THANK YOU. I LOVE YOU. I WILL MISS YOU

On Friday, I got the call from my mom that my father passed; I didn’t know how to feel. I know how I should feel, but the reality is “that” feeling feels ingenuine. I remember seeing my father a total of two times, once when I was 18 and the other time, last year at my cousin’s wedding. You see, my father left before I turned one, and when he reached out to me later in life, the time apart had done so much damage the bridge couldn’t be rebuilt. 

We would talk on the phone on occasion; he would see how I was doing and like my Facebook pictures from time to time. But, the interactions lacked depth. So, when I got the call that he was dead, there was a short reset and sensation similar to an ache, but not quite. 

I’ve never been the cry right then type of person. When my grandmother passed, I didn’t cry until we were at her funeral. With one look at my crying uncle, I could no longer hold it together, and all the tears fell. All the memories of the times we shared came flooding back. And I realized that I would never get to see her again. My family would never go over to her house for the holidays. I would never braid her hair, and I would never get to hear her curse out her home-health-aid. I would miss all the memories, and I would forever miss what could have been. 

But, with my father, there are little to no memories to reflect upon. When I saw him when I was 18, I was a moody adolescent with an attitude because he left in the first place. When I saw him again, in my thirties, I just enjoyed the moment. With less than twenty-four hours worth of memories and a lost future of what could have been, I sat down in the tub last night during my shower and tried to find conjure up the emotions society said I was supposed to feel. Mixed with the steady stream of hot water came crocodile tears, followed by a day-long headache. 

I posted a picture last night on my Instagram and Facebook. It was a picture taken at my cousin’s wedding with my mom and father; we all looked happy. That day we laughed, danced, and ate, and when the night was over, we talked about visiting him in North Carolina. Other family problems happened, then COVID happened, and before I knew it, he was gone. Below the picture was messages of condolences and prayer emojis from various friends and followers. I appreciated every one of them, but I couldn’t help but wonder if they felt worse for me than I did for myself. 

Last night my brother and sister-in-law called me to express their condolences; this was interesting considering my brother actually spent more years getting to know my father than I did. We laughed about it, but the truth of the situation stung a bit. I know he left for a good reason, but I’d be lying if I said I totally understood. I’d be lying even more if I said I forgave him for it. 

Holding onto that grudge won’t change the fact that my father is gone, and he won’t ever be coming back. There will be no more calls to make or receive. I’ll never see him like a Facebook post. And he’ll never get to attend my hypothetical wedding or meet his hypothetical grandchild. 

Another thing I realized is that the news of death comes in waves. The first wave acknowledges death; it’s the heavy feeling in your stomach that first weighs you down. The second is missing; missing the person and the memories of them. But the last, which is the one I always feel, is the feeling of regret. I always wish that I had done more. Could I have called more? Could I have texted more? Could I have visited sooner? When my grandmother passed, I saw her a week before, and we spoke often; but I still felt regret and wished that I had done more.

Death sucks. Getting the news that someone you know, love, or care for died sucks. Wishing you had done more while they were alive sucks. And knowing that you’ll never get the chance to do things over, or better, sucks. My father wasn’t a perfect man, but he was my father, and I wouldn’t exist without him. So, I have to thank him for contributing to my existence. I have to thank him for loving me from a distance. And I have to thank him for trying. 

Thank you. I love you. I will miss you.

DID MY CAT SHRINK?

I know the vagina is a beautiful work of art. Sure, it bleeds once a month, but it also brings life into the world. And throughout history, a few wars have been waged to attain it. Its allure can make a man want to get a better job, or it can drive a man to sell his car and remortgage his home. The vagina has undeniable power. And, sadly, I think mine may have shrunk. 

I attended a sex party while I was on my period last year. And since I didn’t want the night to be a total waste, I sucked a few dicks. And one that stood out from the rest. It was chocolate, long, thick, and hard. I hoped that I could one day ride him into the sunset, so I was elated when he asked me for my number before leaving. We kept in touch, on and off. Then, a year later, during a pandemic, we finally made plans to link up.  

He asked me if I wanted to join him and swap with a couple he met last year. I agreed. To be completely honest, I wasn’t 100% enthused about the swap, as he and I had never even had sex. I didn’t want the first time I rode his horse to be at a county fair. None the less, he booked the hotel, picked me up, and we headed to New Jersey.  

When the couple arrived, we started drinking, played a game of strip-adult-charades, then things started. The woman and I began by licking at each other’s nipples; then she went to use the bathroom. When she returned, I was on my knees sucking my date’s dick like the world was ending (because it just might be). The length of his dick presented a challenge I was eager to conquer. With my mouth a slippery mess, my left hand playing with his balls, and my right tugging at his nipples, he almost lost control, and to avoid his orgasm, he pushed me away. The other guy wanted to see what I was working with, so when I returned from rinsing my mouth, I gave him a sample. When it was time to fuck, it was hard for him to keep it up. And my annoyance only increased as I heard the screams and moans from his wife getting pounded out by my date. I was annoyed as fuck!   

Eventually, her man got his head in the game, and it was decent. But I knew what I wanted, waited a year for, and hauled my ass all the way to New Jersey for. My date had stamina, so after her man had his orgasm, I needed to get off. He walked to the bathroom to clean off, and I pulled out my Womanizer. As I watched them in action, I imagined I was her. I moaned and yelled commands to “fuck her harder” and “fuck that pussy.” When I had my orgasm, I let out a moan, and a moment later, he came. We all took a moment to freshen up and find out more about each other, and then it was back to business. I needed to feel him inside of me, and I refused to wait another year.  

I sat on the edge of the bed and took him into my mouth, and instantly he was hard. He played with my clit as I sucked with a mission. When he pushed me back on the bed and slipped on the condom, I was happier than a dentist’s child on Halloween. He pulled me down to him, and he slid into me. His initial entrance felt terrific, then something felt off. The sensation that I used to take like a champion was no longer there. In my fucking years, I definitely fucked dicks longer than his. So, what was it? Every thrust was a mixture of pain and pleasure, but more pain than I usually like. When he bent the girl over to fuck her doggy-style, I envisioned throwing it back and giving him a run for his money. Thank God I’m not a shit talker because I surely wouldn’t have been able to cash that check. I managed to fight through the pain and still throw it back and take the dick, but I couldn’t comprehend what was happening to me.  

When he came, we cleaned up, and we swapped one more time. Luckily, the second time around, the other guy had no problems staying up, and I rode him like a cowgirl in a western movie. I used my low squat form to bounce up and down, then I grounded on my knees to move just the pussy, and finally, I winded him into an orgasm. The final time we fucked, he bent me over, and once again, there was that feeling – What the Fuck! – He wasn’t as painful as my date, but when he switched to missionary, I was very thankful.   

The couple left, my date had to pick up his kids, and I remained in the suite. After I showered, I laid in the bed and wondered- is my vagina shrinking? My first had a seven-inch dick, my 10-year fling had an eight-inch dick, and my last two exes ranged between seven and eight. I took every last one of them all like a fucking champ. So why was I, all of a sudden, wincing at a dicks? I may not fuck donkey dicks as often as I used to, but my partners are not, by any means, small. They all (yes- they) have nice sized dicks, so it made no sense.   

Last week I went to a sex-party with my guy, and we had a blast. I fucked some lengthy Johnson’s and I was ready for more, until the last one. When I was sucking his dick as my man ate me out, I could tell he was big, but I didn’t realize how big. When he put on a condom to fuck me, it was then that I realized I was in for a rude awakening. Not only was he long, but he was rock hard and as amazing as every slow grind felt, each rapid pump felt like a dagger. It was as if I could feel him hitting a rib. I considered telling him to stop, but my fucking pride got the best of me. I used to be able to fuck these like no problem. When he asked if I would do doggy-style, I said, “Hell No!” It started to feel better, and soon as his rhythm became thoroughly enjoyable for me, he came. After him, I was done.   

I wanted no more sex, and I didn’t want to see another dick for the rest of the party. I don’t know if my pussy is shrinking, or it’s just used to what it’s used to. But I’ll continue to push the barrier. The vagina is a muscle after all, so if you work it- it works for you back. 

MIND YOUR OWN UTERUS!

In response to the recent bills passed against women’s rights in Alabama, (specifically abortion, for those that live under a rock); I’ve decided to share my stories and perspectives on the topic. As of lately, my fingers have been getting much exercise; arguing with those that are, not really, pro-life, but, really, anti-abortion.  

It still amazes me that people feel they have the right to say what a woman should and shouldn’t do with what’s going on in her body. It’s even more infuriating when you know that this law would still criminalize women that seek abortion if they are raped or if a pregnancy resulted from incest. Take it a step further; the state of Alabama is a state where a man that rapes a woman, is tried and convicted of said rape, can still seek and fight for custody of that child. So, if the woman chooses to keep the child, for whatever reason, he has the legal right to see the child; further victimizing the woman.  

I’ll make my position very clear. I don’t agree that abortions should be used as a form of birth control, in the way the conservatives would like to make it seem. 

I don’t think a woman should have multiple abortions, just to avoid having a child. However, my position still remains that, it’s her right to choose. I prefer people educate themselves on sex and try and explore methods that work for them. There are a host of birth control options: condoms (male & female), diaphragms (although a bit outdated, but can still do the trick to avoid becoming pregnant). There’s the pill (it comes in many different doses and level of hormones), the shot, the ring, the patch, various IUDs, and lastly, the implant. 

Since the age of 14 when I lost my virginity, I’ve used a plethora of birth control methods. Yet, even I, on two separate occasions, found myself pregnant.  

I was approximately 16 years old when I had my first abortion; I was using a condom with my partner and, guess what, it broke! There was no Plan B at the time, so I just had to wait. I still hoped with all hope that I would not end up pregnant. However, once I missed my period, it became abundantly clear what my next step would be.  

I didn’t want to tell my mom because, I can admit it now that, I was ashamed. She knew I wasn’t a virgin but I didn’t want her to know that I was “having sex”. So one of my older friends came with me the day of my operation and he gave me the money. When it was all over I felt sad, but more relieved. I had hit the re-start button on my life and I told myself I was going to do better; and I did. Until it happened again.  

After my first abortion I went from, in conjunction with condoms, to the pill then the  depo-shot. I had come to a period where I wasn’t having sex and I let my shot period go slightly out of date; and I had sex with an old-faithful partner and a newer partner. This time around, the choice wasn’t as easy. I was 18 and a HS graduate, with a job. I could take care of this child if I chose to keep it. But, I’d have got put college on the back-burner, settle for a job to get by, no career, and just hope that the father wouldn’t be a dead-beat.  Oh, I’d also have to have a DNA test; immediately my mind went to an episode of Maury. I was crying in the bathroom of my job, and sulking around the house. This time, I did tell my mom and she understood my decision. After my operation, she and my brother picked me up and we drove home.  

I took a break from sex and have been on steady birth control ever since. I started with the IUD, which gave me heavier than normal periods. Then I switched to the patch; this was better, if not for the ugly scar it would leave on my abdomen. My most successful method was the Nuva-Ring. Boy! Did I love the Nuva-Ring! I never forgot it, I didn’t have any weird side-effects. I was even able to regulate my period as I wanted. Say I was going on vacation and that was going to be the week of my period; instead of the week off, I’d just put the next ring in and Voila! Another 3 weeks of no blood. This was all rainbows and butterflies; until the price went from $15 for 3 months, to $75 for 1 month. I was not willing to pay that much month. So, I asked my GYN if there was any other options and she recommended the Nexplanon. It’s a mini rod-implant that goes into the arm and lasts for 4 years. I said; “SIGN ME UP!” 

I’ve been pregnancy-scare-free ever since, and I still use condoms, to avoid any other STD/Is. With that being said, I’m always shocked when I go to have sex with a man, and he’s resistant to use a condom. This is why I often lie to my partners and tell them I’m not on birth control to avoid the headache of “Why we have to use condoms, you wont get pregnant” bs.  

It would be great if we lived in a world where education and pregnancy prevention was placed on a higher pedestal. It’s been proven to that abstinence doesn’t work to prevent people from having sex, it only forces them to become ill-informed on the choices they make with their bodies. If we stop shaming the act of sex and talk about it from an educational POV, so those that do engage in sex will make wiser decisions, I’m sure we’ll see a dramatic drop in abortion rates.  

Until we get there though; talk to your partner, before you have sex with them, to know where they stand on the issue. For the men who want kids; know that if your partner does not, she has full rights to terminate that pregnancy. And, for the men that don’t want kids; if she becomes pregnant and refuses to terminate that pregnancy; you will now be a father. Having a 15 minute conversation cloud eliminate a lifetime of headache or an invasive surgery.  

There have been theories tossed out about why this law was allowed to pass in the first place. 

But my opinion is simply that, those in charge still desire to control the reproductive rights of women.  

They bitched when women entered the workforce and started having less babies. They bitched when women started speaking about our own sexuality. They bitched about birth control. Now, they’re bitching about abortions.  

At the same time, they’ll deny women that want to get their tubes tied; to avoid becoming pregnant in the first place. While those same people, will bitch when a woman has a child she can’t afford; then has to seek government assistance. There’s not winning.  

Those in charge and those that have eaten too much yogurt-shit can be manipulated to think it’s a religious based decision, or a right to breathe decision, but it’s all about control of women. 

Swirly shit in a cone with a cherry on top is still SHIT!  

So, to those who have so much to say about my reproductive rights, I say “MIND YOUR OWN UTERUS!”