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Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Got This Bitch Twisted

I encountered Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes during my first year in college. This man had it all; he was a Que, his swag was tough, and he had hazel eyes. His smile was wicked and nice: causing spontaneous eruptions for many of the women who crossed his path. I heard around the way that his dick credentials were fly…he possessed width and length along with several tricks of the tongue. Of course, this bitch was not too eager to succumb to his playful ways. Why be one of many in his stable? Yet one of my home girls said that the boy was tasty and I had to have his “juice”.

During homecoming, we connected….. First, I never had to use my hands for anything. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes used his tongue, teeth, and mouth to remove all of my clothing. Shit….I had chills from his breath heating the back of my knees...the curve of my ass...the dip of my back. Ohhhhhhhh lawd! As I bent back and spread my legs to receive his “Mr. Peter”, he told me “No”. (Yeah, this dude had a name for his dick). Instead, he knelt down and blew ever so softly on my lips. He kissed my lips. He told me that I would never find another who could kiss those lips like him. He French kissed and licked my lips and eventually spoke every letter of the alphabet with his tongue on my clit. Oh….this bitch almost choked on his pleasures. Once he rose to enter my wet walls, he told me to kiss myself. Ahh..shit, this brother talked like the HNIC. That night was only the beginning of a regular fuck-a-ffair. Despite his smooth moves, I always managed to take the helm. I talked shit and backed it up. I also kept dude guessing on my limits. I was new in town. I did not want to share all my tricks to the first guy who matched my sexual aptitude, but dude had me wondering what tricks he had up his sleeve. Well, this bitch would find out soon enough.

During spring, my college and his college had several events to mark a good basketball season, fly fashion, and of course good partying. We decided to link up after the spring fashion show. I wore my freakum’ clothes and had on my fuck em’ boots. My toes were suckling good and my body was bootylicious. When we connected, we continued to maintain our perfect rhythm. When I bent over to receive Mr. Peter, he grabbed my hair and told me to “get up”. As I licked and sucked Mr. Peter, he moaned in tones I never knew existed for a Que dog. When I rode Mr. Peter, I explored new positions, angles, and rhythms. I made an Olympic Gymnast jealous with all of my flexibility. In fact, Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes shed a tear as a result of the pleasure I caused. When we moved into round 5, I laid down on his dorm bed. I spread my legs into a wide “V” and raised my hips to receive him once again. I used my fingers to trace the gentle scar on his abs leading to Mr. Peter. When I felt my walls begin to shake, he would slow down and talk nasty. He asked me if I was his porn star, his freak bitch. Of course, I said yes, but next he asked me to prove my freakiness. Of course, I said, “Whatever you like”. I took his statements as nasty talk; nothing serious. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes proceeded to pick up his cordless phone; dial a number, and talk to his homeboy about his “freak bitch”, and when I began to erupt…he placed the phone near my face. When I moaned, purred, and screamed, he smiled and told his homie, “Yeah that’s my freak bitch”. Of course, I was surprised, curious, and well...turned on. I'd just become an amateur phone sex operator, his personal porn star. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes literally got this bitch all twisted.

Had I become a porn star? Was I a “crazy bitch” for succumbing to his games?

P.S. Mr. Pretty Brown Eyes-I am still quaking!

Friday, October 9, 2009

A penis saved is a penis earned

Old habits die hard....they really do. I realize that I need to avoid boredom at all costs. Boredom for me spells T-R-O-U-B-L-E. This is probably why as I sit here at my desk thanking God it's Friday and twiddling my thumbs, I find myself EIGHT steps past flirting with my Ex.--THE EX. I'm not quite sure how it began. Probably something like a normal "Hey what's up? Just checkin on you". That has now escalated to a request for first "PG-13" then "R" and now "XXX"rated pictures of the one and only...SIGH. This can only lead to trouble on top of trouble..or perhaps underneath trouble...or backin' up to trouble. Either way, this can't be good...I decided to sit on Sheba's virtual couch.


Haute: Please make me stop sending pictures of myself to THE EX at his request.

*I don't know if I really want her to stop me or tell me this madness is ok. She knows the EX, has heard the rumors, has friends who can probably testify, having had a back breaking tryst or two of their own. Its been over 7 years since the last time he made use of his All Access pass. I'm wondering how far I can take this...

Sheba: You dirty slut! Skank ho slut ;-) lmfao

*OK...she didn't say BAD GIRL though...back to sending I go.

Sheba: What pictures might I ask? Do I want to know?

Haute: A bunch of ass shots so far. He said he wanted some titty and wet pussy shots too. I said he had to upgrade his membership for that. I told him I'd put him on a sliding scale for payment. He said sliding or slide-in?!! He's such a fucking tease!

*Even though we haven't done the dirty since '02 I've seen his chocolaty fine sexy ass on numerous occasions since then. I've hung out with his girlfriend and imagined if she's really puttin those 9+ inches of pure bliss to good use. Doubt it.

Sheba: Yeah he is. Tell him don't write a check his dick can't cash.

Haute: Rightttt

Haute: He's saying he thinks he should have a lifetime membership. I told him he's seen my ass since '93, doesn't get anymore lifetime than that.

Sheba: I mean, are you cashing checks?

*I sureeee do want to be

Haute: No but damn he's an elite bank member. High revenue. Lmaoo

Sheba: Lmfao

Haute: Lolol. He must understand I'm not playing games with his ass. He's really asked me for a pic everyday this week.

Sheba: Lmaooo Does he have credit cards?

*Abso-fucking-lutely! Been filling up with membership reward points since 1993

Haute: He's an impulsive shopper ill assume so. He says he's not sure what he can afford sometimes he sees somethin he really likes and goes for it and figures out the rest later

Dick advisor emeritus Pink, joins the conversation...

Pink: You trained that dick, taught it everything it knows, saved it, built it up to the cockstrong annuity that it is. You took that dick from a penny and made it a hedge fund!

Haute: Lmao...indeed the fuck I did! And the Bank still has his fucking name on it.
Sheba: You deserve at the very least an annual return on your investment. I'm just wondering if he can't afford to put your ass on credit.

Pink: You need to consolidate all your funds, transfer them as quickly as possible to an offshore (off the fucking shore) account and get your groove back.

Sheba: When is the last time you had some from him? Maybe it's not as perfect as it used to be? Maybe?

*What in the world would make it not as good as it used to be?! I'd blame the girlfriend for ruining him. Talk about devastation. Damn I get wet just thinking about the shit.

Haute: Dangg '02! Who knowssss. I would be sooooo disappointed if it wasn't though.

Sheba: Yesss. Lmao
Sheba & Pink: Basically we're your loan officers. We're trying to convince you to be cautious.
  1. you could find out after the fact or during that the price of gold has indeed declined or
  2. you could end up with a high interest loan that you can't possibly maintain

Haute: True indeed. Definitely need to do risk assessment on this one. Haven't diversified the portfolio in a minute.


The saga 24 hours ill find myself once again in the same city as him and I plan to tease the shit out of him....I'm a greedy bitch. Let's see if he really wants my Goodies cause dammit if he does it's ON!

Thursday, October 8, 2009

HNT: Son of a Bitch!

Sometimes you just have one of those days. The type of day when nothing seems to go quite right? The type of day when you wake up late, finally get behind the wheel only to notice the gas on empty? A day when driving can only occur in bumper to bumper traffic, when everything, and I mean EVERY-FUCKING-THING is the source of argument? Well my day started out this way circa 8:00am, by 12:00pm I was ready to commit fratricide. I finally made it home after a and settled down for a bit of tonic - the double old fashioned variety.

Triple Shot of Patron
Splash of Pallini Peachello

I added the umbrella and lemon wedge for a bit of flair. It's Thursday night, I deserve a bit of sunshine at the end of this bitch day. Care to join me?

Happy late HNT! Visit Osbasso and see who else is playing!


Monday, October 5, 2009

I got 99 problems...

I swear, I’ve considered slashing tires and throwing large objects through windshields at least twice in the last couple of months. One individual’s bitchassness has annihilated my whole life’s quota of patience for bullshittery.

My ‘best friend’ turned out to be the biggest bitch I've known thus far. For almost six years I entertained our half assed, long-distance romantic involvement and considering I haven’t even seen a quarter century yet that’s a whole lot of my lifetime to be pissin' on asshole! We spent the majority of that time in an open arrangement where we both saw other people and I felt surprisingly comfortable in it. We spent time with each other as much as we possibly could given the 3000 miles between us and our communication was solid. Not even three days had gone by in all of those years without my talking to him. And, it worked because above all I was truly, madly, deeply, stupidly in love. Not one of the men I saw could disrupt that.

Six years of history, and as soon as I requested a bit of security, he sidelined me with a truckload of nonsense. Fuck you, dawg. Over the span of eighteen months he toyed with my emotions, bulldozing my heart and building insecurities in his aftermath. At the beginning, helping to forge plans where we could live and be closer to one another and in the end tragically abandoning me at one of the most trying times of my life. Our relationship has ended. All I get is indifference from him. Meanwhile, I feel a deep sense of betrayal, resentfulness, and anger. I should take up boxing or mixed martial arts or something because the way I feel, I could do his property some serious harm!

The first time I propositioned him with commitment he asked for time to test the waters and date around. He cried about how he loved me so much but that he hadn't truly dated much outside of us for all of those years despite our 'open' status and I believed him. He began dating Jumpoff #1 right away. I mean, he could have set a Guinness record. And this dude had the audacity to let his hoe put up Facebook pictures and such. Wow. Now my friends want to know what's going on, who chick is, what happened to us, etc. Okay, bitch you're putting our business in the streets this recklessly? Jumpoff #1 messaged me once asking ridiculous questions about my intentions with him. Are you serious? Meanwhile my bitch and I were still talking almost every day, he visited me and I visited him. We chilled, were intimate and still had great times together so I felt comfortable with Jumpoff #1's unimportance. They inevitably broke it off and he played around with Jumpoff #1.5 who is a blip in drama-filled history so we'll skip to the next one. Unbeknown to me, he soon got into something else with another hoe, Jumpoff #2 who had the audacity to call me once at 4am in the morning, notifying me that she had been dating him for a month, had sex with him and warning me that I ought to stop calling and give him space to be with her. It was an immature move. Dude, handle your pussy ... i mean posse. They stay getting out of line. Looking back I must admit that I appreciate her hoe antics, because she'd exposed something I had no idea about.

After the break up with #2, he claimed to want to take things slowly and make things work with me but I would soon learn of #3, who'd somehow earn her foundation during that last failed attempt and was waiting in the woodworks ... a good friend of #1 mind you. Did I not say these hoes roll in packs? I don't even have the energy to describe the nonsense that ensued except he did a good job of belittling me to a depressed pulp then abandoning me completely when I was at my loneliest. He entertained romantic, nostalgic dinners and sex every now and then but afterwards did not call for days, weeks even and was usually completely unreachable. Then something happened. I discovered that a woman's body has an innate mechanism that works magnificently. In time every thing I loved about him ... his voice ... the softness of his hands, the roughness of the stubble on his face against mine began to make my skin crawl. Similarly, the things i'd never liked ... things like his horrendous snoring began to make his company intolerable. The idea of him in my bed and worse ... inside my body made my stomach sick.

Mr. Rebound #1 and Mr. Rebound #2 failed. Dating again wasn't quite the remedy I had hoped. In fact it didn't work at all. At times I ponder the bitch's situation, thinking about him laid up with new girl sweetly, tightly, contently at night while I continue to sift through a million issues. I have too many fears, little inclination to trust anyone and a hypomania that makes me want to fuck with every dude ... sexually ... and emotionally ... remaining the one chased and in control. It confers a short-lived miracle on my ego to be the vixen though I'm not heartless ... I can't be. I know I'm just an amateur. I'm learning a lot about myself ... what I want, like, need.

Applaud my bitch. Really, give his ass a pat on the back and a standing ovation. Despite those hardest of times, I haven't ever been this strong. Ever. In the midst of this recent revelation ... I've smiled more, laughed harder, thrown away inhibitions, leaped into old-new projects, danced the night away in jeans that hadn't fit comfortably in months.

Who's your bitch?

Sunday, October 4, 2009

The Audacity of Hoes

I've mentioned previously on this forum that my partner (H) and I are polyamorous. Typically how that works for us is that at any given time one or both of us will have a girlfriend, additionally we may date/play with women outside of that either in tandem or separate. Our "rules" require that we both approve candidates for secondary relationships and that at any point and for any reason (valid or otherwise) we have the right to veto. I've got to say that I am considerably less picky/more generous than my partner when it comes to seconds, and this tragic mistake became glaringly problematic when I had to fire his last girlfriend.

You can ask any woman of Kink: I'm not a friendly bitch. I'm not one of those women with a coop of female friends, gabbing and clucking at every turn. There is a short and very select list of women upon whom I bestow the title friend, and that is a title they worked very hard to earn. I don't keep acquaintances either. Why bother? At first meet, when I didn't quite take to my partner's prospective chick (subsequently referred to as sloppy seconds) I didn't think much of it. It may simply have been that her personality and mine did not mesh. She wasn't my kind of bitch. I'm sure you've met her kind at one point or another. You know - the type of bitch who is always putting on a show. A pompous bitch - nose in the air, always needing to show you why her shit is tight. I HATE that fuckery. But again, like I said, I'm not really friendly. I thought about it, and considered that aside from the occasional party for three I wouldn't be fucking her, no harm no foul, right? So I tried, I TRIED to keep an open mind. My mind remained open even after she wore a floor length dress and Nefertiti style hairpiece to the strip club on a Wednesday night. Open after she let my girlfriend's best friend and fellow stripper grind her against the wall in a club for hours and then pronounced she wasn't really into girls. Open still, following the night she spent chatting up another male when we took her to the swingers club for some public play. I was tryin. And she was tryin my last nerve.

Fast forward nine months from our introduction, yes, NINE months, to the night when sloppy seconds put the final straw on the camel's back. We're out and about at a low key music spot on South Beach vibing. H goes to the bar to grab drinks and we're alone. She initiates a conversation about the weirdness of our "arrangement". I ask her if she's dating. She mentions that she isn't. I start explaining to her why she should, if a less alternative more conventional relationship was one of her long term goals. Then sloppy seconds turns, looks directly at me and asks me "If you told H not to date me anymore do you know what he would say?". HUH? I said, just as directly, "Yes." She says "Are you sure?". I was so blown. Bitch are you crazy?

BITCH! Am I sure? Am I what? Yes bitch I am certain - You are second bitch. Are you serious? Have you lost your big tittied mind? That was the last time she saw his ass. Silly silly bitch! Bitch I don't like you and you are around by the grace of my generousity. But now that you have the balls to ask me about the strength of your place in our relationship. MY relationship, and imply some degree of weakness on my end...

Bitch you're FIRED! Kill yourself!

Have you ever met a ho with such audacity?

Friday, October 2, 2009

Get Your Bitch!

First off, let me start this entry by saying that I don't normally make it a practice to indulge in bullshit, but the bullshit on top of bullshit I'm about to unfold on ya'll right now is so asinine, it's noteworthy. So, to the guy featured here and all dudes like him who can't keep their game on lock, "Get Your Bitch, Homie," for she know not who she fucketh with.

You all may remember reading a few of my entries about a rendezvous or two with a dude who fucks on film. Now, as I said, a rendezvous or two, me and this dude fucked, end of story. He lives in a different city and fucks on film, the likeliness of me having a desire to do anything more than just fuck him once or twice was null. Furthermore, he had a girlfriend. I remember once asking him how she felt about his goingson and he talked around it, I didn't give a shit. She was his girl, not mine. If he didn't respect her, why should I? Case closed.

So we did our thing. It was a wrap. As a matter of fact, after the last time we kicked it, I made it up in my mind, I'd had enough of fucking Dude. Gone. Out of my mind. Until...this chick surfaced out of nowhere. I get a text message at like 8 in the damn morning from Dude's phone, "I don't know what Dude told you, but we are not in an open relationship. I am pregnant with his child and you [k]new so leave him alone or his child will be a bastard and you can have him."

BRAAAA-HA-HAAAAA!!!!! WTF?!? Hilarious. I almost ran off the fucking road.

"I don't know what Dude told you, but we are not in an open relationship."

Okay, she acknowledged in her opening statement that her dude could have possible told me they were in an open relationship. Which means, I may have fucked him thinking she was cool with it. Which, considering the fact that he works in porn professionally, is not a strange assumption. Furthermore, if they aren't in an open relationship and he lied then that's on him. Shit, he lied to me too. Why she felt the need to text me at 8 a.m. is beyond me. Wake your man up, clearly ya'll need to talk. But he works in porn, Ma, you're playing yourself.

So, I look at the text, perplexed by the sheer absurdity of it all. I had to call someone. Sheba's up. I rang her and told her the bullshittery. We figured that since my number was in his phone under PinkVixxxen, in order for her to put two-and-two together, she must have read the blog. He had posted links on his Twitter page when I wrote them, and if BabyMomma, P.I. was snooping in his phone, surely, she checked all his tweets. (Let me mention, how odd I thought it was for him to tweet the links, seeing as how I try to help my Subjects remain anonymous with nicknames, but he posted them, so people who knew him, knew he fucked Pink...Stupid) I said to Sheba, "If she read the blog, surely, she commented on the posts featuring him." I was driving, so I asked Sheba to check, and just as sure as I'm a pimp, the jilted BabyMomma, P.I. had commented. Here and here. I could give a fuck about her man, and I hope my not responding to her ass let her know that I don't want go that route. And the funny thing is, the comments were posted almost a month before I received the text message, so that means this drama had been going on a minute. Nevertheless, I'm not getting into a back and forth with her. She's pissed, and unfortunately, directing her attention to the wrong person.

See, now this is where people stop being polite...and start getting real! I'm pissed that I have this shit in my universe right now. I mean, I let this Dude stay in my house, and he let his broad come at me like that? Shit. I couldn't get a heads up? Nah, he let BabyMomma, P.I. handle his dirty work. That shit ain't kosher. Which is why I'm blasting them both. Next time you fuck up, follow the rules, Chief!

Rule 1: Dude, "Get Your Bitch!" Keep your bullshit in-house. There is no reason EVER, why a bitch like Pink should be getting text messages, blog comments or any communications from some woman who caught her guy out there. None. I don't know you, you don't wanna know me. Handle that shit amongst yourselves. And you get an "F", for unsuccessfuly trying to make your girl think a porn dude could be faithful.

Rule 2: If your man works in the sex, music or sports industry, you're a fool to think he ain't fuckin around. And if he does fuck around, you're a fool to think the woman he fucked knows/gives a fuck about you.

Rule 3: If you're going to cheat on your woman, you need to keep it ONEHUNDRED with the chick you fuckin on the side. It's not cool to leave a bitch to get blindsided when your girl is in investigation mode and starts blowing up the spot. If you have already failed to secure your game, it's only a common courtesy to call the other chick and let her know some shit may be about to go down. Not cool, chief.

Rule 4: Try to keep your face and your dick/'gina in separate places on the internet. Don't fuck where you Tweet. (A rule I should have heeded)

Rule 5: If you don't have your shit together, don't fuck with Pink.

Ever had some other couple's drama blow up in your face? Tell us about your "Get Your Bitch" moment.