Crossing Borders

As the Johnny Walker Black on the rocks swished around in my mouth before slipping down my throat, I wondered what she tasted like. As some of the drink spilled down my chin I imagined it being her juices. I imagined her thighs wrapped around my face, her pussy pulsating between my lips under the coaxing of my tongue. I could smell her across the room; she smelt like Vanilla and Lust. I tried to keep it together, to keep her from noticing me trying to stop looking at the rise of her breasts; the smoothness of the skin where her cheek meets her neck meets her shoulders. I bit my lips as I watched through hazy rose colored glasses as a smile spread across her face. I’m jolted by the sound of her laughter, wishing it was me making her scream out in ecstasy. 

I don’t know how the fuck this happened-- Or when I started craving her presence, her attention, her company. One minute we were strangers, then acquaintances, now secret lovers. It only took one night of liquid truth, one night of reckless abandon, and one night of seeing where the moment takes us. It happened so suddenly, so innocently. 

She told me I had nice lips. I blushed graciously. She said she bet they were soft and sweet. I licked them inadvertently. She told me I was being a tease. I smiled apologetically. She said she really wanted to kiss me. I paused. 

And before I knew it, her lips were on mine. Her kiss was earnest yet soft, inviting yet commanding. I was pulling her body towards me and slowly delving deeper into her mouth, her tongue caressing mine like a forgotten lover. And while I may have been startled, I was all in. The blood rushed to my head like a kiss from an old flame, but it was brand new. Half way through I had this moment of clarity, this moment of we shouldn’t be doing this… but as quickly as it came it was gone. I surrendered to the kiss reveling in the perfect passion that was this unforeseen moment. I acted with total disregard of consequence. Like a naïve teenager on prom night wondering nine months later how did I get here? That’s the thing about crossing lines, they’re like foreign borders, and the rules are always different on the other side. 

And now I find myself craving her, like a drug. Like an addict in recovery, I crave her and simultaneously tell myself-- NO MORE!! I have to stop THIS. THIS can’t end well, THIS can’t go anywhere, THIS can’t-- this CAN’T—THIS CAN’T--! 

But the truth is I can’t! 

I can’t stop wanting her. I can’t stop craving her. I can’t stop smelling her even when she’s not near me. I can’t stop fantasizing about our kisses, our soft touches. I can’t stop wondering what her inner soft sweetness tastes like or what she would sound like moaning my name, begging me to stop, or better, to keep going. 

Honestly, I CAN’T!

And I want to stop trying. To stop fighting whatever it is between us that keeps pulling us together; that keeps her blushing like a school girl in my presence. That keeps us doing this dance despite all of the risk, despite all of the potential consequence. 

I feel like saying fuck it We're grown! What's to stop us... Fuck the consequence of others, and their feeligs and their LOVE? Just embrace it all; to float through this Wonderland with the same reckless abandon that got me here and hope that nine months from now I know just how I got there.

Wherever that is…

But I CAN'T...


Because we are grown, and there will surely be consequence of this LOVE. Consequence larger than us... And so as I toss and turn these hot summer nights, hands tucked between hot moist thighs these next few days, weeks, months-- writhing in the reality of my withdrawals-- I'll have only the memory of what was and the reality of what should be. And as order is restored our passion that we shared will be but a vague memory; a glance across a room, a bitten lip and smile. Merely traces of what almost was... Consequence.

All of It

I was thinking yesterday.

I was marveling. At how much it kept getting better. Over time.
I was wondering what I missed about it.

If I had to pick a thing. If I just couldn't say...EVERYTHING.

Is it your moaning?
That I miss most.
Or the tight pink peak of your nipples when you're aroused.

Is it the trashing?
Or the lightly red hair there. The musky smells. The sweetness. The simple joy in just laying my face there. Before I even taste you.

Is it the tension, deep in my belly? As soon as I put my hands on you. The wetness that forms between my own legs, as I begin to run my hands over your hips.

I wonder if it is the first breath I take when you're laying in front of me. Or the tiny bites up your thighs.
The first touch. The first moment my tongue touches you there. And I stop. Breathing deeply. Because it never disappoints. Because it's always better than the last time. And then the deep tasting. My eagerness. As though there won't be enough of you for me to have.

Is it burying my tongue there? Nibbling. Holding you between my tongue and upper lip. Keeping my hands on you. Touching you places where there is more of you to enjoy than meets the eye.
Is it how my tasting dispells myths. How you like to be laved everywhere. EVERYwhere. The outer and inner spaces. The space between. Your shivering, and writhing beneath my mouth. The sound of you...the rhythm of our call and response.

Is it putting my fingers inside as I'm tasting? And feeling you there. All of you. Incomprehensibly tight and open at once. Wet to dripping, wanting. Giving me so much in your surrender. More than I knew to find there. More than I knew to take. More. Than ever.

I don't want you less. I haven't forgotten. I remember. All of it.

What is one to do? When memories are like torture and the future lays ahead without solutions?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Pussy Drought: Volume 1 - Finger Fucking in the Dark

I've fucked ALOT of women. Or at least I think so, as compared to how many men I've fucked. I'm no Don Juan to the ladies but something about my very nature encourages women to open up to me about their sexual desires, interests, mishaps and what-have-you. I always attributed it to my insane sense of loyalty to many of my female friends. Any of my girls know that I'm that girl in the crew that's really got everyone's back when the shit hits the fan. I'm the last-in the club and last-out the club type chick, making sure everyone is good before we bounce. I'm like a FBI agent, surveying the spot for any deviants or haters, both of which should be on the America's Most Wanted list. I always have a fabulous time (busters or not)and I look fabulous doing it.
Most women love me or hate me. I think I like it that way. See, I started my love affair with pussy a loooong time ago. So, those who love me...well, let's just say I could appreciate this gift with girls as early as 9 years old.

In fifth grade, Melanie was the cutest girl in the world to me. She had this beautiful honey brown skin and her hair was almost always done cute. Her older sister used to think she was all-that. hmmph. I mean she was def cute, but Melanie was like waaaay better. She had the biggest bootie in the class. I loved watching her walk away from me with the plaid from her skirt bouncing from her booty jiggles. She also had what I now know as luscious "dick sucking" lips which she plastered with lipgloss daily. Come to think of it, I remember plenty of times feeling tingly as I watched her suck her thumb. That's actually how we became friends--we both still had issues quitting the thumb sucking.

And, Mels was definitely one of my best, most favorite friends. We jumped rope together. She let me do her hair. We always asked to go to the bathroom together. We used to switch uniforms sometimes (still not sure why lol). We started the whole "Cool" for girls to sit on girls laps thing at our school. But all the while, we had not done anything remotely sexual with each other. Randomly one day standing around after cheerleading practice, my life changed.

In the bathroom checking out what our uniforms would look like for next week's game--we're both being silly posing, doing fake steps in adjacent mirrors. I turned to her and giggled, "oooooh Melanie look at all that booty hanging out", simultaneously poking her ass softly. "You betta quit D! Plus look at all of this", Mel yelled back as she quickly brushed her hand across my "ample" size B cups. Wow she had grabbed me back! I just poked her and she kinda grabbed me. So the next time I lightly gripped under her ass with my hand and made reference to her big booty again. Next she's attacking me in groping tickles. We start tickling each other but it definitely feels more like copping feels. Our giggles are echoing through the entire bathroom and empty gym I'm sure. We're going on for a while, rolling along the wall. She's in control. Then I'm in control.

We keep our faces close together--her cheek on mine. She tickles me by softly grabbing my tit. I laugh to keep up pretenses. I tickle her by playing along her butt crack. She laughes as well. Finally, a truce...but I get the last feel with a finger that grazes the inside of her ass. We paused for a long, awkward time with no laughter. We kinda just stared at each other. Just as I was about to tell her it was prolly time for me to go home, she said calmly, "I'll show you my booty, if you show me your titties." WTF? Wait...What? YES!!! "Aight--well let's hurry up", I say tentatively.

So of course bossy ass Mel was gonna try to force me to go first. But I wasn't having it! Nah! We had to draw on that one. I won the quick draw so SHE had to go first. We agreed to follow the other person's instructions---so you get to see everything you want to see. With her standing far across from me, I told her to turn around and pull up her skirt first, so I could see her ass in the cheerleading pants aka spanks. She agreed and as soon as her skirt lifted, I felt myself inching forward past the "safe zone". I wanted a closer look goddamit! I told her it would make it easier if I just pulled down her spanks and panties, while she held up the skirt. She agreed. I kneeled down behind her and reached up for her spanks. Words can not even expresss my anticipation at that very moment. I was finally going to see her ass! My heart was in my throat and my hands were super clammy. I remember pulling down her burgandy spanks slowly and seeing the prettiest caramel brown round sticking out the side of her underwear. Her booty got all goosebumpy after the air hit it. I remember thinking her leg looked like a golden original recipe KFC chicken leg. (that now makes sense for obvious reason lol) I instructed her to "go shoulder length" which was cheerleading code for "spread your legs". She never gave me any problems--she just said "ok" and "is that ok?" and I was grateful for her cooperation. I knew her snug-fit, pretty panties with purple and pink flowers would need more room for maneuvering and I didn't want to drop them.

As she stepped out her panties, one by one with each leg, I got a glimpse of her lil space of heaven between her legs. She smelled of baby powder and sweat. She had about the same amount of hair as I did down by her kitty kat. I was literally speechless. My thoughts raced but were abruptedly interrupted---"Um hellloo? What are we supposed to do now?" she says clearly getting annoyed. Truth is I had no idea what we were supposed to do now. So I said the first thing that came to mind----"We can 'DO IT'...if you want to?" And that was all she wrote....

Neither of us really knew what "doing it" was but we were pretty determined to figure it out. We made up our own rules. Melanie wanted it where we didn't do it with anybody else---but I quickly vetoed that. Doing it in our world was finger-fucking in the dark. Wet kisses in the bathroom stalls. We started off quite sloppy and it always seemed a pain to only get to do it once in a while after cheerleading practice. By 7th grade, although we were in different schools, we were covert finger fucking pros.

Away at camps and trips, counselors spent most of their time trying to keep the girls away from the boys. This sucked for Melanie, cause she was always in and out with this fool, Charles. He had a nasty mouth but he was cute though. I knew he was doing it to her to on the DL. Shoot by 7th grade, there was a group of 5 or 6 girls doing it with each other. We all participated in the same after-school activities, and had previously been classmates before I moved to the manhattan prep school. On our trips, we would run an entire bunk and everyone was sworn to secrecy or risk getting yo azz beat! We'd always pair up before the trip but knew everyone was fair game. Mel was always my bus ride partner. We always wore skirts and scoped out seats near the back. We would finger each other on every single bus trip. Whoeever was getting fingered would be on the inside seat. The outside person would pretend to be laying/sleeping on the other person---while nibbling a nipple inconspicously and finger fucking under a large warm blanket.

I really liked when she touched me but I loved fingering her. She used to like to pretend she was sleeping also but underneath the blanket she'd be spread so wide to me, with gushs of wetnesses and her pussy muscles contracting on my pace. Overnight trips were the best because I got to play with her pussy for as long as I wanted. Her kitty was always moist and her clit felt juicy between my forefinger and thumb. At night when the bus was pitch black, she'd whisper "Do it fast, but cover my mouth". I loved this part. I'd sit up slowly and look around to make sure no one was facing our direction. I would slide her ass down to the edge of the seat and drape her right leg over both my legs. She was practically on my lap. Her left leg stood up on the radiator on the side of the bus with both of us sufficiently covered by the blanket. Being in the back of the bus, we had a little leeway with sound but we were always super careful---that's why she insisted that I cover her mouth. She was always worried about getting caught. I liked teasing her with my middle finger, sliding up and down her pussy lips. I could always tell she was getting impatient, cause she would inch her pussy closer to my hand, hoping to get lucky with a quick dip inside. I pressed my left hand hard against her mouth and face. She wrapped her hands around mine for extra support. I took a deep breath, braced myself and dove straight into her treasure chest.

Starting very slowly, I'd work my finger around her smooth wet walls. Twirling my finger, working it in and out slowly. Every once in a while I'd quickly slide my finger up to her clit and use my thumb to squeeze it. She squeezed my hands tighter. I was always patient and willing to wait until I felt like she was really open---gushing with sweet juices, clit pulsating to a rapid rhthym. Then I'd ball up all but my middle finger and finger fuck her for as fast I could. I was determined to give it to her from every angle. Her slippery wet lips slid past my knuckles. I rotated my hand back and forth while swimming in and out. I worked in different zones enjoying every minute of it. I loved teasing her with fast pumps in and out just at the tip of her lips. She gushed some more for me. I quickly flip my hand to palm side up and use my thumb to wiggle her clit, while still giving it to her. That was my favorite. I kept a fluid, trance-like motion and I can remember thinking, gosh my mouth is open and tongue is out---thank god she can't see me. lol. My own kitty is meowing, clit tingling in excitement. I guess I'd stop when I knew she couldn't take anymore or someone in the bus coughed. I always gave her clit a few minutes of extra playtime as I pinched lightly, pulled and wiggled. Eventually, we'd both fall asleep. On a few occasions I did fall asleep with my finger in her pussy, thumb on her clit. Regardless, the next day I had my own reminder of our secret - her scent right on my finger, which I sniffed long, hard and frequently. I was an addict.

----------------------------
So you see, I've had this relationship with pussy going on for a looooong time. Of course I would admit it has evolved tremendously. Still, no one could have ever told me back in the day that I would experience nearly a year long pussy drought! Now that I'm enduring that space, I really don't know what to think. I'm trying to make heads and tails of it, truly scratching my head. How am I feeling? Hmm How....am....I...feeling? I guess I feel frustrated and pissed but confused as hell. I mean, is this just supposed to be the pussy-less era? When do I get that impulse back?


Kudos to my boyfriend, who has obviously put it down enough for this drought to have occurred. I have never been in a relationship with a man before and not had sexual encounters (with or without his knowledge) with another woman. So I guess from one angle, this could be seen as a triumph for my heterosexual relationships. But I think I'd feel like that was less bullshit if I didn't fantasize about women all the time. Cleary, as wonderful as sex is with my boyfriend, there are just some things he can't possiby provide. Although on some nights, if I'm faded enough and he's being really quick and gentle, I can definitely hallucinate about a second girl involved.

Granted, my life is very different today than even a year ago. I'm not galavanting around NYC in stilettos rendezvous-ing with other hot girls in stilettos. Damn those were the days. These days I'm out in west bum fuck, NJ, with nary a fabulous weave around. But I've dealt with worse and have still found jump-offs. So I keep thinking these are all excuses. There are definitely some cute girls at my school at least. Ok, yes some are just way too young, 18/19---and others are not my type, despite being cute. But, it didn't take long for my school crew to get comfortable talking about sexuality & interests. I'm pretty confident that one drunk night with either of my homegirls---the drought is probably over. So why haven't I made a move? So why let the blasphemy continue? Is it a drought or have I just gone on strike. Or am I fasting for a specific future meal?

After a 22-year affair with pussy, best believe I need to figure this out. Tonight I learned that I was clearly born with the desire to lust after and love women. All of my naughty thoughts were from my own limited frame of reference. There were no outside influences initially. Finger fucking was our secret born out of simple attraction and curiousity. I never spoke about it with anyone---not until well into my 20s. Truthfully, I didn't speak about it much with any of the girls that participated. I feared that they would be able to tell just how much I liked it---and I wasn't supposed to like it THAT much. lol

This is my journey to find an answer. Maybe there is something in the past or the future that explains this sudden shift. Late night reminscing and fantasizing, I'm bound to come across something...

Has the core of your sex life suddenly changed and you're hardpressed to figure out why? What would you do to get to an answer?

Log in for The Pussy Drought: Volume 2!

Group Post: The Day.......I found my mOjO

I spent much of my sexually active teenage years wondering just what all the fuss was about! After speaking with quite a few of my friends it seems that I was not alone. After losing my virginity at the not so tender age of 16 (on my birthday may I add) my only regret was not making sure that my partner was maybe a little better endowed, and perhaps a bit more experienced. My first time was not with someone that I loved or even liked for that matter. But in that Hotel room with a view, and the chilled cooler of Bacardi Breezers quelling my every qualm… I gave up the goods. Yup, a little liquid courage was all it took to give up my innocence to a guy with marginal Halitosis, a good sense of humor and an eagerness that rivals only the Republicans in today’s senate!

I didn’t have sex again for almost 2 years after that! Talk about uninterested! I just didn’t get it! I mean what the hell was the point. I would get all hot and bothered and tingly; I’d be loaded, cocked and ready to go and then it was like ‘oh… is that it’! I decided I’d rather not be bothered. Even after I resumed my sexual voyage years later I found myself unable to capture those lusty moments that I saw in the movies or on TV, or even that my friends would speak of. I started thinking that it was something wrong with me. Why don’t I tremble and scream out in ecstasy or buck like a horse when I have an orgasm….. And there it was! Like a hard slap on cold skin. Because I never had… climaxed that is. Duh! I mean sure I had gotten aroused and even had what I assume were like little climaxes, but I had never had an orgasm!!!! Well, that would just not do! This would have to be rectified! You know you always just assume that you have sex you’ll have an orgasm, like the two go hand in hand! Alas, that is not the case, but I was not going to lie (no pun intended) down without a fight, I would not go quietly into the night! I was a woman with a charge!

So now I had a new mission: Mission: Orgasm. My mission (and I chose to accept it) was to explore myself and sexuality and bring myself to this illusive orgasm by any means necessary. Every sexual encounter was like hunting some rare species of crocodile in the rolling Australian Outback. It was treacherous and fun but ever so disappointing when my hunt would come to an end and alas “Crikey! No croc!” After a few months of this my endurance started to wane. It was sucking what little fun I had come to enjoy from sex right out of it. Until one night while I was sitting and having a conversation with a girlfriend, Izzy. Actually she was my girlfriend Nessa’s girlfriend, and not at all timid about sharing her opinions. She was slightly older, very open and overtly sexual, oh … and Italian. As we talked somehow I ended up opening up about my hunt for my big O.

“Well what do you like” she asked it like it should have ended with …”on your pizza”! I didn’t understand the question.

“What makes you hot, what turns you on?” I was still a little lost, and considering she was a stranger, a tad bit uncomfortable.

She pulled herself closer, with a cigarette pulling from her lips and a glass of wine being caressed between her palms. She put down the glass and gestured for my hand. I slid forward and extended my hand. She ran the tips of her fingers around the palm of my hand, trailing them slowly up my arm.

“What do you think about when your legs are wrapped around a man’s shoulders and neck and your clit is between his teeth being stroked with his tongue?” She pulled my wrist to her lips, kissing it and, letting the tip of her tongue caress my pulse points ever so slightly. I was blushing… everywhere.

“Do you think about each flick of his tongue, do you ride the waves of each pulse? Do you listen to the sound of his fluids and yours mingling and heating up between your thighs and draining down your pussy lips, towards the crack of your ass?” I was flushed, I was speechless, and even more relevant I was turned on. Her right hand was moving up my arm, slowly sliding inwards toward my cleavage, while her left hand was playing heat seeking missile, sliding its way up my inner thigh. I was frozen, and melting all at the same time. I was almost hypnotized, watching her with baited breath.

“Careful, Lexi*… how do you think she got me?” Nessa said laughingly. I could see my girlfriend (her girlfriend) curled up in her lounge chair watching us, smiling deviously.

I chuckled knowingly, “I bet!” I broke the connection and slowly and somewhat unwillingly slid back (literally) in my seat.

But she had posed some interesting questions. I had been waiting for this orgasm to happen, but I had not been living in and feeling each moment, each sensation. I hadn’t been connecting my mind with my body! Could it be that I was looking all over for the big “O” and the key to its very existence was in me all along? Was it possibly like the scene at the end of Austin Powers where he’s looking for his MOJO and realizes no one could have stolen it, because it was a part of him?

Later that night when we retired, I could hear them giggling and kissing each other through the bedroom wall. I listened as they cooed over each other. I felt almost intrusive, but I couldn’t help it. I touched myself to the sounds of them making love through the wall. I fantasized about what she had said out on the patio. I touched myself and could still feel her touch lingering on my skin. I could hear them moaning in tandem, like a chorus of lust, building and mounting. I could hear their passionate whispers; I touched myself and closed my eyes and took in every sensation. I imagined her tongue, passionately taking me in. I stroked myself gently and with intense purpose. I focused in on the changes in my bodily sensations and followed my bodies lead. I felt my nipples harden and let my fingers caress them and tease them pulling myself closer to the rhythmic pants that were coming louder now through the bedroom wall. I let my fingers wander, through the familiar yet strangely new terrain that lay between my thighs. I felt every breath cutting in my chest, each exhale rocking me closer to the precipice of my final destination. I felt my fingers beginning to work faster and more tenaciously. I felt the heat between my fingers and my lips intensifying. My mouth started to dry out, and I could barely control my breaths. When everything in my body tingled, when everything started to convulse, when my own hands could no longer keep up with my bodies rhythm I exhaled dug deep and I let myself go! I felt a sensation burst out of me that must have been a cross between a moan and a scream but as I held onto a fistful of sheets at my side, to try and anchor myself to the bed, it was hard to tell. I literally saw stars- there was only white noise! The pulses came fast and hard, like years of bottled up sexual frustration had been shaken and uncorked, unleashed wildly like a bucking Bronco. I finally could hear myself screaming, and it took me a little by surprise. I covered my mouth with one hand and continued to pant as my other hand tried to tame the beast that was slowly calming beneath the sheets. As I came back down from cloud nine, I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh my… Holy Shit!” I laughed to myself. As my laughter faded I heard my friends through the wall again, they were laughing too.

“Goodnight, Lexi*!” Nessa taunted.

“And congratulations, no”? Izzy asked rhetorically. They continued chuckling through the wall.

I bit my lip and covered my face with the pillow, semi-mortified, “Goodnight!” I yelped back.

I rolled over onto my side, settled in and continued to smile as I thought, ‘Mission: Accomplished’.

*= name changed

Thanks to Kimberly for organizing these group posts every month!

Check out the others' "The Day" with Kimberly of The Errant Wife and see who else is taking part in this month's group post: Petal, Ronjazz, Autumn, Gray, Aurore, Barefoot Dreamer, fgsakes, Topaz, Hubman, Ms. Scarlett , Mykeyman, Advizor, Duchess, They belong to us and Veronica.

An Exploration into The Laws Of Attraction: Stud Love

I’m from Philly. Now Philly is no South Florida by any stretch of the imagination but within the realm of social interactions, Philly has this place beat. From the moment I stepped on the tarmac I’ve been crippled with regret.

Amongst the filth and constant construction of Philly lies a truly urban city. You get the hustle and bustle of a metropolis coupled with the personality of ethnically and culturally diverse neighborhoods. As a true urbanite I walked the streets, rode the bus, biked to work and enjoyed constant human interaction. Although most women don’t walk around waving their gay flags, I had opportunities to meet people and strike up a conversation during my daily travels. These opportunities made dating easier back home. I spent little time online trolling message boards or bogus clubs looking for love.

My search for a solider has been fruitless because the pickings are so very slim in the 954. First off the people are rude here. On the rare occasion you are walking in the street you’re greeted with lowered heads and strange stares. It may be the company I keep or the places I frequent but the quality of the people I meet on the scene just isn’t good. I’m not searching for a Ph.D but at least have a GED. I've always heard that the south is late on pop culture trends and that couldn’t be more evident than with the women I meet here. They are still wearing extra baggy clothes or the rock star gear and it's simply depressing.

Fresh from a break-up I ventured with my posse of tri-sexuals to this gay dive bar Jay’s. It was their first time and I warned them of the fuckery that was sure to ensue. As I prepared for a night of “wassup mah” and “you looking real fly wit that baldhead,” I was also prepared to be open to whatever or whoever drifted my way. I won’t spill all the beans about the trip Sheba, Pink and I took into the deep swallows of the Ft. Lauderdale Black Lesbian social scene, but let’s just say I fear that these women are bi and bi-curious no longer…it was that tragic.

Midway through the night, as I was loosing myself in Sheba's mind altering alcoholic brew, I tried to convince both them and myself that there is hope. We were posted up looking like three fly chicks with attitude when our conversation drifted into the “benefits” of dating a stud.

Stud is a term for a butch female commonly used by black lesbians. Being a stud has less to do with clothing than it does with a state of mind. For lack of a cliché studs have a swagger. A tasty infusion of style, personality, bravado and chutzpah that makes them desired by many lesbians and envied by others who lack the qualities.

I used to believe that if I was going to be a lesbian I wanted to be with a woman who looked and acted like a woman; mainly because it was easier to hide amongst the masses, but more so because that shit wasn’t cute. I could appreciate what studs had to offer but I could never understand why they didn’t want to celebrate their womanhood. You have a fat ass, sexy hips, beautiful skin, athletic bodies and you want to deny the world your splendor? I simply couldn’t get it.

Over time I'vehad they opportunity to befriend a few studs and both my feelings and their appeal changed. Now I know they are misunderstood. We can get into the science behind gender identity and chemical imbalances, but my main observation is that their lifestyle isn’t a choice or trend - it's what comes natural to them. Now I’ve experienced posers and people who are "extra" but I'm convinced that if you give a stud a chance, a true stud will have you like Jerry Maguire “at hello.”

A boi (stud) is smooth. I look at it like an eat the meat and through away the fat type of situation. They can relate to what it means to be a woman, in addition to embracing the traits that attract you to a man. I’ve typically dated femmes aka lipstick lesbians and it’s been nice. Femmes personify what it means to be feminine - soft skin, lady like mannerisms, a submissive personality. Yet these same qualities are also their greatest faults because femmes can be high maintenance. I am an aggressive femme (think pitbull in a skirt) and those damn femmes/lipstick lesbian/pillow princesses are not worth the heartache that often accompanies enjoying their big butts and smiles.

Being with a stud gives me a sense of security and strength I’ve never been able to find with a femme. In my experience, studs tend to be more masculine and often assume a dominant role in the relationship, acting as the provider and protector. And to top it off they "look good in them jeans." Moreover, studs make great lovers. In comparison to femmes, studs aim to please at all costs and similar to a man, an unsatisfied customer is an ego bruiser.

There are some draw backs. Most hardcore studs like to be referred to with masculine pronouns, which is hard to get used to but some women accommodate. Some have body issues and resort to taping of their breasts and growing facial hair, even taking hormones. These types of extremes have less to do with being gay and more to do with emotional and sexual issues. And to my disbelief some studs don’t want their woman to touch or please them during physical interaction, i.e. sucking their nipples or oral sex and in these situations penetration is surely out the question.

I've been asked, "if you're attracted to the manly qualities of a stud why not be with a man?" Well naysayers it’s deeper than that. Dating a stud is the best of both worlds.

Yes, my girl looks good in her Sean John or a suit but when she peels them off, I feel like Johnny Gill ("My, My, My"), the physique is there. Have you ever seen a fat ass and full hips in a pair of boxers briefs!? Because my woman is in touch with her masculine and feminine emotions I get an unfathomable emotional understanding I can’t find with a man. She's chivalrous, understands PMS, and can buss another bitch’s ass if she steps out of line.

A pretti boi loves to please my body. She appreciates my imperfections and praises my sexiness. She is skilled with her hands, tongue, toys and strip, a true master of her craft. It’s not about lying on her back and getting her pussy eaten. A stud is all about pleasing her woman, putting in work and making sure the job is done right Malcolm style, by any means necessary.

At the end of the day who you fall in love with can't be controlled, but cutting off an entire sector of the lesbian community can truthfully hinder the process. Don’t you wanna be happy...

Ever been convinced to try something new and liked it?

Punanny Poet

Little boi blue can I have your attention

I have a need to talk to you and show you some affection

I like that you’re strong and you offer protection

But sometimes I want you soft, venerable and open to suggestions

I like your pipe game and how you put it down in bed

But sometimes I wish you would let me lay you down instead

I know you strap up with your thick fake dick

But sometimes I think you forget about your thick pink clit

Skin soft and sweet skin oozing of fragrance

Baby be my bitch, lay down and let me get you naked

Hips that sway, ass so round, its ok to release no one is around

You cover all your goodness behind biggy clothes

I hate no one knows the secret your Sean John holds

With the body of him and mind of her

I understand how your mere existence can be such a blur

Little boi blue I write to tell you I love you regardless if you feel like a bitch or a dude


Don’t you hate a sheep in wolf clothing?

I Love Movie Night

I just had an awakening; I loved to be watched. So it was movie night with my sister, girlfriend and I. Everything was normal, we ate, had dessert and were readying ourselves for the second movie. My girl and me were in the bed and my sister was a few feet away on the couch. We were laying on each other just enjoying the movie and I got that tinkling feeling in my pussy and I knew I wasn’t going to make it through the night without my pussy getting some attention.


So being the freak that I am I spread the blanket over us and turned up the volume on the movie. I lifted up my shirt and popped a juicy nipple in her mouth. When her warm breathe soaked my on button my pussy started to juice up. The panties were getting in the way so she started to slowly eased them down as my sister seemed to be unaware of what was happening. With three of her slender fingers jammed in my slippery hot pussy and my nipple in her mouth I was in heaven. Thank god I don’t have a squeaky bed cause I was riding her fingers like a prized jockey.


I’m so nasty. My legs were spread eagle, FOUR fingers in my pussy, sister on the couch, pillow in my mouth and I loved the excitement. I looked over at my girl and through the haze of my ecstasy all I could see was calmness on her face. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow and I was heading to the home stretch. Just as I was ready to burst she made a slurping noise. She quickly pulled her fingers out making more sex sounds and I thought the jug was up..lol but thank god it was a great movie cause my sister didn’t seem to notice.


Do you know I had the nerve to turn around and arch my back and let my favorite friends get deeper into their home. I’m a vocal fuck and the pressure of not being able to yell out prevented my cum but the foreplay was great. I think it time to venture to the swingers club so I can be in an environment with a willing viewing audience.

Do you like to watch or be watched like me?

To Swing or Not to Swing

Swinging is a topic of extreme interest to me. The idea of banging multiple strangers with no strings attached is quite appealing. However, as with everything there are pros and cons.

Lack of opportunity and the cons have kept me from engaging in this lifestyle. A major con is significantly increasing my risk of contracting an STD -maybe even a fatal STD. How would I explain to my mother, kid, friends and family that I contracted a disease from outside the bounds my committed relationship!?!? Is one night of pleasure worth the repercussions!?!? Of course I could theoretically contract a disease from my partner. However, boning 20 strangers in one night is a significantly greater risk. Another con is possible pregnancy and Jerry Springer type drama. What if I became pregnant or my partner impregnated someone!?! How many men would I have to ask to take the DNA test!?! While I do believe that children are a blessing, I don't know that I could willingly receive that blessing. Unfortunately my partner feels that an unwanted pregnancy is a consequence we have to be willing to accept and literally live with. Sorry but living with his bastard child in my life is not appealing to me. Yes, of course we will protect ourselves but only abstinence is 100%.

The cons are as daunting as the pros are appealing. Some of the pros include no-strings attached sex and the thrill of new pussy and new dick. Ahhhh, the thought of flirting with a handsome stranger or nine and bedding him(her) brings a kool-aid grin to my face.

Hopefully the experience will keep the grin on my face. Having never been to a swinger club, I’m not sure what to expect and I have some preconceived notions: (1) everyone is probably a perfect 10, (2) strangers line up in a row and pick each other out like cattle, (3) actions are hidden in a dark corner or (4) maybe it's an open and loud orgy fest. In time I will likely find out. Who am I kidding - patience is a virtue I was not blessed with. I want to know and experience the swinger scene ASAP so I am doing some club research. Things that are important are the privacy policies, screening process, clientele, safety and location. Location, location, location – location is everything. It must be outside of Manhattan because the likelihood of running into someone I know is less likely unless the people I’m trying to avoid have the same idea. LOL. I'll keep you posted!

Are you into the “lifestyle?”