It’s perfectly okay to have someone’s penis, fingers, and tongue in every orifice of your body but NOT okay to question them about their sex life outside of you. It’s easy to remain emotionally unavailable because when one can’t deal with it there is a harem waiting and vying for the attention and couldn’t care less about the ‘real’ you. ‘Friends’ has become synonymous with cut buddy. Having endless options leads to making no decision as long as a handful are always down for sexing. Labeling limits what ‘could’ be. Half truths and lies by omission are strewn about to avoid hurting feelings. Don’t ask, don’t tell, but the truth blares even when there are no words being spoken. I want it all, your all. Your good, bad, shallow, deep, beautiful, horrid, ambrosial, stench, tasty, gag inducing. I want you, your whole truth, your whole you, you solely, your soul with no other soul ties.

Nymph and Pegasus

I absolutely suck at dating. I always have. I’m witty, playful, and sarcastic with a seemingly endless supply of suitors, but I don’t play games. I’m always honest about what I want and how I feel, and I don’t enter into any relationship lightly and casually. I am looking for possession. I want pure intimacy and to totally merge with and consume my lover. Yes, I’m intense. In return though, I am extremely loyal, trustworthy, honest, and devoted. Maybe this has something to do with my Venus sign being in Scorpio.


I view people as investments, and I am pushy when it comes to encouraging others to follow their dreams and ambitions and utilizing natural talents. I will invest my time, attention, resources, honesty, concern, and love into the people I care about and believe in. This is why I prefer labels. I need to know my boundaries so I don’t overstep them, and having boundaries allows me to gauge how much of myself and my resources I should invest in a person. I don’t want to waste my emotions and time trying to build something with someone that either doesn’t appreciate it or simply doesn’t want it. Be upfront and honest with me about exactly what it is you want from me, be it just a friend, a potential relationship, someone to kick it with occasionally, a bennie, etc. Let me decide whether or not I want to be that. I am very content allowing men to take control and define what we are, but if they fail to, then I define things on my terms.

I have heard and read many times that insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly yet expecting different results. I keep falling for the tall, handsome, GQ-ish, crown royal on ice kind of man. You know, the suave nicely dressed ones that make you the envy of all women when you are draped across their arms. They are kind and generous, bold, authoritative with commanding presences, lavish their beautiful women with compliments, attention, and affection. Admittedly, I love having a bold but charming lover I can show off. I bask in the reflected glory of such. I blame my Mars being in Leo for this. I consider these men my equals, and well, we look damn good together. Men want to be them, and women want to be me. Their boldness and charm match mine, and their authoritativeness awaken my need for a partner that can challenge yet subdue me. They can hold their own intellectually and respect my free spiritedness, intellect, and independence. The problem with men like this and me is that I don’t like playing second fiddle or sharing my toys.

I never assume I am the only woman these men are seeing unless we have agreed to monogamy, but once I find out for sure they are seeing other women, I bounce, or at least remove some form of privilege from the relationship, which is usually my open playfulness and/or sex, leaving things more cerebral than before. I’d rather be celibate than knowingly share. Yes, I have a big ego, but more than that I am totally genuine and don’t have more than one sex partner at a time. I suppose I expect the same in return. The thought of kissing someone’s lips that may have been on another woman’s honey pot just hours before literally disgusts and pisses me off. It’s all about reciprocity for me.

Yes, I am an oxymoron of a woman in many ways. What I essentially am holding out for is one I can give all of me to, one that can really appreciate my deep sensuality as well as my mind. Once I am secured there is hardly anything I wouldn’t do, give, or try to keep things the way they should be. I always gauge the temperature of the relationships in order to know what needs to be injected or subtracted to keep a sexy flow and balance of harmony and passion going. Maybe this nymph is hoping for her personal Pegasus to ride into realms and dimensions unexplored and live like the gods we are. I’m a dreamer with big faith, but I’m far from a myth. I’m the real thing.

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Islands of Pretense

Ain’t nobody trying to impress y’all. I know that sentence is all kinds of grammatically incorrect, but those are my feelings. Anybody that knows me well knows that I don’t habitually bash men and will go to bat for them on various issues. I don’t know about other women, but THIS woman is tired of the stereotypes in regards to honesty, integrity, keeping up appearances, accountability, what we want out of relationships, and countless other issues.


Men say they want honest women, yet when we are honest with them, they rarely ever believe it. Before I get into it, though, I just want to say I hate the J. Cole line, “She say she only f*ck like 4 or 5 n*ggas, so you know you gotta multiply by 3.” If I tell you my number you need only multiply by 1, or you could simply believe what I tell you. I really hate when men automatically assume a woman is lying about the sensitive things, or anything for that matter, simply to save face. I know things like number of sexual partners can be deal breakers for some people. The truth has a way of always surfacing, and I don’t want any man to be with me under pretenses. I have no need to fudge my numbers or anything else. It is exactly what it is. If it’s something you can’t or won’t deal with, then you are free to move around. No hard feelings. Some of us don’t care to indulge in the games of “Oh! Let me lie to him so he doesn’t see that I’m flawed!” or “Let me make him think I’m something other than what I really am!” Ain’t nobody got time for those shenanigans. I believe most things are black and white even when there are multiple sides to the issues. Bottom line, you either do or don’t, will or won’t, can or can’t. We’re all adults with free will.

I usually have an idea in mind about the direction I want most of my relationships to go. If monogamy happens to be on the agenda, then I bring it up. I like to always know where I stand, and I reciprocate that with others. There were times when I have told a man or two that I would prefer we be exclusive but only when they were ready. I give no ultimatums and play no games in matters of the heart. I love very deeply and am very loyal. I also let them know that I won’t wait forever for them to be ready and will be gone if they take too long. This takes place only after I have analyzed and determined whether or not we can be beneficial to one another. Understandably, this sounds like a business partnership, and in many ways it is, with great sex and friendship being ultimate bonuses. I don’t want a man simply to say I have one or because he happens to be sexy, cute, attractive, etc. My goal is to be your partner and helper. By the same measure, I don’t want to be wanted simply because I am found to be attractive. I have no qualms bringing my talents to the table. Tell me what you want or need done, how you want it, and I will get to work on it. When you succeed I succeed as well. I want to be proud of you and don’t want a man I can’t assist in some facet. I need to feel useful for something other than sex, cooking, cleaning, and making babies. Those things are easily attained.

I was listening to a Youtube cast thingie hosted by two guys I’ve met. The subject was about accountability. They went in on women, claiming most don’t take responsibility for their actions preferring to elude accountability. I had mixed feelings about the show and was even a little miffed at some of the opinions, but I can understand how they came to their conclusions. This post was somewhat inspired by that show. I’ll place the link below. The audio isn’t suitable for work.

We make things too complicated trying to either be what we think others want us to be or trying to decipher if others are what we think they are. Honest and genuine people get shirked in the process and lost in the shuffle of pretenders and cynical pessimists. Perhaps we could all benefit from strong dosages of spiritual discernment in order to dismantle the islands of pretenses that we have possibly become and project.

I do not own the image used in this post

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

Love Begets Love

It was a balmy and rainy but refreshingly clear night in May. I drove over to his place, and he greeted me at the door. I walked in and took my shoes off as he closed the door behind me. He proceeded to gift me with one of those hugs that only he could give…sensual, gentle yet firm, and makes the receiver feel wanted and needed. With my shoes off he towered over me, so that made me feel as warm and secure as a baby in its mother’s womb. He pleasured my lips with a kiss that came standard with his hugs, which lingered for what seemed like lost moments in eternal bliss before softly kissing the side of my neck and ushering me over to his black leather couch.

I sat on the couch, and he sat on the floor between my legs facing away from me. I draped my toasted almond colored legs over his shoulders. He rubbed my legs and commented on how soft they were as I leaned over and hugged him, kissing his cheek before sitting back into a lazy upright position. My hands mindlessly caressed his head as we chatted about work, the weather, our children, and anything else that effortlessly came to us. I suggested we make love on his patio, but we eventually decided against it, as the neighbors would see us. At that moment he leaned back deeply, placing all of his weight between my thighs and lightly squeezed my calves. “This is what I need.” He said. “This is what I need to come home to after work. Peace, a beautiful woman, and sitting between soft thighs. It gets so hard out there traveling back and forth and coming home to nothing.” He grunted softly before squeezing my legs again, standing up, and leading me into his bedroom where he kindly removed my clothing, laid me down, and unselfishly and passionately made love to me, taking care to always be aware of me.

I tried to deny I loved this man, but it was to no avail because he reminded me of the simplicity of my past, power of my present, and the hopeful coolness and peacefulness of my future. With him I learned that it’s okay love someone else without it leading to marriage and that loving someone else as passionately and purely as you love yourself is not a crime. I ultimately learned to live in the moment and to not fight what I feel/felt. It’s what makes us human, and vulnerability is what makes us attractive. Never underestimate the powers of denial and familiarity. The harder you fight the feelings the stronger they become because, well, it’s a form of deceiving yourself. You can lie to anyone in the world, but never lie to yourself.

Yes, my heart still skips a beat and smiles when I see his face and my vagina weeps bittersweet tears in remembrance of being his lover, but I also know what I need now. I need friendship, intimacy, the freedom to be my dorky self, and someone that looks at me with pure smitten adoration that is always aware of me. I still love him even though our status is no longer ‘lovers,’ rather now it is that of ‘friends.’ He still calls me Claudine because I can never shut my brain off, and I call him Roop because he runs away when feelings get too real. I learned to love without losing myself, and he learned how to simply love. We were both teachers and students of love at the hands of each other. I happily walk away knowing I have his admitted love for me because love makes everything better, especially friendships. I said all that to say, stop being selfish with your love and trust God with your heart. Life is so much sweeter that way. The heart is never safe no matter how protective you are of it because it deceives even itself. Drop the superhero capes and bask in the rich simplicity of just being. Only God truly knows the heart anyway.

Secret Lover Never Loved

I take full responsibility for my heartbreak. You never asked me to love you, trust you, nor care about you. You never even asked me for a relationship, let alone my heart. Always the secret lover, but never loved. Body of a goddess, mind of a philosopher, heart of pure love, and spirit of a nurturing mother, but always the one left in the dark while lesser deities are flaunted in public. Maybe there’s a sign on my forehead that reads sucker for love with an amazing vagina, or maybe it reads will love for affection. I’m what you say you want. I’m strong and independent, but I never make you feel as though I don’t need you. I let you know you’re wanted and desired with every breath I take. Not just sexually, but in every way a woman can want a man. I have no hidden motives when it comes to you. You know this. I lay my vulnerabilities right there on the table. Showed my cards the moment I realized I loved you. I hold nothing back. Wait…maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t play the game right because, well, I don’t play games. Maybe I should saddle up next to the whores and manipulators that can get men to buy them anything and cheat on good women for moments of freaked out pleasure. Maybe I should have been everything you say you hate in women…loud, obnoxious, angry, scene causing, crazy deranged bitch with a mean shoe game.


I'm not done with this piece yet, and I don't know where I'm going with it, but this is what I got off the top of my head. I am working on spoken word pieces.