B!TCH, YOU TRIED IT!

When I decided to start my blog, my purpose was to create a shared emotional outlet. When I began divulging my sexual exploits, I strapped on my seatbelt and got ready for the ride. When I made public my herpes status, I braced for impact. I knew very early that my views and progressive ideas about sexuality, sexual health, and inclusion would not be popular, and I didn’t care. I stopped caring about what others thought, and I focused on telling my story. I told my story for myself and those who needed to hear something different, something new and inspiring. 

With every story, every blog, and every interview, more and more people reached out to me and congratulated me for being the voice they couldn’t find. I’ve since picked up the torch, with other sex-positive activists, to push and correct the language for change. Every day we’re posting, tweeting, blogging, and podcasting for proper and thorough education regarding sexual health and STI stigmas. We know that the road ahead is long, and we continue to rush against the tide. I take pride in what I do, and I maintain a positive outlook, even in the face of nay-sayers. However, last week, I found myself having to check a bitch!

To be clear, I use the word bitch the same way the late great Bernie Mack used the word “Mother-fucker” in The Kings of Comedy. The word bitch is used as a noun to describe a person, a place, or a thing. And by my definition, these people were complete and utter bitches. 

On Facebook, I’m a member of many sex-positive, polyamorous, and swinger group. These groups exist as a safe space for both new and veterans of the lifestyle to meet and engage with like-minded individuals. The groups are regularly a sex-positive space that exists without shame. So, imagine my surprise when a group member decided to screenshot comments from a post, repost them on their page, and use it to further perpetuate an already existing negative and inaccurate stigma.

A close FB friend of mine alerted me to a gentleman that used my public position on being herpes positive to sex shame by writing, “It’s all fun and games until you catch something.” Of course, he posted this in a group that I wasn’t a member of, so I joined the group and addressed him directly when it was brought to my attention. For what it was worth, the group people actually attacked him for trying to shame me; kudos to them. But I wanted to know what his goal was?  He claimed that he didn’t like promiscuous people, and he thought that was a good enough excuse. I took the opportunity to inform him that many people who find themselves STI positive (especially when it came to herpes) were anything but promiscuous. 

The kids living with herpes (acquired through a kiss from their parents), to the victims of assault and rape, to the people who didn’t know their partner’s cold sores caused a threat, and the people whose test results didn’t include herpes. There are many ways a person can get an STI without being promiscuous. He continued to debate me with opinions, despite my facts, but I was relentless. He claimed that he was just trying to get the information out there, and I told him he could’ve done that without adding his little flair. When the conversation got too heavy, and he realized that he was in an unwinnable fight, he flipped the switch and commenced blaming the women he stole the post from.

In full transparency, he wasn’t in the original group where the comments were screenshot from. It was a black woman in the (polyamorous, swinger, sex-positive) group that took it upon herself to screenshot the comments and repost them on her page, and he copied them from her. As black women, we are already oppressed. As black women who are sex-positive, we are double oppressed. It never ceases to amaze me how people who already exist in an oppressive society will find empowerment in oppressing others. I went on her page and couldn’t find the actual post, but from her ill-informed followers’ comments, it is evident that sex-positive activists had A LOT of work to do to break the stigma.

As much as he tried to deflect from the virtual ass-whooping I was serving up, he was right that I should re-direct my energy to her. But before I do, I had to make it clear; I didn’t care to change his mind. Truth be told, I never go out of my way to change the minds of those who have their heads buried in the sand. I only ever comment to reach those struggling with their diagnosis, know someone who is struggling with their diagnosis, or be a voice for those who (years later) need to remember seeing my comments, to see that they are still loved. I do it to empower, NEVER to shame.

Now, onto Bonita (aka Black Becky), your ignorance runs through your veins. The fact that you saw fit to try and shame a person who is already public about her herpes-positive status shows not only how immature you are but how desperate you must be for attention. I’ve looked through your Facebook, and you’re all over the place; you reek of someone incapable of thinking for themselves, and your followers are no better. I’m sure that you and over half of your negative commentators genuinely believe that they “know when a person got something,” despite the fact that you, or them, have probably NEVER seen the full STD panel test of your partners. You’re ill-equipped with the knowledge and ability to have the conversation, and you gloat from a position of sheer-luck and blind-faith. 

In closing, I’ll say this. You are toxic. The rhetoric you perpetuate is toxic. And the fact that you tried to infiltrate a sex-positive space only to shame others is toxic. I pray you get all the help you need and that you don’t find yourself facing the same ridicule you tried to place onto others. 

Bitch, You tried it!

POSITIVELY DETACHING

There is much joy to be found when I detach from the world. Of course, I never fully detach, but going a few hours without looking at a device does have its benefits.  

It was a summer day, a few years ago, and I wanted to get out of the house. I got on the train, walked around a bit downtown, went to see a movie; then my phone died. To my surprise, I didn’t care. I ended up getting dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant and walking some more, before I took the bus home. Even with the mediocre actions of the day, I still remember it as one of the best days I had. When my phone died, there was no anxiety to get to the nearest charger, and with no need to check in; I just went about my day.  

Today, I won’t leave my house unless my phone is above 95% and before walking out of the door, I make sure my phone is on low power mode, just in case. My life, like many others in this day and age, revolves around devices. From using my computer at work, to listening to a podcast or playing a game during my commute on my phone. I don’t know what it’s like to not have a phone on me. There have been a few times when I left my house, and made it to the train, only to go all the way back home when I realized my phone was not with me. I refused to listen to the conversations of other commuters, or eat my lunch without visual stimulation. And let’s not forget my daily Instagram upload, because my followers would be lost without me.  

In the fall of 2019, my life almost ended. I went to sleep with my phone plugged in and I woke up to my phone only being at 25% I figured the wire came undone in my sleep, so I plugged it back in and prepared to get ready for work. When I got out of the shower it was at 20%, I got so frustrated I started to cry. I went to work and experimented with various chargers, cords, wireless pads, and none of them worked. I watched as my phone went from 5 to 1, and when my phone died, I felt like my life was over. That day I missed lunch because I was at the apple store trying to get it fixed. That night I went to a Broadway show; but I couldn’t fully enjoy it because all I could think about was my phone. The next morning, I went to the AT&T and send for a replacement that had to be ordered. When the doorbell rang Saturday morning, I ran downstairs. I didn’t even grab my precautionary knife from the drawer, in case it was an intruder. (Yes! I watch way too many cop shows). None the less, I opened that box with the same excitement that a kid opens a present on Christmas morning. I charged it up, swapped over my information, and all was right with the world again.  

As I scrolled through my Instagram, Facebook, and emails, I couldn’t help but think back to a simpler time. I thought back to that day in the summer; and there was a peace of mind in knowing that the inability to connect to the digital world is only temporary. It would’ve been easy to get a charger and fuel up, but I chose to enjoy the peace of the silence. However, when that silence was forced upon me, I found no peace.  

I realized then that my connection with devices was unhealthy, to say the least. So, I started limiting my interactions with them, in the best way I knew how. Instead of listening to podcasts during my commute, I would read a book (Yes… an actual printed – book). I read hundreds of books on my phone over the years, but eventually, it took a toll on my vision; and considering I stare at a computer at work all day, anytime away from bright light proved to be highly beneficial.  

The next thing I did was limit the amount of time I spent on social media (Twitter & Instagram). I would allow myself a few minutes every few hours to scroll and like, and once time was up, I had to stop. When it came to Facebook it was a tad more difficult. As an activist, I felt the need to comment on the posts that resonated with me. But I learned to pick and choose my battles, thus limiting my screen time and overall drained energy from random hater.  

The final thing I did was limit the amount of texting and messaging I did; I applied the same logic as I did with Facebook. Not every text required an immediate response, and some things could wait for later. The world would not implode if I didn’t respond yes that instant, and my alone time was very important to me. I had to release the self-induced anxiety from my being, because no one was causing it but me. I can now go hours without looking at my phone and it’s been a huge relief, especially considering that I don’t always want to talk or communicate. I get deep into my moods of self-preservation and my need to personally re-power up on positivity is of the utmost importance. 

I challenge everyone to take some time, every day to detach and see how you feel. 

The Wonders of Coconut Oil (Part 1)

Coconut oil has been around for generations; however, within the past decade it has become the “IT” oil for everything. From cooking, to a skin moisturizing, to hair deep conditioning, coconut oil is the thing to have. We started buying coconut oil in the big jar at Costco; we haven’t gotten around to using it for cooking yet, but hair and skin are a definite must in my house. I was walking with my mom and her friend (both nurses), and my mother’s friend mentioned coconut oil suppositories for vaginal yeast. I’ve been a Monistat user for as long as I can remember, but knowing coconut oil is organic, non-chemicals, and a natural anti-bacterial; I figured the information would be good to know for the future. Little did I know the future would be right around the corner.  

The following weekend I went to a sex party. I started following a group on Instagram that threw parties. Before I decided to attend, I made sure there wasn’t a rule that people in my situation weren’t allowed. Once the hostess confirmed that, as long as I told my partners and gave them the choice, it was ok for me to attend, I made preparations. Armed with super high-heels, a black dress, and a snatched waist – I was ready to party. I went downstairs to meet the driver and in less than 30 minutes we were at the hotel. The party was in a suite and everyone was dressed super-casual. Thank heavens I had changed out of my heels and put on my flip flops or I might’ve felt a bit over-dressed. I instantly connected with a guy there. We sat down and talked about the lifestyle, I told him about my diagnosis and, as his mother was in my same situation, he was well aware of what it meant. I saw a man I had spoken to earlier on Instagram enter and we exchanged shy helloes. About an hour later the suite began to fill up. At 11:45 we all went around and introduced ourselves, went over our dos and don’ts, and explained how long we had been in the lifestyle; then it was dress-down hour. Luckily, I packed a robe; because, if I hadn’t, it would’ve been tits, corset, and thong on full display. I may enjoy public sex, but I’m not that much of an exhibitionist yet.  

The man I had spoken to earlier in the night asked me over to the corner with him; then it was ON! We made out, deep sensual lust driven kisses, then he went down on me, I briefly exchanged the favor, then we he bent me over slipped on a condom then we had sex. We had at it for about 10 sex minutes. Then the gentleman I connected with on IG came around and asked to play. He had expressed earlier in the evening that I was the only reason he came to the party; so, I definitely wanted to make his trip worth the while. We briefly kissed, then it was condom on and he was deep inside, hammering away at me. I had to hold back my moans because I didn’t want my other guy to get jealous. Damn!- He pulverized me, and I loved every second of it. After we were satisfied, I needed a break; my arms were sore and I wanted to give my vagina some R&R. 

When I resurfaced, another party-goer, who observed me in action, asked if I would sit on his face. I told him; I was taking a break, but I would get back to him. I took a moment, had a drink, went to the bathroom to re-freshen up then I went to another room to simply be a voyeur. There were two couples going at it and a woman was getting pleasure from another female. Guy A came up behind me as I was watching and started kissing my neck and rubbing my breasts; guy B came in front of me and started rubbing my clit and it wasn’t long before they escorted me back to the corner of the other room. 

Back at it again, being pleased while giving pleasure, I was in a fantasy that I had always wanted to live out. I could feel my body needing some lube, but my bag was all the way across the room, so I just kept going. I played with both until I came then I decided to relax again. There was a scuffle amongst the gentle-man partygoers that was broken up, but then it got out of control, with guy A on top of me. We stopped all action and the party was over.  A man that can find a reason to fight around all that pussy- had some serious issues.

I changed back into my normal-girl attire and exchanged numbers with Guy A. He had to stay upstairs, as he was a partial host/security and Guy B took me to the elevator and waited with me for my uber to arrive. While waiting, the man that requested I sit on his face was downstairs waiting for his car too. He and I exchanged numbers, as well as Guy B and I. My uber arrived, I said good-bye to Guy B and I was on my way home.  

I texted them all separately to notify them that I got home safe and they all replied a Good Night. In the shower, my vagina was sore. Even though I’d been having sex, my M_Tinder partner had been much more, gentle than both the men were that night. I needed a fast-acting option to soothe my lady parts and I remembered- coconut oil. I grabbed the jar out from my parent’s room and put a good amount down-south; immediately, I felt like a brand-new woman. I was so happy too, because; even though I should’ve rain-checked, in a few hours I was to have a play-date with a man I connected with on Feeld (J_Feeld). So I was off to sleep and allowed the wonder of coconut oil to work their magic.

Part 2 (Next Week)