I MAKE MY BAD DECISIONS SOBER

For as long as I can remember, I never loved the feeling of being drunk. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good margarita with my Mexican, or bottomless mimosas during brunch. But when it comes to getting drunk, it’s just not my thing; I prefer to get nice. Because I don’t get drunk, I can never use the excuse, ‘I was so drunk, I can’t remember’ line. This means I have the unfortunate responsibility of having to playback, in excruciating detail, all the events of a drunken night with friends, or a day of drinking that ended up in a fight.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no goody-two-shoes. I’ve thrown up across tables, fell asleep in bathroom stalls, and in many clubs. But, like an elephant, I remember everything that happened leading up to the moment I fall asleep. I can recall the exact sip that put me over the edge. On a drunken birthday, I remember picking up dollars from the floor and handing them to the strippers on stage. I remember waiting on line to use the bathroom, then falling asleep on the toilet. I remember the bathroom attendant looking over the top of the stall to make sure I was alive. And I remember my friends escorting me back to my section and letting me go to sleep. I woke up when the ship docked.  

I used to envy those people that blacked out, for the sole reason of zero accountability. I always saw the ‘too drunk to remember line’ as a cop-out or an excuse to do fucked up shit and get away with it. –” I’m sorry I slept with you best friend; I was drunk.” — I wished that I could fuck up majorly and, like Jamie Foxx, blame it on the alcohol, but I couldn’t. For a while, I envied those people; Then, when I started attending sex parties, I learned to love my ability to remember.   

If you’ve never been to a sex-club or swinger party, they’re always BYOB. To my very first party, I brought a bottle of Bacardi Coconut Rum. I had the bar-lady mix it with pineapple juice, took a few sips, and then scoped out the room. The liquid massage the rum offered my body, was just the right amount of relaxation I wanted and needed. I engaged in some great conversations, ate some pussy, sucked some dick, was in a threesome, and rode a man’s face. And the only reason I remember every detail of that night was because I was sober.   

When I started attending LS (Lifestyle) parties regularly, less and less alcohol was needed. For starters, attending parties with a guaranteed partner removed a lot of pressure. And since I screened my partners before the party, I had an assortment of dicks ready to please me. Secondly, with the right amount of people, the party jumped off rather quickly, and with everyone having a good time, a drink to loosen up wasn’t necessary. That high school dance feeling of, waiting for other couples to dance, did not exist. I was extremely comfortable being one of the first couples to start things off. Lastly, I wanted to be in total control of whatever happened throughout the night. I need to know what titty I’m licking, dick I’m sucking, pussy I’m eating, and whose dick is fucking me. In a room full of bodies and chaos, I need to have control; and I couldn’t have that if I was too far gone. Would I recognize the person a few days later, while walking down the street? –Of course not! But, at that moment, I knew that every decision I made was mine, and that was all that mattered.   

In addition to wanting to have that control, I wanted to be able to remember how it all felt. I wanted to remember the kiss on my partner’s lips when he sees the outfit I changed into. I wanted to remember the feeling of my lingerie against my skin. I wanted to remember the feeling of eyes on me. I wanted to remember my partner kissing me, then laying me down on the mattress, and removing my panties to devour my pussy. I wanted to remember the weight of other bodies on the bed. I wanted to remember the feeling of tangled limbs and hands caressing my legs in the air. I wanted to remember the feeling of my toes and nipples being sucked and licked. I wanted to remember the feeling of a veiny dick in my mouth as my partner devoured my pussy into a screaming orgasm. I wanted to remember the moment he turned me over to fuck me. I wanted to remember the smell of the pussy I bend over to eat and the feeling of her breasts in my hands. I wanted to remember his hands around my throat, restricting my airway as he rammed my pussy and found his orgasm. And, in the end, I wanted to remember him pulling me back to kiss my lips once he reached his orgasm.  

I make all of my bad decisions sober because I want to be in control, and I want to be able to recall the memories of each encounter. I want to remember the feelings of inhibitions lost and lust that enveloped the room. I may forget the names and faces, but that intoxicating feeling will stay with me forever, all because I make my decision sober.   

DAMN SEX INJURIES

I love sex. Something I love more than sex is masturbating. I love the time when I can connect with my body and bring myself pleasure. Even if I find myself in a loving relationship with a partner that dicks me down every single night, the honest truth is that, before I go to sleep, I need to orgasm on my own. Sometimes, I would masturbate in the morning; other times, I would masturbate when I got home after work, but the most convenient time for me to masturbate would be in my bed at night.   

For a good couple of years, masturbation was my nightly sleeping pill. After my shower, I would lay down in my bed, grab my phone, and google whatever porn interested me (mostly Gangbang). I would power up my vibrator and ride the wave to reach my orgasm. With heavy panting, leg spasms, and an increased heartbeat, I would silently climax then pass out. That was my nightly routine for years. Then, one day I heard about the Womanizer. I heard about the sucking-pulse mechanism, and that it would deliver an orgasm I’d never experience before, and I simply had to have it. During a visit to Babeland, I finally made my purchase. When I got home, I charged it up; and after my shower, I laid down and placed the opening on my clit. The orgasm I had was more powerful than anything I could have imagined. The power of the Womanizer was so good that I didn’t even need to use porn.  

Over the next few months, I enjoyed many orgasms with my Womanizer. Then, one night, I went for a second round. My clit was already highly sensitive, but I was determined to push my boundaries. Gingerly, I placed the opening back onto my clitoris, I started it on a low setting, then increased it slowly. My breasts rose and fell rapidly to match my breathing, a tingling started at my toes and generated throughout my body; when I finally reached my second orgasm of the night, with a stifled moan, I squirted all over my sheets. I took a moment to regain my composure, got a blow dryer, dried my sheets, and then went back to sleep.   

As much as I loved the comfort of my bed, having to dry my sheets every night became a mood killer. Luckily, the Womanizer was waterproof, so the next night, I took her into the shower. With my back against the wall, the hot water rolling over my breasts, and my left foot propped up on the edge of the tub, I allowed the sucking sensations of my Womanizer to deliver me an orgasm, then another accompanied with a vicious squirt. In my bed, I never wanted to make a mess; however, in the shower, I was able to let it all go. A nightly shower orgasm had become my routine. Multiple times, I came so hard that my stomach cramped. I was masturbating so much, I worried that my clit would fall off, but there was an injury brewing that took me by total surprise.   

I purchased my Womanizer around June, I started masturbating in the shower in September. At the beginning of October, I noticed a shooting pain in my foot when I would wake up in the morning and after long walks. Every morning, I tried to alleviate the tension on my foot by rolling it on a stress-ball and performing a round of foot exercises; but none of them worked. Because I’m a runner, pain is nothing new for me. From random back pains, butt pains, and foot pains, I’ve encountered them all, but eventually, they all subside. However, this new pain, that was isolated in my left foot, that had no apparent reason for being caught me totally off guard. Then, one night, while I was putting lotion on my leg, I had my left foot resting on my desk chair; when I slightly arched my foot, the pain was instantaneous. Like a lightbulb, it became clear to me where my pain was coming from. I remembered that every time I orgasmed in the shower, I would crouch down during my orgasm, putting irregular stress on my arch. I was finally at ease to know where my pain was coming from, but I worried about my future orgasm routine. What would be the best angle to keep my shower orgasm routine going?   

The next night, I went into the shower and tried a new position. Instead of propping my foot up, I turned towards the wall, allowing the water to cascade on my back. I slightly parted my legs, positioned my clit into the opening, and started the Womanizer. At first, it was a weird angle, then I played a fantasy in my mind. I thought back to my first time at a sex-club (Caligula). And I remembered the big shower they had on the upper level. I imagined myself with the shower on, naked, and masturbating while all the other patrons looked on. Being the sexual center of attraction, on full display for all to see and not touch, aroused me to another level. The fantasy drove me to an orgasm that poured out from my body. I finished my shower then went to sleep. 

Every few nights, I rotate positions, from standing to squatting, to sitting on the edge of the tub, to occasionally kneeling. Thankfully, each and every position still delivers me the same fantastic orgasm I had become accustomed to, minus the pain in my foot. 

Maybe this hoe life isn’t for me…

In January, 2019, I finally stopped beating around the bush and went public about, not only, my herpes status and polyamory; I also openly questioned my bisexuality. I spoke about the difficulty I had finding women that wanted to be intimate with me; and my struggle finding casual sex with women. I figured the only way to confirm if I was truly bisexual (enjoyed eating pussy) was to venture into a sex-club.  

What I didn’t expect was, while eating random woman’s pussy at the first sex-club; I also realized that I really-really loved being an exhibitionist; just as much as I enjoyed having, and watching people having sex. I would enter the room, shy on the outside, yet burning up on the inside. However, once I started engaging, all inhibitions left the room. With one random-hand squeezing my ass, another caressing my leg, random mouth licking my freshly pedicured toes, another sucking at my pierced nipple; add to that, the room filled with eyes on me; I was elevated to a level of sexual nirvana that I hadn’t experienced since I was a teenager.  

After that, each party I attended, was for the sheer joy of pure surprise-induced satisfaction.  

I used to dream of; entering a huge loft where every person would enter from a separate door, all wearing masks. There would be no talking, only action. After a few hours of pleasure, each person would walk back to the room they came from and no one would ever know the identity of the other person. Masks and anonymity, mixed with the cocktail of sexual aura was a recipe for great orgasms this fantasy.  

However, in real life; sex-parties, sex-clubs, and (in my case) just sex in general; turned out to be the recipe for repeated trips to the GYN.  

After I lost my virginity, I made the GYN my best friend. Because I was highly sexually active, (and not always the most careful); during my teenage and adolescent years, I got pretty comfortable waiting, and having my vagina examined. Quite a few times, I knew what my ailment was going in, and would leave with a prescription that would have be back in tip-top shape after a week. None the less, getting examined, swabbed, and blood drawn was a very natural thing for me. I was very sexually active, so I tested often in between partners.  

One day, in 2008, after a night of less than eventful sex, (so much so that I had to call someone else over to fuck the memory of the previous guy out of my mind); my vagina felt less than perfect. Naturally, I went to the GYN and she told me it was BV (Bacterial Vaginosis); something I had never heard of and she described as an STD. I was, not only, pissed and uncomfortable; I was extremely confused. By this time, I was WA-CONDOM-FOREVER, so how could I have gotten and STD? All she could do was give me the prescription and send me on my way. I notified both my partners so they could get treated. After the antibiotics to treat the BV, I had to take a round of treatment for the yeast infection that the treatment for BV caused. After a little over two weeks, I was back to normal. It wasn’t until month’s later that I had a new GYN and she informed me that BV was not actually an STD, but an overgrowth of bacteria in the vagina (similar to a yeast infection); and that made more sense. Armed with that knowledge, I continued to use condoms, stopped using scented soaps, and was confident I would live happily ever after…  

I fucking wish.  

Once I got my first BV diagnosis, the son-of-a-bitch kept coming back. Every few months I would get a weird sensation, that would cause me to go to the doctor and every time it would return BV.  

Change of soap = BV 

Stayed too long in sweaty workout clothes = BV 

Toilet water splash back from poop = BV 

Occasional long session of rough sex = BV 

It was a repeat-offending disaster. 

It wasn’t until years later that, there appeared to be sunshine just beyond the horizon.  

In 2019, after my 8-month sex-break, I was confident that my vagina had reset itself. During that time, I learned some new tools to alleviate friction and I kept condoms on stand-by, just in case. So, after my 8-month sex drought, I was eager to walk into the sex-club. Armed with lube, condoms, and vibrator in my bag; I dived in. And, a few days later, I was in the doctor’s office, again.  

All treated, a month later, I met my first polyamorous partner and we started having amazing sex. He loved playing with my ass and probably had a digit slip every once in a while, once again. Every time he did – I had to go back to the doctor’s office.  

Treated again, a few months later, I went to my first all-black swingers party, followed by a day of sex, with an already sore pussy. And once again, I went to the doctor. 

I was really beginning to think, maybe this hoe-life wasn’t for me…  

It made no sense to me that, after every time I had a night of amazing (sometimes rough) sex, I would have to report to the doctor, days later. I once attended a party where the girl was literally filled with a dick the entire night. At parties, I would see all the other women taking dick after dick and I just knew they would be fine in the morning. It wasn’t fair! Not to mention $60 every visit, plus the price for the medication started to add up.  

To my surprise however, it turned out that, last time all my results came back negative. It appeared that, my vagina was not used to so much pounding. It was a crazy night after all. 

After a few more run-ins, my GYN, after seeing me for, what seemed, the 2000^th time, decided to run a different test. She decided to check the bacteria in my vagina, as by BV was extremely recurrent.  

My results came back positive for high levels of ureplasma.  

Now, ureplasma naturally occurs in the body (hence why it’s considered a bacterial infection, and NOT An STI); however, the bacteria can also be passed to you via sexual contact. A-fucking-HA! That finally explained why once I got BV, it kept happening. It was all due to the rise in ureplasma in my vagina.  

She ordered me a prescription, along with advising me to take daily probiotics; to further promote the growth of healthy bacteria.  

After years of repeat occurrences, I finally had an answer; and due to her detective work, I finally had a cure.  

With that, in the closing of 2019, I was finally back to having the sex and the experiences I always wanted. I was not ready to hang up my sex-party robe just yet; and I was elated that I didn’t have to. 

CHEERS TO THE NEW YEAR (2019 Recap)

Dear 2019, 

I’ll be sad to see you go, but I’ll remember the beautiful times we had. At the stroke of midnight, my family welcomed you with prayers and open arms. We made our traditional “Happy New Year” and “I Love You” calls, drank some champagne, and eventually retired to sleep.  

My first post in 2019, Yay! She’s Back was a story about my vibrator’s love for me. In the summer of 2018, I had made the decision to stop having sex, because I needed to allow my mind and heart to heal from all the heartbreak I had endured in 2018. I needed to re-devote my energy back into myself, and I didn’t want the exchange of negative energy that sex often brings. So, being that the only forms of safe sex are either abstinence and masturbation; writing a story on masturbation seemed quite appropriate. 

Inspired by a member in the support group that I attend; I decided to write and publish my, first ever, post on herpes; The Ex That Never Left. Hitting publish was the hardest thing I did in 2019 and it was the post that would forever shift the tide and purpose of my writing. Being positive for 10 years- ‘it was what it was’ and I operated on a need to know basis. When I started to write my blog, I had no intention to ever discuss herpes. But, I realized that, to be a great writer, meant to be vulnerable and to let people in. I couldn’t continue talking around herpes, I had to call it out and give it a seat on stage; especially if I planned to stand in my truth of sex positivity.  

With herpes out in the open, I was finally able to take bigger steps toward being the writer that I am now. I wrote about my first 3-some experience, in Turn Up while also coming out as bisexual. Because I wanted to experience a woman alone, I went on The Hunt. Unfortunately, I never found a woman or couple that was actually willing to meet up. It became abundantly clear that if I wanted to explore being intimate with women, I would have to step out of my comfort zone and walk into a sex-club.  

In March, after being ‘celibate’ for almost 8 months, I walked into my first sex-club; but it wouldn’t be my last. Being the new honest writer that I was, I wrote all about my experiences in; Corset, Collar, Lingerie 1,2, and 3). In concluding that I was, indeed, bisexual; I also discovered that I deeply enjoyed being an exhibitionist, amongst like-minded individuals.  

It was during this time that I started dating again. However, this time around I was playing by a different set of rules. Over the years of dating, since I was 14; I had experienced my share of heartbreaks. During my time of celibacy, I realized that I had set unrealistic expectations on my partners and they did the same to me. I realized that I dated, like many other people, only for the end game. I missed out on cherishing all the amazing moments because I was only focused on achieving one thing. It was then I realized that, not only was I limiting my capacity and the ability to love; but that I was forcing myself to be someone that I was not. It was then that I decided I would love polyamorously; and in Working The Garden, I dived deeper into my emotions.  

With my mind and emotions finally aligned, I was surprised to see how quickly my sex life got on board. For the first time, in a very long time, I was dating how I wanted, with men whose company I genuinely enjoyed, and the sex was not only good, it was kinky as well. I was finally able to explore sexual acts that I was nervous to explore prior in (Tabooty 1 & 2). 

In June, I discovered an invite-only sex-party; and I slowly became a regular on the scene. I was enjoying my moment of being an ethical herpes-positive individual, and shared it with you in (The Wonders of Coconut Oil 1 & 2). 

By the time August arrived, I had only discussed my herpes status on my blog and with select friends and family. It wasn’t until I wrote into Whoreible_Decisions, and was chosen to be a guest on their podcast, did I finally decide to go fully public. I first told the remainder of my family, I made all of my social media public, and I waited. I was surprise at how many people reached out to me after the episode dropped and I immediately knew that I had made the right decision. Naturally, because I was nervous, I had missed some key pointers, so being that I did have a platform of my own (even though small) I elaborated on some of the things I wish I had said during the podcast, on the blog post Things Unsaid.  

By the end of the summer, I was fully invested in the poly-love style. I had one primary partner that I loved dearly, whom I met at a sex-party; (I Only Wanted Sex: Then you happened) and I was dating three other men. Eventually one of the men realized that dating multiple women wasn’t for him so he ended things; (Tales of a Polyamorous Heart Break), and I, in true fashion, wished him the best.  

I was finally living my life to the fullest; I was building amazing connections, having great sex, and living and loving my truth; (End of My Hot Girl Summer & You Can Have It All). 

Surprisingly polyamory was flowing smoothly. The only difficulty I found was having to explain, over and over, to people that weren’t in the lifestyle that Polyamorous Does Not Mean Sex-Addict). Other than that, I encountered no real roadblocks and/or difficulty dating, even while being herpes positive.  

As I write this, I could never have imagined being where I am now.  

After appearing on the Whoreible_Decisions podcast, I’ve been a guest on multiple other podcasts;  Shit! I’m 30 podcast, Something Positive for Positive People, and during my visit to Philly, to see Elton John, I (with my primary partner) were guests on the UnCumfortable w/ Muva Esh Podcast.  

In addition to publicly speaking about herpes on various podcasts; in the early fall I became a member of HANDS (Herpes Activists Networking to Dismantle Stigma). Almost every day I receive a new message from a person that tells me, hearing my story has helped them in some way. Who ever thought speaking publicly about having herpes would help so many people? It was a big step for me to take, but I’m happy that hearing my journey can help others. I offer tips on how to disclose to potential partners How Do I Tell Them. And I use my years of experience and words to combat bullying within the herpes community If Only It Were That Simple. 

In the year 2020 I foresee major changes in my personal life and career. I’m currently working on a book that hopefully will be out in the Spring of 2020. I’m also in the process of writing my memoir; and the future holds more fantastic ventures for me.  

So, I hope that you have enjoyed my 2019 re-cap and I hope you follow me into 2020.  

Happy New Year!! 

CORSET. COLLAR. LINGERIE (Part 3-CONCLUSION)

Be sure to cherish you lingerie. Don’t let her go to waste, for she was made to be adored!

There is always something I find totally sexy about new lingerie; it always gives me an extra pep in my step knowing that underneath my t-shirt in jeans, there’s only a thin layer of sexy keeping me constrained. I’ve always adored the luxury lingerie of Bordelle and Agent Provocateur; however, with the goal to not put a huge dent in my credit card, I sauntered my sexy ass over to Victoria’s Secret.  

I walked in with a mission, (3 bras and 3 matching thongs). I walked in knowing exactly what I wanted and I refused to be convinced otherwise. The rabbit hole one could find themselves falling down when they went shopping without a mission, was a rabbit hole I did not want to journey. I headed upstairs straight for the sexy lingerie section and pulled out my size, a 36C. Then along came an attendant offering to give me a fitting. She pulled out her pretty pink tape, measures me and then says 36DD… WHAT THE HELL? I was in total shock; I knew my cups raneth over a little bit but an entire 2 cups, I didn’t see that coming in a long shot. I picked out a few bras and a thong for the party and headed to the dressing room. I tried on my new 36DD bras and, SURPRISE! They fucking fit. I was a pool of mixed emotions; on one hand I was happy to have bigger breasts, on the other hand I was worried about the bras that I could find that would fit my new DD breasts. I snapped a few pictures of me in the bras that I planned to buy, posted a pic on instagram and made my way back to work.  

On Sunday morning I woke up to BDE’s message (sexy guy from the sex club). I told him to pick me up at 1pm and I gave him my address. I showered, moisturized and put on my new Victoria’s Secret lingerie; the set was a lace bright pink, bra and thong, that popped against my chocolate skin. I went downstairs, got in his car and we were off. He explained to me that we were going to chill at his friend’s house, because his roommate had his child there (I smell bullshit!). I was under the impression that we would at least grab a bite to eat first, but he explained that he could order something if we got hungry so I didn’t stress it. When we arrive at his friend’s house in Astoria, I walked in and saw his friend there and I knew exactly what they had planned (ménage à trois, anyone?) I remembered seeing his friend arrive at the party with his girlfriend, whom I thought was hella sexy. 

Me and BDE sit down on the bed in the living room and his friend is playing some Jamaican rapper, extremely and unnecessarily loudly on YouTube. BDE pours me a drink and he comes to sit on the bed next to me. He starts to rub my back and feel at my ass and I have to stop him, because I haven’t delivered “THE TALK” yet. I explain to him that; before we go any further, he should know that I have herpes; and, being the honest-hoe that I am, I want to make him fully aware of what that could mean for him. He takes a moment and looks at me as if I was joking but when he realizes I’m telling the truth his posture stiffens up. Sensing his demeanor change, I explain to him my diagnosis, how it affects me, and how I still maintain a normal and (as healthy as can be) sex life. I tell him that, so far, I have been successful at keeping my partners herpes-negative, but there is always a risk. He steps away to talk to his friend for a moment, then returns. He asks me a few more questions; at this point I feel like things still might go down, until… 

BDE: “You know, I wasn’t expecting to heat that.” 

Me: “I know, no one does. But it’s something I have to tell people, just so they are aware.” 

BDE: “Yea. Thank you. We can still chill for a bit.” 

Me: “Ok” 

And that was the end of that. We watched a few more videos while his friend hopped in the shower; then he drove me back home.  

I must say, I don’t get declined very often (maybe 1-20) but it happens from time to time. However, this time, I’ll admit I was a bit bummed. I honestly thought, that because he’s in the swinger/poly/sex-club lifestyle he’d still be down. Especially considering the fact that; I mean- just because I’m honest, doesn’t mean everyone else is. Also, a part of me assumed that those in the lifestyle, would still be more accepting considering the variety of people in attendance (1 in every 5 people have some form of herpes); but he was not.  

To be honest, I wasn’t bummed because I didn’t get laid (which I’m certain would’ve been by not one but two stallions). I realized I was upset because I wasted a fresh new set of lingerie on: a ride to queens, some coconut rum and pineapple juice, and a bag of chips. My $70 bright pink lace set deserved more love than that. She deserved a nice cocktail in a fancy glass; she deserved at least an appetizer and dessert (I love desserts- lol). She deserved to be fondled, tugged, and moistened from my arousal; she deserved to be removed in a state of lust and thrown on the floor at the hands of someone that couldn’t wait to possess my body, and she deserved to have a front row seat at the sexual extravaganza. But she got none of that. I had let her down; and all that I could do to make it up to her was to have a few mimosas during brunch.  

I told myself I would do better next time. I would never put my lingerie through that again.