Pleasure Principle

I rarely ever do anything I don’t want to do. I live in my own world and blaze my own trail. I get judged a lot for this. I am the daughter that will suggest drinking mimosas for breakfast, wine with lunch, champagne with dinner, and encourage my mother to sex it up a little with her wardrobe. I am the auntie that buys my nieces miniature boots that look like my own over the knee ones and allow them to play in my hair when it’s straightened. When they see me they automatically ask for lip gloss. I am the mother that freely allows my sons to find and follow their own bliss without too many restrictions. I only command that they be respectful polite gentlemen, open doors, carry in heavy boxes/groceries, etc., try their best, omit the word ‘can’t’ from their vocabulary, and think for themselves. My boys think I am fun, bubbly, and sometimes mean. I can live with that. Because of my freeness, I have the desire to neither lead nor follow. I am content doing my own thing.


I was watching “This Christmas” with my mother the other night, and she said Sharon Leal’s character, Kelly, reminded her of me. She also says the same thing about Kim Kardashian. *rolls eyes* Anyway, there is a scene where Kelly meets a guy out at a bar with a few of her siblings. The guy is a former friend of her elder brother that she doesn’t technically know. She ended up leaving her siblings at the club and leaving with the guy. The next morning she tried sneaking into the family home with her boots in her hands after having spent the night with the guy from the bar. My mother said, “That would be you. You even dress like her and have that ‘I don’t care’ attitude. You would be trying to sneak in like no one would know where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.” Her comment initially made me feel like a whore, but then I realized I am just bold enough to do what makes me happy.

My sister graduated last week. To celebrate we went out to dinner and later she decided she wanted to hit up a lounge. My honey caramel complexioned muse that I have recently started kicking it with was already at the lounge when we got there. He was bored and was only waiting there for me because I was close and wanted to see him. I introduced him to my sister; he said he was leaving but I was more than welcome to come along. For me, he was the better option. My sister was a little miffed I left her, but she was getting what she needed from sources other than me. She was in good hands surrounded by her husband and their married friends.

For that moment in time I knew being with Mr. HC Muse would make me happy. Not just because he’s 6’3, handsome, intelligent, and incredibly sexy. He had what I needed, wanted, and craved. I needed his attention and adoration of my gi-normous hair and imperfect body. The fact that he noticed and liked my attire and shoes was an added bonus. I needed to straddle his lap and lavish him with kisses. I live for affection, and he doesn’t seem to mind. I needed to feel wanted, to giggle, and to be free to freely allow him to bask in my femininity as I consumed and reveled in his gentlemanly masculinity. I craved his kisses, answers to my many unending random questions, his softness, warmth, easy going nature, and his ability to make me feel like a modern day damsel with his natural chivalrous acts of old.

He pulled out his camera and started taking random pictures of me while I continued to straddle his lap. I needed that, too. I needed everything he offered and agreed to that night simply because it made me happy. I have no regrets. I hope he got a strong dosage of his own kind of happiness as he indulged in me living out The Pleasure Principle.

I do not own the image used in this post

The Minds of Men

Sorry I left you without so much as a Dear John. I’ve been planning and strategizing the next moves I should make in my personal life along with writing here and there, tending to my not so wee ones, experimenting with my mane and matte lipsticks, trying my hand at sorta kinda dating, and well, just living. Anyhoo, I have a few male friends, and I find they are some of the most bluntly honest creations of God. As many similarities that exist among them there is an equal amount of differences as well in regards to hair, sex, recognition of freaks versus women that know how to freak, cunnilingus, sucking toes, blow jobs, and clothes. Yes, I pick their brains because as much as I love and adore men, I am not one. Let’s get into it, shall we?

On Freak-tastic-ness…I was alone with one of my pals, (*Lenny, age: mid 30s) and asked how he would feel if a woman blew him on the first date. I wanted to know if he would view her as a slut puppy or not. His response was, and I am paraphrasing here, “There is a difference between a freak and a woman that knows how to freak. If we’re out to dinner a movie or whatever and she just can’t keep her hands off me and keeps alluding to the fact that she wants to get down without me even having to try, I mean I don’t even have to kiss on her neck or anything, then I would label her a freak. That’s just how she gets down. I wouldn’t judge her, but she would be put on ‘that’ list. You know, the list you keep on standby for those nights when you’re bored and don’t have anything lined up.” Ladies, this list is akin to the ‘Break in Case of Emergency’ dick in a jar list. Some people love being on those lists, others, not so much. The second part of his answer was, “On the other hand, if we’re just vibing and the chemistry is right but I have to put in some effort in order to get her to ease some of her inhibitions and we end up doing what grown people do, then I would say she’s just a grown woman that knows what she wants and knows how to be a freak, but I assume this isn’t just commonplace for her. She won’t end up on ‘the list’ and could possibly be girlfriend potential.”

On Blowjobs, Toe Sucking, and Cunnilingus…I was out with three of them, and they were boring me with sports talk. If it isn’t about the Texans then I tune everything out. I am not a sports girl, per se, but I love my city. I rudely interrupted their conversation and asked if they sucked toes and why or why not.

*Tommy, age: early 30s: I do. Ain’t no thing. I’m a beast.

*Lenny: Nawl, I can’t get down with the toe sucking. That just ain’t my thing

*Marlon, age: older: No, I don’t.

I was surprised. For the most part these are very open-minded men that chop it up about everything under the sun. I naturally assumed toe sucking would be something they were game for. I then asked if they give face (Cunnilingus). I was certain they would all say yes. Needless to say, I was shocked!

*Tommy: Oh yeah. I’m a beast. I do it all, even break out the Halls (throat lozenges) on that.

*Lenny: Nawl. I mean, I gotta be on one to do that and I don’t be down there too long.

*Marlon: No. Y’alls generation just does stuff that was unheard of back in the day. Nobody did that kind of stuff when I was coming up.

*Tommy: They were doing it, y’all just didn’t know about it.

I had to agree with Tommy. People did it; they just didn’t vocalize it. I swear I was looking at Marlon and Lenny as if they were from another planet. In my head I was trying to figure out how they kept their women satisfied without, you know, putting their tongues in the honey pots. Not all women are into that, but the ones I know are far and few. Then we got on blowjobs. Well, those are unanimously appreciated around the table. So…they all want head, but not all are willing to give it in return. Selfish bastards. LOL. They even talked about how some (*Lenny) liked having the perineum licked while the other two not so much. To be fair, though, I know men that like to give but not receive.

On Clothes…They all agreed that they could appreciate the versatility of a woman that can switch up from pumps, pencil skirts, and suits to rocking sweats, Ts, and chucks effortlessly, and that confidence is key. *Lenny made a comment about some chick they all know. I don’t know her. He said she was ugly pretty or sometimes pretty. I can’t recall his exact wording. What he meant was some days she was a looker, and other days he would look at her sideways, like, damn, she ain’t that pretty today. I laughed so hard because men are just…men. They have opinions about things we would never think they thought about.

Of course my time with them would not be complete without them ragging on me. They called me spoiled simply because they were sitting at the bar and I politely asked if we could sit at a table. I just wanted to be able to see all their faces when we talked. I was also told that when I wasn’t dolled up I looked like an angry Black woman. What gives?! I always wanted an older brother growing up. Now I appreciate not having one. Men…gotta love ‘em