2020. WHAT A F*CKING YEAR!

2020 promised to be a year of wonder, money, and new possibilities. Then, sadly corona came and shut all that shit down. But before all the mayhem began, there were a few good times and a few fun posts that I wrote. 

In, Maybe This Hoe Life Isn’t For Me, I questioned if being so sexually free was a good or bad thing. No, I didn’t second-guess my actions because society made me; it was my own fucking body. My vagina, despite all I was doing to keep her well, just kept being a little bitch. It didn’t matter if I was having crazy nasty rough sex or faking a vow of celibacy; my pussy had a mind of her own. Sometimes I wish I could trade her in for a new one, but since the one I have gets rave reviews for smell, taste, and feel (and it’s not physically possible), I’ll continue to work with the one I have. 

            I wrote about my first private squirt explosion in Fucking Up Sheets, and again where I squirted while giving my man head at the last sex party before the world got sick in Clean Up on Floor 34. I dabbled with my first fiction story with Johnson, Richard, Dick, and Bob. And I played with my pandemic fantasies in Social Distancing Fail, Wait a Minute Mr. Postman, and Check. Please.

            2020 was difficult enough, then Amerikkka lost its damn mind. Fueled by the protests against the injustices of black men and women, I took time to stop talking about sex and address what I could not escape. From Dear America, Something Has To Change to Slavery Did A Number on Us, and Black Feminist, there was so much anger inside that I had no choice but to let it out in the only way I knew how. I wrote from a place of exhaustion and passion. I hope that one day this country can stop seeing our differences and see one another as merely human beings. Before we are black, white, Spanish, Asian, gay, straight, or trans, we are HUMAN. And hopefully one day, the world and everyone living will treat each other as such. 

            In a few posts, I decided to peel back some layers and welcome you to see the thoughts that plague my mind and heart. In My Bisexuality, I expressed my deep desire to date and be intimate with a female. All of my encounters with women had only been in threesomes or at sex-parties. I longed to know the touch and caress of a woman without the presence of a penis. I long to experience the butterflies, share a kiss, and hold a hand. I don’t know when I’ll get the chance, for 2020 threw a monkey wrench in any possibility of me successfully dating. Hopefully, 2021 will be more kind. 

            With the pandemic shutting down any new dating adventures, I sat pretty with what I had going on. I relied heavily on my prior partners and masturbation. So much so that I injured the arch of my foot in, Damn Sex Injuries, but I enjoyed my first threesome within my poly-partners in Two Men Walk Into A Bar.

            By the end of the summer, lockdown had driven many of us in the swinger community insane. Damn Covid! We wanted to fuck! So, that’s exactly what we did. When I first decided to enter the swinger space it was essential for me to be 100% sober when engaging. I needed to know that every dick I sucked or pussy I ate was because I wanted to. I wrote all about my position in I Make my Bad Decisions Sober. Being locked down for months caused me to throw caution to the wind at the first real pandemic sex party. I gave a foot-job, followed by some head. I even took a dick so big that it made me wonder if my vagina had gotten smaller in Did My Cat Shrink. When parties finally got swinging I was able to re-embrace my true exhibitionist nature. I love being watched while I’m fucking, so I wrote all about that in I Always Feel Like Somebody’s Watching Me.  And at the last party, my body was so fucked and contorted that in the end, I wrote, Sex! It’s A Fucking Workout.  

            Towards the end of the year, sadly I became distracted. When my father passed in October, I wrote Thank you. I love you. I will miss you. It was an honest letter, written from the heart, about my father and my estranged relationship. 

Later in October, I put all of my attention towards getting my book out, From Behind The Glitter Curtain: An Erotic Memoir. With almost two years invested, I originally planned to release it over the summer. But, when the pandemic caused everything to shut down, the coffee shops and bookstores that offered me writing peace were no longer an option. Getting back into my writing groove took longer than I expected, but once I got my mojo back, it was full steam ahead. 

            The day before Thanksgiving, From Behind The Glitter Curtain: An Erotic Memoir went live on Amazon. A few days later, it was available on Barnes & Noble, and last week it was finally available on Apple Books. I hope to be rolling out some special items with a purchase of the Hardcover book once the spring season arrives. 

With my book finally done, I’m happy to return to writing my blog. 

Many great things are still to come. In the new year, I hope to finally move, start my podcast, and continue to grow my book’s following. I hope you continue to follow me along my journey in the new year. Happy New Year! And may 2021 be better than 2020.

I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY’S WATCHING ME

When I was a little girl, my street was closed off for a block party. I remember being in the middle of the road, with my colorful dress swaying as I danced to the music. I remember posing for pictures, raising my hand in school, auditioning for various social groups, and enjoying being the center of attention. You see, at a very young age, I was a performer, and as I got older, I perfected my craft. 

I live on the fourth floor, and on more than one occasion, over the 20 years I have lived at this address, I have left my curtains wide open. Over the years, I’m sure my neighbors have seen me sing and dance in my room, undress, have fantastic sex and masturbate at all hours of the day. There were many times when my mom would enter my room when I was getting dressed and close my curtains. She’d make a remark about my body being all over the internet that I’d brush off, and when she’d leave, I’d wonder if anyone was watching. I’d always been an exhibitionist at heart. So, it was only natural that, once I entered the sex-positive space of a sex club, I let my true freak-flag fly.

I’m 25% voyeur and 75% exhibitionist. I enjoy watching people have sex, but I really love being watched. When I used to masturbate, I used to imagine a crowd of bodies around touching me all over, helping me reach my orgasm. When I attended my first sex party, I was finally living out a long-awaited fantasy. The random hands caressing my ass, rubbing my legs, and pinching my nipples heightened my orgasm. After every party, I grew more emboldened.

As my primary partner and I attended more parties together, we often took center stage (not a real stage, just a bed). He would eat my pussy, I would suck his dick, then we’d fuck. We’d occasionally play with other people, then come back together to end our night. Having to tell a man you have herpes with another man’s dick in your mouth is no easy task. So, I got into the habit of inviting men that I already knew and were aware of my diagnosis. It would ensure that the night would be fun, my partners knew my status, and I would be thoroughly fucked by the time the party was over.

At the last few parties we attended, I started taking time to please myself when my pussy needed a break from actual fucking. So, while he was either cleaning up or playing with another woman, I took the liberty to pull out my Womanizer. I would lay back, relax, and let the fantastic sucking motion bring me to a wet orgasm. Every party where I used my Womanizer, a moist spot was left behind as evidence —Sorry. Not Sorry—

The last party I attended was a Luau themed party at Caligula. In the corner, I was getting fucked when one of my other partners entered the room, positioned himself in front of me, and pulled his dick out for me to suck. I was in heaven. —I’ll never know where or how this came to be my bliss, but I have no desire to turn back.— Nonetheless, they switched positions, and once again, I was getting pleased from both ends. Then my partner positioned me on his face and ate my pussy as I sucked my guy’s dick. When we were all thoroughly pleased, we went and danced for a bit. A little conversation, some flirtation, then we all ended back upstairs in the infamous corner. Another MFM threesome and my pussy needed penetration rest. 

The room was dark, so I laid back on the bed with my body facing the room, and I pulled out my Womanizer. I turned her on, and shortly after, the sensations started to radiate through my body. I moaned and writhed with pleasure as the guests in the room speculated what was causing me to make my sounds. Hearing their wondering voices made my breathing quicken, and as I had my orgasm, I let out a loud scream and a steady stream of squirt. I realized the bed was now soaked, so I pulled up the sheet to signal for the attendant to switch it out. 

I wanted to freshen up, so I tip-toed to the 6-person shower. I removed my lingerie, turned on the water, and soaped up. I had an audience, and I liked it. I thought about playing with myself to give my onlookers a show, but my clit was still sensitive, so I just showered and went back to the room. 

I ended up back with my original players and a special guest star. He had told me earlier that day that he wanted to fuck my brains out; and that he did. For what felt like an hour, and a shower break somewhere in the middle, I was fucked while slobbing two knobs. With lube and persistence as my best friends, I survived the pounding he delivered to me. When he finally screamed, “I’m about to bust!” and did, the entire room was cheering for me. They all knew that I had just taken a thorough beating, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Not too long after we finished, they began announcing that the club was closing. When I went to take my last shower, I was approached by BDE (the guy from Corset, Collar, and Lingerie – Part 3). I don’t know if he remembered me, but I definitely remember him. I gave him a short hello and went back to my partners. 

I may not care for eyes on me when I’m walking down the street or on the train. But, for some reason (maybe because it’s a sex-positive space), I love knowing that my sexploits are on full display. I suck with more passion. I moan so the person downstairs can hear me. And like a marathon, cheers from the crowd keep me going, so I can fuck longer. When I’m at a sex party, I feel that people are watching me, and I love it.

CHECK PLEASE!

I love oysters. For many years, I stayed far away from them, then overnight, I was addicted. I had my first oyster in the summer of 2019, and I went on a mad dash to find the perfect oyster again. I went to several restaurants and shelled out hundreds of dollars to find the taste that took my oyster virginity. For months I was unlucky, then one afternoon I went to a restaurant near my job. I tried their oysters, and it was as if the world I was living went from black and white to colors. Their daily happy hour $1 oysters and their delicious cocktails had me signing a check that was never less than $60.  

In February of 2020, I wanted to do a mini alcohol detox before my first half-marathon. So, for a month, I stayed far away from the restaurant, its cocktails, and its oysters. I simply didn’t trust myself to go in and not buy a drink, so I stayed away. Then, a week before the race, the event was canceled due to coronavirus. I was pissed! I couldn’t believe that I had deprived myself for almost a month for nothing. A few days later, my office closed, and bye-bye went my access to oysters.   

Unable to order oysters to go, I had to suffer until things started to open up. As the city entered phase three, I looked forward to finally getting my oyster fix, but the options were super limited. Then one afternoon, I decided to dine by myself, have the oysters that I so craved, and was also able to fulfill an unchecked fantasy.   

I sat down, ordered a margarita, and a half-dozen oysters. I took a sip of my margarita as I waited for my oysters to arrive. The margarita was cold, perfectly sweet, and strong, just the way a margarita should be. As the tequila made its way down my throat, I felt the gentleman a few tables over, staring at me. When I turned in his direction, he winked at me. I winked back just to be polite, but when my oysters arrived, my vision became tunneled. A squeeze of lemon, a dash of tabasco, and a drizzle of mignonette sauce, and I was in heaven. Each oyster was a spicy orgasm in my mouth, and I devoured them one after the other. When I was done, my lips tingled from the tabasco, and my longing heart was content.  

As I sipped the rest of my drink, I continued to feel his piercing stare. I glanced over at him, and unlike last time, I didn’t break my line of sight, and neither did he. I sipped my drink as he licked his lips. Maybe it was the tequila or the oysters’ aphrodisiac effect, but I started to get wet. As we stared at each other, I could feel his eyes undressing me. They started at my polished toes, up to my legs, over my breasts, and stopped at my mouth, where my tongue twirled my straw.   

I ordered a second margarita and diverted my eyes for a brief moment. When my second drink came, I downed it much faster than the first. I could’ve continued eye-fucking him, but it was getting late, and I wanted to walk back home. I asked the waiter where the restroom was and went to freshen up for my walk home. As I walked past his table, I could feel his eyes scanning my body like lasers; my nipples grew hard.   

When I entered the restroom, I put some cold water on my face to cool off. I washed my hands, and when I opened the door to leave, he was there, blocking my exit. He smelled of burnt sugar and diesel, and it intoxicated me. He pushed his body up against mine, our bodies entered the bathroom, and he locked the door in a swift motion. In the next moment, his lips and tongue were on my neck, and his hands gripped my ass. He rubbed my clit over my thong, and I got soaking wet. He brought his fingers back up to his nose to sniff and whispered in my ear, “delicious.”   

He licked his fingers, dropped to his knees, and pushed up my dress. He buried his face into my pussy and inhaled deeply several times. He nibbled at my flesh through my underwear, then slowly he pulled them down. He slid his moist fingers in my pussy and began to coax an orgasm out of me. When he placed him juicy lips on my clit, I almost fell over; but he pushed his face deeper into my pussy pinning me against the wall. He licked, sucked, and slurped at my clit, the way I slurped those oysters, and finger fucked me into an orgasm. I rode the multiple waves as I held his head in place. After he drank all my newly released juices, he got off his knees, washed his hands, said, “thank you,” and walked out of the restroom.   

When I gained my composure, I walked to the mirror, and the person looking back at me was unfamiliar. My eyes were glassy, and my face was covered with beads of sweat. What did I just do? I continued to use the bathroom, and I washed my face and hands. By the time I returned to my table, the man was gone. I wanted to pay my bill and get the hell out of dodge. My moans were low when I orgasmed, but there was always a chance that they saw him enter the restroom behind me. I awkwardly signaled for the nearest waiter and said, “Check, Please!” He went into the restaurant only to return to tell me, “the gentleman has paid your bill.” And with that, I gathered my things and started my walk home. 

MY BISEXUALITY

Certain youthful thoughts will forever be engraved in my mind. I remember the day I got glasses because I tripped stepping off the curb; I was wearing shorts and pink clogs. I remember my first boy crush; we couldn’t have been older than 5 years old. We used to sleep next to each other, on our individual cots, during nap time. I remember one day when we were stretch partners; we put our feet together, held hands, and rocked back and forth. I remember this distinctly because both he and I rocked way too close to each other’s genitals, and after that, we were never stretch partners again.

Another thing I remember was my first girl crush. We went to the same school, lived in the same building, and lived on the same floor. She would always come over my house so we could play after school and on the weekends. I remember us seeing a (heterosexual) couple kiss on TV, and we wanted to try it. One day, when she was over, we hid by the kitchen table, and we kissed. After our lips made contact, we opened our mouths to allow our tongues to dance. When the kiss was done, we never mentioned it again. At eight years old, I didn’t quite have the language, but I knew I really enjoyed the kiss.  

The kiss we shared felt just as passionate as the flirtation I shared with the boy, from when I was five. So, at a very early age, I knew I felt a like for boys and girls, I just didn’t call it bisexual. As I got older, my attraction to women never waned, I just suppressed it for my like of boys. When you grow up in Catholic school, have a Baptist grandmother, and a heterosexual family, you don’t question anything, you just go with the flow. So, for years, I said nothing. I occasionally watched lesbian porn, on late-night TV, but didn’t read into it having to do with my sexuality.  

At the age of fourteen, I joined a youth chorus. There must have been a fine-print that I missed because almost every member was either gay or bisexual. I instantly felt at home. I finally felt free to explore that side of my sexuality without being judged. I flirted with my female and male peers; I even had a girlfriend for about a week. But, when she asked me for money, I broke it off. When my sister-in-law got wind of my questioning sexuality, she assumed they were trying to ‘turn me out.’ There was an exchange of words between her and another girl. And, just like that, I was back in something resembling a closet.    

I flirted with women on and off, but nothing ever manifested. When I was diagnosed with herpes, I put the entire idea to rest. I wasn’t allowed to be a questioning bisexual; so, I had to pick a side and stick with it. For almost a decade, I lived my life as a heterosexual woman, and most of the time, I was content. But, from time to time, I wondered what it would be like to flirt and be intimate with a woman; but fear of rejection kept me quiet.   

Then one day, when I was on PositiveSingles.com, a couple came across my feed. We chatted, met up for drinks, and a few weeks later, I had my first threesome and sexual encounter with a woman. I loved every second of it. Sadly, my time with them was short-lived, as they broke up soon after. I wanted the experience again, but it proved way too difficult to find women with a mutual attraction that wanted to meet. It also became evident that lesbians did not like women that were bisexual. And too often, the women that claimed to be bisexual preferred a consistent male presence, instead of a female one. I wanted to explore being with women only at that time.  

I wasn’t sure where I stood, so I decided the only way to know if I really enjoyed being intimate with women, without investing too much time, was to go to a sex-club. At my first sex club, and most after, I engaged with women. I enjoyed the feeling, but I still questioned myself. When I appeared on the Whoreible Decisions podcast, I defined my sexuality as bi-flexible. Since I never saw myself in a romantic relationship with a woman, it seemed unfair or a lie if I said I was bisexual. Fast forward a year later and countless sexual trysts with women at sex parties, I’m turning a new leaf. As my desire to engage with women at sex parties is beginning to disappear, my passion for real intimacy with a woman is increasing.   

When I’m walking down the street, and a beautiful woman walks past me, I don’t think to myself, damn, I want to eat her pussy (like a man would). I think I want to get to know her, and I wonder if she wants to get to know me, then we’ll see what happens. Despite being totally satisfied in my primary relationship, I want to explore a female connection on an intimate level.   

Every so often, I wonder how it would feel to walk, holding hands with my female love interest. I wonder how we would meet and what our first date would be. I wonder if she would be ok knowing that I’m polyamorous and a swinger. Would we intermingle our lives, or would we keep things separate? And I wonder if our sexual chemistry could transform into love? These are just some of the things that float through my mind when I think about my bisexuality. 

TO CLEAN, OR NOT TO CLEAN (The Booty-Hole)

This is not a post on the cleanliness of my ass; I shower 2-3 times a day, so my ass is very-very clean. This is a post about going through an extra step to make sure my ass is exponentially spotless for whatever activities may lay ahead.  

A few weeks ago, I had a dick appointment with one of my partners. I was looking forward to having my pussy eaten and fucked in all my holes. But, as luck would have it, I was worried about my approaching period. It was slated to come that week, and although I knew he was ok with fucking me during my period, I didn’t want certain activities to be off-limits. When he had to push it a week back, I thought to myself, great. My period would arrive in a day or two and be gone, or in the very least, extremely light, by the time we planned to meet up.   

A week passed, and no period came. I was hoping it would be a scenario where my period would disappear for a month (or two or three), as it had in the past. But the day I was finally going to get some long-awaited dick, I used the bathroom before getting into the shower, and BOOM! There was my period. I was immediately annoyed. I messaged him to let him know that I just started my period, and to confirm if he still wanted me to come over; he didn’t respond.   

The day after he and I first had sex, when he stuck his tongue and thumb in my ass, I went to the Pleasure Chest, in Manhattan, and purchased an anal douche the following day. Sure, my booty was clean, but I know I wasn’t sticking my finger all the way up to make sure the canal was clear. The last thing I wanted to see was poop on the condom, or him to see poop on his finger. So, despite the fact he called my booty ‘spotless,’ I didn’t want to take any chances. 

If you’ve never used an anal douche, trust me when I say, it’s a fucking process. It’s also easiest to do in the shower. You fill up the bottle with room temperature water, guide the nozzle up you booty-hole, then squeeze the water into your ass. You then get out of the tub, walk to the toilet, and push out the water. You do this a few more times until all the water comes out clear, confirming that your ass and the tunnel are thoroughly clean. It’s a hassle, it’s sometimes uncomfortable, and it’s not a process you do if you don’t plan on anal-play.  

So, there I was about to shower, and there he was, not answering his text message. I had just gotten off the phone with him, and I needed an answer. I didn’t want to do the process for no reason, but I didn’t want to shower, get out, then have to go back into the shower, after the fact. So, I did something I usually never do; I called him. (LOL) He answered and said to still come over. So, I showered, cleaned my ass, put in a Softdisc™ then had him call my Uber.   

When I got to his apartment, he gave me a glass of wine, he had a few beers; then things got started. We started kissing then I removed his pants to suck his dick. As things heated up, we took it all to the bedroom. He removed my clothes, and I continued sucking. He changed positions and laid me on my back and slipped a butt-plug into my ass. He licked at my neck, sucked my breast, kissed down my navel, then began to lick my clit. I rubbed his head as he found his rhythm. He swirled his tongue in delicate tornadoes around my clit and savored my juices that his tongue produced. He brought me to a screaming orgasm, and my thighs gripped his head in response. When he kissed me, I could taste my sweetness on his lips.   

He got a condom, spread my legs, and slowly entered me. He felt great, but when he pulled my legs apart and rammed into me, I began to lose my mind. He flipped me over and fucked me doggy-style. With my decorated ass in the air, he hammered into my pussy, and I cried out with every thrust. When he began to slow down, he started pulling out and reinserting the butt-plug; with each motion, the sensation increased. When he pulled it all the way out and placed it on the bed, I knew exactly what he was about to do. He licked and poked his tongue into my, now opened, booty-hole. As he grabbed the lube, I grabbed my Liberty Womanizer®.   

He slid his dick into my ass as the sensations from the womanizer teased my clit. Once my ass was ready, I gave him the green light to fuck my ass as hard as he wished. The combined sensation drove me up the walls as I screamed in pleasure. I told him how good his dick felt in my ass, and how I wanted him to fuck me harder, and after a while, he came. I still had the Womanizer on my clit, and I told him to stay in my ass because he felt so good. Then, with a few thrusts from him, I came hard.   

We passed out on the bed for about an hour. When we woke up, I cleaned up, got dressed, and he called my Uber back home. When I got home, I removed my disc in the shower and swapped it with my Diva Cup® and went about the rest of my day.   

Over the year, it has become a routine of mine that, when I know I’m going to have sex, I always go the extra mile to clean my ass. Although it can be an annoying hassle, I wouldn’t have it any other way.