HOW YOU DISTANCING?

So, here we are, almost two weeks into the Covid 19 shut down, and never in a million years did I think it would’ve gotten this bad. I can remember making jokes about the virus just over a month ago, assuming that people were over-reacting, and that this would boil over before it even started. Boy— were we wrong.  

As I write this post from my kitchen table, it has been exactly one week since my office, in Times Square, closed for business, and we were made to work from home. Two weeks was the initial time-line we all looked forward to. Just two weeks— if we all stay inside and practice social distancing, all would be back to normal. As I’m glued to the news, and I’m certain that you are too, the time-line seems to be nowhere in sight. With the unemployment rate seeing heights that have never been seen, and the number of people infected constantly increasing, I am officially worried.  

For as long as I can remember, any hardship that I ever faced, was with a grain of salt. I’ve been laid-off before and fired from quite a few jobs (because of my mouth). But my saving grace was that, I lived with my family and I always knew that I could find another job. When I got the email from my company that they were cutting our salaries in half, until further notice— Shit Got Real! I work in fashion, and my company’s survival depends on the public’s ability to buy. If over half of the population is out of work, because businesses can’t open, I could be out of a job; and that cushion that I once relied on disappears.  

I could make this a post all about my sad position, “Sad girl, who lives with her family, has her salary cut in half,” but here’s my silver lining. I have a roof over my head, food in my refrigerator, and money in my savings account. For what it’s worth, I’ll be ok. I turn my focus to others that don’t have those safety nets. I consider the household, who just lost their sole bread-winner. I think of the children whose safe place was the schools they attended. I think of the family in poverty that may run out of food, if things don’t return to normal soon enough. A $1500 dollar check when rent in NYC for a studio can easily top that, is a band-aid on a wound worthy of stitches. 

Facebook reminded me that last year I was in Vegas, squeezing my thick ass into too tight waist-shapers, drinking with my friends, and living my best life. The farthest thing on my mind was a virus that would come and literally cripple the country. Hell, two weeks ago I was planning to grab oysters and a few cocktails after work. But in the blink of an eye, my half-marathon was cancelled, my writing group was cancelled, my monthly gym memberships have been put on hold, and all the little joys are now huge threats. Even walking outside poses a risk my family, and it’s really tough to think of all the things that I once took for granted.  

Before shit hit the fan, on Mondays I used to go to Barnes & Noble with my boyfriend. He would meet me after work and we would sit there and write until they closed. It offered me the quiet that I needed to focus on my writing and to be with My Love, away from my family. Now, because every place is only to-go and delivery, and it’s too cold to sit outside, I’m lucky if I can find a quiet moment to work in my home. When I freelanced from home, it was the most amazing experience. I would wake up, brush my teeth, wash my face, eat breakfast, then sit down to work. I ate when I wanted, and I worked out when I wanted. A few weeks ago, I joked about how I would love to go back to freelance work, and how much I missed it. However, when that fantasy became a reality-nightmare, I realized that I had no business complaining.  

This past weekend, my friends and I went out for a walk. We hadn’t seen each other since our brunch on New Year’s Day, and we kept saying that we wanted to meet up; then this happened. The few of us that felt well and lived close by arranged to meet up and go for a walk in Central Park. Saturday was a beautiful day; and, I’m certain the number of people would’ve been triple, had it not been for the current state of contagious virus. The shine and warmth of the sun, the chirping of the birds, the ducks in the pond, and the laughter of the children playing, was a total juxtaposition to what was going on in the real world. We walked for a bit to get some fresh air, we made our way to Dunkin’ Donuts, then walked back to the park. I did a little shopping, and when I parted from my friends, my guy and I continued to walk home. I made him a plate for dinner and he stayed for a while as we watched a movie. When it was time for him to go, I told him, “I Love You.” 

As I lay in bed, I wondered when things would get back to normal. I wondered when would be the next time I would see my friends. I wondered when would be the next time I would see My Love. This virus has sent the world, as we know it, into a frenzy. I have friends and family working on the front-lines, in the hospitals. I have friends that work in public transportation, risking exposure every day. I have family that are still required to report to work and deal with customers day in and day out, I have a friend that is sick, and My Love has to report to work in the middle of this pandemic. 

I say all of this to say, now is the time to call your loved ones and see how they’re doing. Virtually reconnect with your friends to keep those bonds established. Stay inside but keep in touch. We don’t know how long this is going to last and how long the impact will have on each and every one of us. It’s time to forgive and move forward. 

We will only get through this together.  

CLEAN UP ON FLOOR 34

Unlike the previous parties we had attended, this one was extremely slow to start. My guy and I greeted the people we knew, scoped out the room, and decided to stake our claim on the chaise by the large open window. We kissed and flirted while we waited for more guests to arrive. About 30 minutes later, a guy I played with at the last party, walked in with his play-partner. He had made his decision to come to the party solely based on our previous sexual interaction and my recommendation; so, I really hoped that the party would get better. He told me about his ex, and showed me pictures from the parties they attended when they were together.  

An hour later, it was finally time to start the introductions. We went around the room, introduced ourselves, stated our DOs and DONTs, then it was dress-down-time. I couldn’t help but notice that it was way more of a sausage party than previous parties, and that there were very few women that attended with the intention to play; neither of which made me happy. Nonetheless, I retreated to the restroom to change into my lingerie and when I returned, over half the party was still fully dressed—What the Fuck! Unlike other parties, that had a designated smoking bathroom, since the hotel was non-smoking; anyone that wanted to smoke had to go down to the street. When ¾ of the party returned, I hoped that once everyone returned the party would get better. Normally, I don’t mind being one of the first to get things started; but since everyone was still dressed it was very difficult for me to lower my inhibitions. My guy, being the horn-dog that he is, didn’t care, and I could tell that he was ready to go, but my mood was totally halted. We remained sitting on the chaise, playing with our phones, and hoping more guests would arrive. After a while, the guy that came to play with me got fed up with the lack of order, got his partner, and they left. When I spoke to him later I apologized for the bad experience he had. I told him that was a one-off bad experience, and that the next party would be way better. He asked me how the rest of the night went, and I was happy to let him know that the night wasn’t a total bust. 

After a while, one of the other guests and his wife decided to take the lead to get the party started. He made a show of eating her booty hole and that allowed a few others to start openly engaging. Another woman started sucking her man’s dick, and seeing another couple in action made me horny. I was finally ready to play; and the first thing I wanted to do was have my pussy eaten. I laid down on my back for my man to devour me. My breasts came out as my robe slipped to the side, exposing my pierced nipples for fellow party-goers to adore and rub on. My moans from my partner’s oral pleasure were heightened by hands rubbing on my feet, my legs, and my thighs; it felt intoxicating. As I reached my orgasm I let out a loud scream and clenched my thighs around his head. Once down from my high, I was ready for him to fuck me. As he got into position behind me and put on a condom, I went into my bag of treasures and pulled out my jeweled butt-plugs. By this time, the room had begun to fill up and we had a crowd of spectators that were amazed at my butt-plug. I moistened it in my mouth and had my man insert it, and braced for impact; only he had a different plan.  

I was bent over, wet, butt-plug inserted and ready for sex; except, my guy decided to try an put on a show. He wanted to show the spectators how good he was at eating pussy. The only problem was, I just had an orgasm, and I can’t have two back to back (my body isn’t set up like that). As he kept working his tongue on my clit for the audience, I grew less and less aroused. When he finally got the hint that I wasn’t going to cum, he slid the condom on and prepared to fuck, only he had grown soft. He put so much focus on pleasing the crowd, he missed the opportunity. I turned around and began sucking his dick to get him hard; once my job was accomplished, he bent me over and began to fuck me. As he fucked me from behind, another of my repeat-play-mates, positioned himself in front of me and I reveled in sucking his dick. I licked, flicked, sucked, and gagged on him as I was being fucked from the back. After my guy had his orgasm, he cleaned up and then they swapped places. I always enjoy the pressure of a dick entering my pussy and that time was no different. Once inside of me, he delivered into me deep and intentional strokes. When he had reached his orgasm, it was clear that my vagina was done and mouth were done. 

I went to the shower to freshen up and when I returned my guy was ready to go again, but I was not. He was getting hard, but I had no desire to have a penis in my mouth, or vagina; so I told him we could masturbate together. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and I got my womanizer out and kneeled down in front of him. Once he started to stroke I powered her up. The sucking pulse of the womanizer performed wonders on my clit, and I moaned louder and louder. As I felt my orgasm reaching a peak, my moans became a vocal example of what was happening inside my body. I heard one of the guys in the room say; “Yo! Her moans are getting my dick hard.” But after that, all other sounds died away. As my screams overpowered the sounds in the suite, my orgasms continued to build. Right after my guy came on my tits, I reached the peak of my orgasm with an extreme high-note, followed by my juices exploding onto the carpet. My body shook as the rushes of orgasms kept coming and forced me to release more and more fluid; then I collapsed onto his lap. Once I regained my composure, I got up from the floor, and he joined me in the shower. Once clean, we gathered our clothes and got dressed. It was then that I realized I accidentally got his briefs wet with my juices; but, there was nothing we could do about it. After we dressed, we put on our clothes, said our good-byes, and exited the party. 

Despite the beginning, the party ended on a literal high-note. And, on the 34^th floor of One UN Plaza, with the FDR Drive and the night sky outside the window; I had my first swinger squirt. 

LOVE LANGUAGE #5 – WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

MY 5TH LOVE LANGUAGE, WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

I’ve reached the final love language—Thank Heaven! 

I’m not surprised that Words of Affirmation is at the bottom of my list, now. But, when I was growing up, I used to crave Words of Affirmation. At a young age, they often mirrored the actions that were being delivered my way. Parents, family, and friends were all walking examples of actions and words that actually matched. But as I got older, things began to change. Naturally, discipline from a parent or an older family member, to a rebellious teenager, did not feel like love; so, when I was told I couldn’t do something, followed by an I love you, I called Bull Shit! And it only got worse as I got older.  

I was picked-on, as a kid. I was picked-on because of my hair, my glasses, and lack of designer clothing. At first, it used to bother me, but with time, the things that separated me from the crowd began to shine. I had a great voice, I was a good artist, and I was decent in sports. As time passed, I started being accepted for qualities and skills that were undeniable, and the teasing stopped. People stopped looking for reasons to not like me, and learned to accept me for who I was. 

When I started dating, the phrase “I love you” was tossed around, like a salad ingredient. The phrase was everywhere; but, like a salad, it lacked sustenance. It was a great side or starter, but it could never fill me up. So, when actions never corresponded with the words, through trial and error, I had to learn that words had no real weight if actions didn’t corroborate them. By the time I graduated high school, I had adapted the concept of ‘love me or hate me’ with the confidence to match. People, more often than not, liked and/or loved me; and once I started to feel the energy that I was sending reciprocated, I no longer needed and/or required words of affirmation. 

Don’t get me wrong– it’s always nice to receive a compliment. I couldn’t see myself being, truly happy, with a person that never said one nice thing to me or about me. And, I totally understand that my partner is doing so because they feel it, and they want to profess it. But, the fact remains, it does not impact me the same way; because I’d rather feel than hear. 

Another reason why Words of Affirmation doesn’t have such a high rank for me, is because, a part of me struggles with accepting compliments. For example: I’ve finished 5 marathons, 10 half-marathons, and countless other races; I know that it’s no easy feat. However, there are people that run faster, longer, and more frequently than I do; so, with that in the back of my mind, I choose to remain humble in the face of all compliments. 

Today, words of affirmation sound nice, but they hold no weight in the grand scheme of my life. Over the years, I’ve become head-strong, resilient, and confident.  When I set my mind to do something, nothing can stand in my way. So, as much as it feels good to hear someone say, “good job,” subconsciously, I already know that. I didn’t need to hear it; but, since saying the words made the say-er feel better, I happily accept their support and encouragement.  

Writing on the 5 Love Languages has been quite a journey. Writing this series has allowed me to dive deeper into my past to understand my present. I never set out to be a Pulitzer Prize winning writer. I just wanted to vent a little, talk about sex, break some stigmas, and maybe gain a fan or two that could relate to my problems. There were many times, during the love languages posts, that I wanted to just stop and change course; but, by sticking with it, I learned so much more about myself. I opened up memories I was certain didn’t exist, and I was able to process why I felt the way I did about things. I encourage you all to read or audio-book the 5 Love Languages, and to take the quiz. Once you have your results, take the time to process what they mean for you and why they rank as they do.  

LOVE LANGUAGE #4 – PHYSICAL TOUCH

People often assume that sexual touch and physical touch are the same thing. Another common assumption is that, a sexual person must also enjoy being touched. For much of my life, I made these assumptions as well. I loved having sex so much, that I was sure Physical Touch would be my top love language. I was certain that, with all the kissing, caressing, and humping; it would be my number one -How could it not be? While doing the test, I was surprised to see that so many of my answers proved otherwise. With Physical Touch coming in at number 4, I reflected back to some instances where I was being touched, but I didn’t feel loved. 

I remember a time, years ago, when I was lying beside my boyfriend. We were both naked, as we just finished having sex; his arm was draped over my body, and my head was nestled underneath his chin on his chest. All was right with the world, until he started rubbing my arm, up and down. The feeling of his hand against my skin had changed. The caressing of his hand that had just ignited our 30-minute love making session, suddenly felt like a catheter, stopping my blood flow. I remember wanting him to stop, but because I didn’t want to sound mean – I said nothing. Recently, I was on the sofa with my guy, as we watched Netflix. He was sitting up and I was resting my head on his lap. In that position I felt safe, secured, and precious; I could’ve stayed in that position forever. When his hands moved from around my waist and started to rub on my breasts; those feelings began to fade. I tried ignoring it at first, because I knew that he was happy touching me in that way; eventually it was all I could focus on. It went from being something I could ignore to annoying. Again, I didn’t want to come across as unaffectionate; so, I placed my hands over his to stop the motion.  

On both occasions, a person that I loved was delivering love to me, but it was in the form that best suited them. It wasn’t the first time those actions had taken place, but it was the first time I had processed them that way. I needed to find some reason or logic as to why, in those moments, I shut down and, in a way felt slightly offended.  

For centuries, a woman’s body was the property of her father, and after marriage it became the property of her husband. It’s still common to hear women relinquish their bodies to their husbands on demand (I was exhausted, but when my man wants it, I give it!). It’s been instilled in women that a wife’s duty is to see to it that her husband was satisfied. For a time, if he wanted to have sex and she did not, he was within the full rights of the law, to use his male-domination to either convince his wife and/or dominate her into submission. Even though there are laws that exist against these acts today (depending on where you are in the world and if violence is involved), many women still believe that their bodies are not their own. Sure, if a stranger touched me, I could handle the situation quite abruptly and without hesitation. But when love is involved the once clear line begins to blur. 

From birth, it’s easy to overlook all the times when a person’s body is not their own. We’ve all seen the child writhing and screeching, as their being passed around like a dessert plate for people to “ooh” and “ahh” at them – We’ve all been this child at least once. Try counting how many times your parents or family told you to give a hug or a kiss to someone that you didn’t want to – If you could even remember, you would lose count. When we’re in school, if a classmate hit us, or invaded our personal space, we were told to be nice, shake hands, and hug. Once out of the womb, we were repeatedly forced to lower our bodily-boundaries for people that we knew and loved. The roads run parallel for both sexes until approximately puberty. After puberty, boys were taught to take power and control of their bodies, while girls are taught to protect bodies, but only for the later use of a man (Don’t you want to be perfect for your husband on your wedding night?). With this rhetoric it’s no wonder why I had issues declaring my body as my own. 

I first had to learn that my body was my own; entering into a relationship did not give my partner rights to my body. The second thing I had to learn was, not wanting to be touched did not mean a lack of love. There are certain touches the register certain emotions, and those emotions control how I feel in my relationships. I’m a sexual being that likes sex, writes about sex, and I get a lot of sexual attention from strangers; it’s imperative that, in my relationship, I feel loved. I prefer hand holding to random ass-slaps while walking down the street, innocent kisses over childish grabs and/or pokes at my breasts, and standing big-spoon cuddles over fingers poking at my holes. One touch says I love and cherish you, the other says I want to fuck you, I want to possess you, to own you, and that your body is not yours, it’s mine. 

When I allow my partner(s) to explore my body as their momentary playground, it’s with much love, excitement, and sensuality. But when the sun sets, and the park closes, so does the playground inside of it. When my partner(s) continue playing after the park closes, it’s a direct disrespect of the rules and boundaries that were set in place. 

Maintaining control is of the utmost importance for me, and understanding that Physical Touch is not the same for everyone.