the car, you lock both doors. Then, get outta the car, you walk over to her. You bring her over to the car. Dig out the key, put it in the lock and open the door for her. Then you let her get in. Then you close the door. Then you walk around the back of the car and look through the rear window. If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so that you can get in: dump her."

cologero: "Just like that?"

sonny: Listen to me, kid. If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so that you can get in, that means she's a selfish broad and all you're seeing is the tip of the iceberg. You dump her and you dump her fast.

addendum from me: cuz best believe, once she realizes you still driving a car with manual locks, she's dropping your ass like the people's elbow, dude. come on...you can find an affordable car with automatic locks! and don't get it twisted...i'm SHALLOW, not SELFISH. those are two TOTALLY different things right there...