I NEVER SAID NOTHING ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE

From Behind The Glitter Curtain: An Erotic Memoir is Available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and AppleBooks

Ever since I made my profiles public to allow more people to find my blog and book, I’ve received a flood of friend requests from strangers. For the past three years, I’ve found myself blocking the variety of faces that came across either my phone or computer screen. So, it would only make sense that when a good-looking Latin man passed my screen in the middle of a pandemic, that I follow him back.

He came across my Facebook feed, and since I thought he was attractive, I accepted his friend request. He seemed nice, was a trainer, and expressed some interest in getting to know me. The conversation was light to start. It had been my experience that most of the men who contacted me via social media apps rarely ever had friendly intentions. So, to avoid the merry-go-round, I told him that I was polyamorous when we neared the topic of sexual attraction. Not too long after my admission, our communication took a slight decline and pivot. He expressed his desire for an affectionate partner and possibly more than a friend with benefits. He also made it clear that he was the type to re-act, never make the first move.

A week later, and out of the blue, he messaged me and asked me if I wanted to meet him and go to a park. It was around 10 pm, I had just walked into my house, so I figured I’d go back out to meet him. While at the kitchen table, waiting for him to let me know when he arrived at my building, we communicated back and forth. This would be my first time meeting someone brand-new in a pandemic, and he seemed nice, but I wasn’t sure of his motives yet. So, because it was the booty-call hour, I blatantly told him he’s not fucking me in his car. He replied, “I said nothing about having sex.” (You didn’t have to – but ok!) I’ll play along.

He arrived downstairs; I went down to meet him then we went to a park along the water in Long Island City. The weather was warm earlier that day, but it got pretty cold when the sun had gone down. He parked the car, and we started to walk along the path by the water. We walk side by side, then something comes over me, and I lock my arm with his. With our arms locked together, a current begins to buzz between our bodies. We eventually decide to have a seat and start to talk. 

At first, I sat beside him, and then I tested the waters by sitting on his lap. He had expressed that physical touch was like fuel to a flame, so I knew what my actions would do to him. I sat on his lap, and we began kissing. His kiss was new and exciting. His hands started to roam my ass and breasts as he pulled me in closer to kiss him deeper, then he slowed down, then stopped. We began kissing again; then, I repositioned myself to straddle him as we faced each other. We kissed harder, his hands retraced their previously traveled path of my body, then he pulled one nipple out and licked around my piercings. He then switched to the other (you know- so it wouldn’t feel left out). I begin caressing his dick through his pants, and we continue deep kissing until I pull his dick out and begin to circle his head with the thumb using his pre-cum as lubrication.

I dip my head in between his legs to lick the tip of his dick, and I begin to suck. The anxiety of people passing by and the possibility of getting caught pushes us to move off the path. We spot some benches in the dark.

Once seated, I sit beside him. We start kissing, and I get a strong urge to have him in my mouth. I first suck his dick as I’m seated beside him. But, I eventually want a better position, so I go on my knees in between his legs. He has a nice-sized dick, and his girth is perfectly thick. When I gag on his dick, it gets more sloppy. He’s pulling and pushing my head to look up at him as he’s fucking my face. I pull out my vesper vibrating (crave) necklace and place it on his balls to add to the sensation of my sucking until he cums, and I keep sucking until he goes noodle limp and pushes me away.

I sit back next to him, and we start talking again. The audacity of my performance arouses me, and I decide to get myself off with my vibrator. Luckily I have on leggings, so as I’m sitting next to him, I place my vibrator on my already wet clit. He’s watching me get myself off, and I tell him he needs to kiss me. With my vibrator on my clit, his hand around my neck, and tongue down my throat, my organism rises. He gently slaps my face; then I tell him to do it harder. He applies more pressure to my throat, and I cum with his lips on mine.

After my orgasm, we go back to talking (like I didn’t just suck his dick and have an orgasm). Not long after, we begin kissing again. I get the second desire to suck him off once more. —Refractory Period Over. I don’t waste time this round. I immediately get in between his legs on my knees and go to town. Up and down his shaft, I swirl around the head of his penis, and I gently suck his balls. He’s sexy talking to me the entire time (“I love that, keep sucking my dick, make it sloppier, gag on it, look at me”). I loved every second of it. When he began reaching his peak, he told me he was about to cum, and I kept on sucking until he finished. 

When I finished, he said, “I don’t know if you like sucking dick or just my dick.” I replied, “a little bit of both.” But, it wasn’t just his dick; it was the atmosphere, the newness, the rush of adrenaline, and the fact that I controlled all that happened. There were no expectations once I hopped in his car. I took the wheel and control. We talked for a little bit longer, then we walked back to his car, and he drove me home.

I said he was not fucking me in his car. I said nothing about anything else outside of his car. LOL!

I WONDER…

From Behind The Glitter Curtain: An Erotic Memoir is Available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and AppleBooks

Sometimes I wonder, how different my life would’ve been if certain things had gone differently. I know we often like to think that we have total control over our lives, and some believe that we have no control at all (what is meant to be will be). But a part of me believes that I may have been in a different place than I currently am if certain things hadn’t happened. And the clinker is, there is no guarantee that the hypothetical place would be better, worse or the same. 

I knew at the age of 8 that I liked girls too. I used to flirt with my boy classmate during exercise, but when I would hang out with my childhood friend after school, I felt the same way for her that I felt for him. And she was my first kiss behind the couch in my mother’s kitchen area. At the age of fourteen, I joined a choir, and with them, I found my new home and place to express myself. Half the group was either gay, bisexual, or what we once considered androgynous. There was a girl in the choir that I had a massive crush on, her name was Odessa, and she became my girlfriend for an entire week (at 14, that really meant something). She was my first conscious kiss, but she would be my last for a very long time. 

Shortly after she and I broke up, my sister-in-law got wind of my budding-sexual-curiosities. There was another girl in the choir that I found attractive. Because she was a year or two older and thus more experienced, I wanted to explore my sexuality with her. However, my sister-in-law saw her desire and attraction for me as predatory. To be specific, she thought that the girl was trying to “turn me out” instead of me genuinely liking her. She threatened the girl and told her that I was off-limits. I didn’t know how to express my feelings, and I was too afraid to speak up for myself, so that was the end. Even if I had been confident in my attraction, she (like many adults do) would’ve dismissed my sexual curiosities with, “you’re too young to be gay or bisexual.”

What is the proper age for someone to honestly know their sexuality? As young as eight years old, I knew how I felt; I simply didn’t have the language or courage to express it. So, it would be almost two decades before I would admit to myself what I had denied for so long. With my first threesome, I knew that my desire for women was valid the entire time. I had simply suppressed it. When my SIL and I talk about my coming out, she expresses that she wish I told her a long time ago. She didn’t see her actions as negative because she thought that she was helping me. But when it came to boys, her need to protect me wasn’t as present. This makes me wonder if she hadn’t intervened, how different my journey would’ve been.

I don’t have many regrets in life. I honestly don’t even regret being with the man that passed me herpes. Sure, my life would’ve been easier without the virus; but I don’t regret knowing him. The sex was great, and he didn’t treat me poorly; he just came with a lasting parting gift. 

What if I had explored dating women with the same passion that I dated men. Maybe dating both genders would’ve opened up the door of my sexuality a lot earlier. Perhaps I wouldn’t have sought the perfect male companion all those years. Maybe I wouldn’t have encountered so many male-induced heartbreaks. Maybe I wouldn’t have dated Will, and perhaps I would still be herpes negative. Perhaps I would’ve ended up in a long-term lesbian-presenting relationship and didn’t have to be on birth control for much of my adult life. Maybe my first “I love you” would’ve been with a woman instead of a man. Maybe I could’ve met, fell in love with, and married a bomb ass, sexy ass curvy woman. Maybe. Perhaps. Maybe. The fact remains that I will never know. But, because of various events, I lived most of my existence as heterosexual, never learning how to navigate the complexities of dating other women. So, when I finally came out at 30, people naturally didn’t believe me. 

Last year, I got into a debate with a later-exposed Hotep who was very opinionated on LGBTQIA+ representation. Like many heterosexual and misogynistic individuals, he argued that the increased representation of said individuals is media propaganda to force young (black) boys and men to become feminine. As if these very individuals didn’t exist before the invention of the TV. Like many who think like him, he couldn’t comprehend that, more often than not, people hide who they are for the comfort of others. It was easier for them to go with the lie that the media is brain-washing the minds of young (black) boys to become women or because they see it, they want to try it. You can correct me if I’m wrong. But, no amount of seeing something will make you want to do it if it was never on your mind in the first place. —No amount of seeing men kiss will make you want to one day break up with your girl and kiss a dude. If you never wanted to before, you won’t want to do it now.

Being gay, straight, bi, lesbian, and others is not a choice. Living your truth is a choice. And for years, I did not live my truth. For years I lied to myself every time I made a dating profile, and I only sought heterosexual connections. For years I denied myself the possibility when I turned away from a woman’s flirting eye. If my family had embraced me exploring my sexual orientation identity, my life might have been different.

I say all of this to say despite how you as a parent or adult feel, sometimes your child KNOWS. There is no such thing as too young to be gay or bisexual because feelings and attraction often precede the language to express such desires. If your child comes to you expressing their sexual orientation (or gender identity), listen to what they have to say. Allow them the ability, to be honest with you and go from there. Don’t shame or deny their feelings or identity because it is not what you want for your child. Provide them a safe space to be who they feel they are and allow them to come to a healthy conclusion, not a forced societal one.

POLYAMORY CHANGES

It’s been almost two years since I’ve been living a polyamorous love-style, and it has still been one of the best decisions I’ve made in a very long time. When I look back and evaluate what has made living poly so unique, one word comes to mind, change. 

Many things have changed since I’ve begun living poly, and the master change has been my expectations and “rules.” When I was living monogamously, I had expectations that never seemed to be met (at least not by the men that showed interest). There were also many rules I once had that I’ve since dismissed or lessened dramatically since being polyamorous. 

This pandemic threw a flaming monkey wrench into my dating life and plans. I had hoped to build upon the connections I already had. I had hoped to finish my book in the summer and promote it across the country. And lastly, I had hoped to be out of my parent’s home. However, with the city shut down (I live in NYC) and minimal opportunities for inclement weather date-nights, dating expectations became limited and scattered. With cafés, and bookstores closed, my comfort in writing was halted for months. And, since the city shut down, the organizations responsible for construction shut down as well, and my ability to move hit a brick wall. 

All wasn’t lost, though. Sex-positive people never stay without sex for too long, and over the summer, I reconnected with a partner from my past when he asked me to accompany him in a swap. We chatted up and got reacquainted, and he expressed his desire to “get to know me better.” We had planned a date, then the city shut down again (LOL!) Anyway, we’ve been in contact, and he bought my book. When he got to the part where I mentioned my strict “no kids” rule, he was concerned. I had to explain to him, that was a rule I had when I was monogamous. But, now that I’m polyamorous, I’m open to bending it. 

This was my first time really acknowledging that my rules when dating poly had shifted. I am spoiled. I was spoiled then, and I am still spoiled now. I want what I want. When I was dating monogamously, because my partner was the only one, the last-minute adjustments of dating a man with kids were always an issue. Knowing that I had maneuvered my entire day or week to be available for him to cancel or change plans if he had to pick up his kids or whatever, I would get pissed. Monogamy had him as my only target, and all of my expectations rested upon his shoulders, and that wasn’t fair. Being poly and having multiple partners and relationships and my relationship with myself, I never exhaust my options. If a date has to cancel, I may still be a little bit upset, but it’s no longer the house of cards tumbling down it was before. 

Being polyamorous, having multiple partners and relationships (including the one with myself) now allows me to have financially fair relationships as well. Because my primary love languages are gifts and acts of service, I like and want shit! Dates, flowers, candies, trips, and etc. But I’ve always thought of myself as a fair girlfriend. I never wanted or expected so much from a partner that it put a strain on him. Many would say, “it ain’t trickin’ if you got it.” But most of my partners didn’t have it, and I knew it. And since I couldn’t be with someone solely for financial gain, I found myself in many fair or financially imbalanced relationships. 

However, with the above realization, being poly has made space for relationships I may have otherwise turned away. Repeatedly going out at one partner’s expense can be a financial burden. Having multiple partners to date on occasion allows my date bucket to remain full, without the strain. Living poly has also allowed me to re-prioritize and consider myself a fantastic date. 

When I sought monogamous relationships, my alone time was a byproduct of my partner’s cancelation or lack of funds. I was forced to find happiness in being alone. But now, that happiness is genuine and very welcome. Those long hours of being alone allow me time to decompress, zone out, and refocus my energy and goals. I get up, make my way to a restaurant, read a book or listen to a podcast, and go for a nice long walk all by myself. Before poly, what a partner didn’t have would’ve been a huge deal breaker, but in this pool of poly-love, the laser focus is no longer on the perceived negatives. 

The poly changes allow me to see and experience a different kind of love, a love that’s not solely based on what my partner can do for me but how I feel for and with them.

SIZE DOES MATTER

No, this is not your typical big dicks are the best rant. If you’ve been following my blog since the beginning, you already know that I despise small dicks (aka gherkins, aka little pickles). The other day I was walking while listening to the Whoreible_Decisions podcast, and they had on Jet Setting Jasmine, a public figure who is also the wife of King Noire (public figure, master fetish trainer, and etc.). During the episode they touched on the topic of his dick size, which is huge. They’re have an open marriage, and she mentioned, in a joking way, that she outsources certain sexual acts, and anal was number one. If you’ve ever seen his dick, it’s clear to see why. So, just as some dicks are too small, there are dicks that some women consider too big. So, I came up with this classification that is not based on measurements but based on personal preference. 

First, I’ll start with GAP.  

No, this is not short for gaping pussy and booty holes. GAP stands for Good in All Positions. This dick length and size may feel better in some positions, but, in general, it’s suitable for all. There’s nothing more annoying than riding a dick that keeps slipping out. Sure, sometimes the pussy can be juicy, but more often than not, the dick is just a few inches shy on the ‘You need to be this tall to ride this ride’ ruler. A dick that feels good in missionary, doggy-style, various riding positions, anal, and fills the mouth just right is a GAP dick.   

The second classification is the DSO dick.  

DSO stands for Doggy Style Only: this is the dick that only feels good in doggy-style because it is trash in all other positions. It is trash in missionary, it’s trash when riding it, it’s trash from the side, and it offers no challenge when getting sucked. This dick only feels good in doggy-style; with your ass high up, lots of lube, and your face so far down, it’s under the mattress.  

The first time I encountered a DSO dick, it took me by surprise. It was attached to a chocolate man with a rock-solid body. He was tall and skinny, so I was beyond confident that his dick would be just as long as he was tall. When I pulled his pants down to suck his dick, I wondered where it was; it was short and fat, in the most unflattering way. I did the best job I could at sucking it, hoping that he was a grower and not a shower, but what I saw was what I got. I bent over on all fours hoping that maybe he’d feel better. I felt him push past my opening then nothing else. He was pumping for dear life, and I felt nothing. My back was arched, and my ass was so high in the air that a satellite could’ve looked into my anal cavity. But nothing I did made the sex feel any better. It was him that first debunked the myth that all black guys were packing because his luggage was definitely lost.  

The next classification is NFA, and that stands for Never Fucking my Ass.   

If a dick can be too small, one can also be too big. A dick that I deem to big will never get the chance to fuck my ass. Now, sure the first time I had anal was with a guy with an 8″ dick, and I loved it; but he took his time. He made sure I was very aroused, moist, and then he slowly entered me. Each and every thrust felt lovely, and when we had our fill, he switched back to my pussy. For almost a decade, I refrained from anal, and then slowly, I was able to find partners that I deemed suitable for my ass. Their length isn’t super-long, and their girth isn’t too thick; their dick is just right.  

The final classification is MLBS, and that stands for Must Lick Before the Stick.  

MLBS is the dick that, upon first sight, seems to lack sustenance, and it doesn’t look like it can satisfy. However, after he eats the pussy and makes me cum when he slides into me, it feels like heaven. Some positions may feel better than others, but none of them will feel bad.   

My first time encountering an MLBS was when I returned from Mexico. I started talking to him via OkCupid, while I was still on vacation. He messaged me that he wanted to eat my pussy, and since I was feeling free, I agreed to let him once I got back. I met him, and we went to his place. He ate my pussy on the couch in the living room and delivered me an incredible orgasm. When it was time for me to return the favor, as stated before, I was less than enthused. Looking at his size, I listed the possible positions that would deliver me the most pleasure while fucking, and I concluded doggy-style. But, when he bent me over the couch to fuck me, his dick felt like it had grown 4 inches. After he ate my pussy, my walls were still clenching, the orgasm continued to rush through my body, and I was soaking wet. After the wonders he worked on my clit, his dick felt fan-fucking-tastic. His dick felt so good that I went above and beyond to get it. I would go to his house before my long runs. I fucked him after work. I even took the train to fuck him during my lunch break. He fucked me from the back, he fucked me missionary, I rode him like a cowgirl, and he even fucked me from the side (a position that’s not my favorite), and they all felt amazing. As long as he ate my pussy first, his dick felt magical. The only reason we stopped fucking was me; I felt that I was lowering my standards, and I ended it. But now and then, when I’m on the west side of Manhattan, I think about his mouth and dick, and my pussy starts to get wet. 

The above is the beauty of a MLBS dick. As long as his tongue delivers you to an orgasm, his dick possesses the same capabilities as a GAP dick. So, because I love getting my pussy eaten, MLBS dicks have become my personal favorite. Now, isn’t that better than grading dicks by measurements?

NOBODY CAN SAY I DIDN’T TRY

A few years ago, when I was still online dating, I came across the profile of a cute Latino. His profile indicated that he lived near me and that he, like myself, enjoyed running. Once we started talking the conversation flowed like water. We spoke, consistently, for a few weeks before we decided to meet up. All seemed to be going well, but he kept giving me random reasons why he couldn’t meet me when it was convenient for me. He kept trying to get me to meet him at his house or in front of his building late at night. I made it clear to him that, if he wanted to meet me, he would have to do so at my convenience. Even though he was resistant to meeting, we continued to communicate.  

During one of our conversations, I asked him what he did for work. He told that he was a personal assistant for his cousin (whom he claimed was Jessica Caban, the longtime girlfriend of Bruno Mars). He also said that he was a part-time hairstylist. I made a comment, that I thought would end up being a light-hearted joke. In response to him saying that he was a hairstylist, I joked, and asked if he was also gay. I expected a variety of responses, equating to a no. Although he did say no, when he told me that he was a cross-dresser, I almost choked. Immediately my phone was flooded with messages from him dressed like a woman. Now, don’t get me wrong, he didn’t look half-bad; I simply wasn’t expecting that. I thought about deleting his number and blocking him, but I wondered if I was being too close-minded. There was a party of me that knew I couldn’t get with it. But there was another part of me that considered the courage that it took for him to be honest with me; and, that part didn’t want to just walk away. 

We agreed to meet up one evening and go for a walk in Central Park. He was less handsome in person, but still good looking. I don’t remember what I wore; but I remember he wore a huge multi-colored puffer jacket and NYC Marathon ASICS. —Why do I remember those details, you ask. The only reason why I remember them is because he kept mentioning them. He kept mentioning how expensive his coat and sneakers were, and how much money he had. As he tried to win me over by saying how much money he had, I kept changing the conversation to other topics. We spoke about running, him doing hair, and eventually I asked him when he started cross-dressing. He explained that on one day he just decided to try it and he liked it. He had this cockiness about him that I hated; but his honesty kept me intrigued.  

I felt like dessert, so we walked down to Pinkberry. On our walk, the conversation continued to evolve. I was semi-surprised to think that despite how things began; we were actually having a decent first date. Once inside of Pinkberry, and only because he made such a big deal on how much money he had, I was taken aback when he didn’t offer to pay for my $7 dollar dessert. —If you’ve been following my blog from the beginning, you know how I feel about men that don’t offer to pay on first dates. If a man doesn’t pay on a first date, there will not be a second. I thought to myself, for a guy donning $130+ sneakers, and a coat that he claimed was over $500, the least he could do was buy my frozen yogurt; when he did not, it was an automatic major deduction. I was ready do ditch his ass; but, unfortunately, he lived in my area, and we had to walk in the same direction. He said that he was thirsty; so, walking back uptown, we stopped into Whole Foods. He walked to the beverage station, grabbed a beverage, and asked me if I wanted anything. I said no, and I started walking towards the cash register. I was, once again, taken aback when he turned around and made his way back to the entrance. —Yes! While wearing over $600, this fool decided to steal a seltzer water from Whole Foods. I looked at him like he was bat-shit crazy. Once outside of the store I ripped into him about what he did, and he seemed to not care. I needed to change the conversation over the remaining 15 blocks, so we spoke about movies and TV shows. When he reached his building, he invited me to come up, but I eagerly declined and made my way home.  

Most women would’ve blocked his number. However, there is always (and probably will forever) be a part of me that never knows when to call it quits. I can say it in my mind, but there is always the heart. When the mind and heart align, then along comes the conscience, that convinces me to give a person one more chance. So, after our first meet & greet, where he stole and didn’t even buy me a dessert, we were still talking. A part of me found it interesting having a person that was so different in my life. So, I wasn’t quite ready to sever all ties. A week later, I was with my friends at the bar having wings, and my date came up. I went over all the details of the date and they were appalled for me. When I mentioned that he was also a cross-dresser, they thought that I was out of my mind for going on the date, in the first place. I tried to justify the reasons for us staying in contact, but in the end, I knew it had run its course.  

After a few nights, he went from being interesting and different to classic fuck-boy. One evening, he kept repeatedly asking me to come over and I told him no. He then proceeded to say that if I didn’t come over, he would call someone else to. I guess he thought my decision to talk to him was out of desperation, but I was simply trying to be open-minded. I told him he was well within his right to do what he wanted. This went on for about twenty more minutes. Growing annoyed, I told him that I would block him. When he didn’t stop, I did just that. To this day, I still wonder why I even went down that road in the first place. I knew, the moment he told me that he cross-dressed, red flags went up. After his behavior on the first date, I knew there would be no romantic future. I don’t really know what it was, but I wanted to give him a chance to see if we could at least be friends. In the end, nobody can say I didn’t try.