The real-life adventures of a girl who is willing to try just about anything.

Monthly Archive: April 2012

TMI Tuesday – The Here & Now

This week’s TMI Tuesday questions ask about The Here & Now

1. Are you wearing any jewelry? What?
Only the captive-bead rings in my nipples. It’s rare that I wear jewelry other than those.

2. What are you listening to now?

A queue of my favorite podcasts: Sonic Erotica, It Girl/Rag Doll, Bedpost Confessions

3. What is the last piece of entertainment media (i.e., cd, download, book, DVD) that you purchased? Do you recommend it?

Last week I got the new Stephen King novel, The Wind Through the Keyhole, aka Dark Tower 4.5. I absolutely adore the DT series and would recommend it to anyone. I’m about 2/3 through this one and so far I really like it. 🙂

4. What kind of undergarments are you wearing right now? Care to post a photo?
Currently I am wearing a black Balconnette bra and a black slip, no panties.

5. What is your current mood?

As I am writing this at 10:30am on Monday morning, I am still sleepy. 

6. What is the best looking thing about you today?

My hair. It’s always my hair, every single day. I have fantastic, amazing, fabulous hair. I am unnaturally in love with my hair. 

Or my boobs. They’re always pretty great-looking also. 🙂
a nice shot of both

7. Fill in the blank. Tonight I’m looking forward to watching last night’s Mad Men and writing in my blog .

Bonus: Tell me something good…anything you want to share. Just do it.

If it wasn’t evident by my answer to #4, I am wearing a skirt with no panties today at work. This almost guarantees a #workwank later this afternoon. 😉 [edited later… mission accomplished!]

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

The unsexy side of sex

Last month a fellow sex blogger made a very brave post (which was removed after only a few hours at the request of her boyfriend, unfortunately) about her discovery that she had contracted genital warts. Understandably, her emotions ran the gamut: hurt, anger, embarrassment, fear, guilt. And most of all, shame. That was the part that really got me. So I reached out to her to share my story so she wouldn’t feel so alone. I sent her a very long email detailing my experiences. 

What follows is that email edited into a blog post. I’ve cleaned up the narrative a bit, and taken out a few things that were directed at her personally, but the general content remains the same. I’ve also tried to include links to facts and resources if you would like to look further for more information. My goal here is try to take some of the fear and shame out of these things, to try to de-stigmatize it as much as one person can.

Of everything I have shared up until this point and everything that will be shared after today, nothing as ever filled me with as much trepidation as sharing this.


Sinful Sunday – Melted again

Last night, I had an incredible hot wax session, the likes of which I haven’t had in years.

one T with sprinkles, please
adding in some black

each drip was like liquid fire

what you’re missing here are the great sound effects

scraping away the wax made me giggle

The goal was to cover my back with different colors and then cover those colors with a layer of black. She wanted to scrape through the black to the color like a crayon art scratch board. Unfortunately, the technique did not work as she planned. So—darn!—we’ll have to try it again in the future with a different technique.

Posted in participation with Sinful Sunday, hosted by Molly’s Daily Kiss.

Click below to see who else can be spread like butter this Sunday.

Other firsts…

This is a continuation of the post Losing It about losing my virginity. It was originally going to be called “Losing It and Other Firsts”, but that post became so long that I had to stop. Now I’m going to tell you about the first time I had sex and throw in a couple of other firsts while I’m at it.

At the time I lost my virginity, I had a boyfriend named Bo. He was my sister’s boyfriend’s best friend and one of the sweetest guys I have ever dated. He was a couple of years older than me, very tall, tan, and thin, and extremely soft-spoken and polite. I will never forget the sound of his voice or that he had eyes that reminded me of the ocean: blue-green on sunny days, gray when overcast. He worked as a deep-sea fisherman, going out on the boat for 4-5 days at a time and coming back for 2-3. On his days off, he would ride his bicycle the 10 miles from his house to mine to see me, even before I agreed to go out with him.
We had only been “going out” for a week when my deflowering occurred. He was out on the boat when it happened, but expected back a day later. I was racked with guilt and therefore told him about it as soon as I got the chance when I saw him again. I made him break up with me, although he didn’t want to. I just couldn’t live with myself because even then I knew how he adored me. I truly felt the same, despite my actions.
He never gave up trying to convince me that we should be together, still visiting me as often as he could. A few months later, he finally convinced me to give it another try. It wasn’t long before I fell completely, madly, head-over-heels in love with him. By that time, he’d gotten his car fixed and didn’t have to ride his bike to see me. He was the first guy with whom my mom ever let me leave the house, because she knew what a good guy he was. 
Bo never tried to push me or take advantage of me in any way. He always behaved himself like a complete gentleman. That is not to say that we didn’t fool around when we had the chance. I was quite the opposite of a perfect lady even then, as I am sure you might have figured out from my previous post. We would have long make-out and groping sessions whenever we were left alone.
Some amount of time before we had sex for the first time, he was the first guy to ever go down on me. I don’t remember much about it, whether it was good or bad. I do remember we were in my bedroom making out on my bed. (My parents had—shocker!!—left us at my house alone while they went to the grocery store.) I do remember him asking if he could kiss me “down there.” I won’t say I was aghast, but I was a bit taken aback. I don’t think I had ever thought about that before or even knew that people did that. He gently convinced me and finally I agreed. I was probably too nervous to really enjoy it, not least of all because I was afraid my parents (mainly my mom!) would be home soon.
When I eventually made him stop, he said to me, “Yours is the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.” I thought it was a really big deal, but my friends tried to tell me it just meant he’d been with a lot of girls. I’ve never taken it that way. He just wasn’t that type of guy.
The first time I ever had sex was Saturday, April 11, 1992. I remember the date exactly because it was Bo’s birthday and 4 days after my 17th birthday. I can recall the exact outfit I wore, down to the lacy bra and panties. I picked everything out especially for him. The outfit I wore was all-blue tie-dye. It was a new outfit and I’d washed my white bra and panties with it so that the color would bleed onto them and they would match. Blue was his favorite color.
My mom had baked a cake for him, and after we ate some we left to “go out” for the rest of the afternoon and evening. What we did was go to his place. He lived with his mom still, so we couldn’t go right to his bedroom. We sat in the living room and watched television for long enough to be semi-polite. Finally we could wait no longer, and excused ourselves to his room.
Like many other tales I have shared, exact details are lost with time, but some bits have always stuck with me. We listened to Metallica, the black album, on repeat (it was 1992, after all). We talked for a short while, then kissed and made out for a bit longer. He undressed me sweetly and slowly. Once we’d closed his bedroom door, nothing was rushed. When we were fully naked, I’d shivered with a chill and nervousness, and his voice was so full of concern for me. He pulled a blanket over the top of our bodies to contain our warmth.
Although it wasn’t his first time, he was nervous as well. He fumbled a bit with the condom. I accidentally hurt his feelings when he entered me, because I asked him if he was in yet. He looked completely deflated and replied, “You can’t feel that?” I was immediately embarrassed and apologized profusely trying to explain that what I’d meant was, “Are you all the way in yet?” because I had been holding my breath. He had not gone all the way in because he felt me tense up. He took it very, very slow for me. I remember “The Unforgiven” was playing.
What followed was 20 minutes of sweet, tender lovemaking. That’s how I’ve always remembered it. I didn’t climax (I wouldn’t learn how to do that during sex for years), but when he did he wrapped his arms around me, looked into my eyes, and told me that he loved me. I may have cried a little bit and definitely told him that I loved him, too. We laid in his bed for a while, just holding each other.
Afterward, we put our clothes back on, went out in the living room again and watched Highlander 2 (yes, I know that movie doesn’t count). I recall next to nothing about that movie, other than being curled up against him on the couch. When it was over, we returned to his bedroom to go for a second round.
That next go-around wasn’t as slow and sweet, nor was it as short. We went at it for about an hour. The first time killed all of our nervousness, so we were free to explore each other more. His hands, fingers, and mouth felt so good all over my body. Bo was a very skinny boy and when we were done, my inner thighs felt all beat up from the blades of his hip bones. They were tender for all of the following week.
I had to be home by midnight, so our time together drew to a close. We got dressed and he took me home.
Unfortunately, Bo and I were only able to have sex one more time, a week later. It didn’t go as well that time, as I was on my period. I was grossed-out by the thought, but he convinced me it was okay. I got in two more firsts that day: first period sex and first doggy-style. However, I was unable to get past the blood, so we stopped and just cuddled instead.
Things got very hectic for him not long after that. His poor old 1979 Ford Granada died again. He got into a huge fight with his alcoholic mother. They had always fought a lot, but that fight was enough to finally drive him to go live with his dad far on the other side of town. He rode his bike to see me one last time. He said we had to break up for a while because he didn’t know when he would be able to see me. He didn’t think it would be fair to me to leave me hanging like that. I was heartbroken, but I understood. We cried together as we shared our true love vows. He promised he would be back for me one day and that if I decided to move on but found him again in the future, he would leave anyone in the world for me. It was one of the saddest kisses in my life when we parted.
I saw him exactly once after that, for less than 5 minutes. It was a few months later on the 4th of July. I’d gone to the beach with my mom and sisters for the Independence Day festival and fireworks. He’d ridden his bike 10 miles from his mom’s house to mine, only to discover I wasn’t at home. My dad had stayed behind and thus told him where we were. So then he rode the 7 miles from my house to the beach and searched the throngs of people for an hour to find me. He just wanted to tell me that he still loved me and missed me. Then he had to leave me again.
By a strange twist of fate, I finally had sex with Chuck for the first time later that night.

TMI Tuesday – S-E-X again!

This week’s TMI Tuesday questions are on a subject near and dear to our hearts (and some other body parts, too). It’s all about SEX!…Yes, again.

1. What is your sexual personality?
a. The Controller – initiating sex, twisting your lover into positions you want, and driving scene play by play
b. Sex Slave – You love to be used and at the mercy of your lover. You don’t initiate but follow and do as you are told. You love to be used.
c. Daredevil – Sexual adventure and sexual thrills are what you are all about. You get off on the risk factor.
d. Subdued – Sex is a necessary part of the relationship so you are available when needed.

Every option here but D! I am anything but subdued when it comes to sex. The role I play largely depends on my mood, and His. Sometimes, I like to be in control. Sometimes, I give myself over to His power and do whatever he wants. And I am almost always up for adventure, thrills, and risk!
2. How many times have you sneaked away from party guests to have sex in another part of the party venue. Where did you sneak to? Were you ever caught? For example, at a wedding reception you sneaked to have sex in the coat room. At a party, you sneaked to have sex in a bathroom or closet.
I am very sad to say I don’t think that this has never happened for me. At least, not secretly. There have been at least a couple of times where I have left the main party with one or two other people to start our own little party elsewhere in the house. But it was never a secret, and we were always hoping that someone noticed and chose to join us. Or watch, if they didn’t participate.

3. Your sex partner that you are mad crazy for has requested you do one of the following, which one would you grant consent to do:
a. Bondage/light restraint with your hands, legs tied while having sex
b. A sexual spanking that leaves light marks
c. Record the two of you having sex
d. Have sex in a mirrored room where you can see yourselves having sex from every angle

Only one of the following?? Can I just say here what a dream come true it would be for all of the above to happen at the same time?? Except, can we remove “light” from A and B?? And maybe add in a few more people? Ohhh yeahhh… now we’re talkin’! 😉

4. Do you act out your sexual fantasies (select one)? Why?
a. I act out all of my fantasies.
b. I act out many of my fantasies.
c. I act out some of my fantasies.
d. I act out very few of my fantasies.
e. I don’t act out any of my fantasies.
f. I don’t have any fantasies.

My true answer here is probably F but mostly because of A. When I decide that I’d like to do something, I work toward making it happen. So far in my life there has only been ONE fantasy that has yet to be realized (short of anything involving a celebrity or someone I have yet to actually meet in person): I’ve never been with two men at once and consequently have never been double-penetrated by two live cocks. This is not to say that I’ve done it all, by any means. I have just really almost always had a satisfying enough sex life that I never felt the need for fantasies. However, recently I have begun to understand the appeal and have started to work on fantasizing a bit more. 🙂

5. How important is sex in your life (select one)?
a. I could hardly survive without it.
b. It is very important.
c. It is somewhat important.
d. I could live without it.
e. If it were up to me, sex wouldn’t even exist!

There is no question that the answer here is A. I am a very sexual person, and while I did at one point choose to abstain for almost FOUR YEARS, I would never willingly live without it again.

Bonus: Finish the following phrase.

Sex is    by far my favorite pastime    .

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to the TMI Tuesday blog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Epic weekend: How he broke me, finale

[While each stands alone, including this one, you may want to catch up on parts one and two first.]
“It’s your turn now,” he said.
My heart skipped a beat at his tone. Of course I hadn’t forgotten that I’d asked him if I could be next. I just got a bit wrapped up in my scene with Tammy. I wasn’t expecting him to be right there, waiting to work my flesh. I giggled and shivered with anticipation. 
He stepped over to the array of implements laid out on the table from where I had just used them. Up until this point, he had only ever spanked me with his hand, except for the night of Valentine’s Day when he used my two floggers on me. Tonight I had added selections from a friend’s toy bag, so I briefly described the finer points of each and suggested an order in which they could be used. It was the same order I used them on Tammy, going from light and soft to heavy and hard.
Once his questions were answered, I asked him how much he wanted me to strip. He said I could go as far as I was comfortable. I took off everything but my stockings and my panties, stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, and turned toward the Cross. He didn’t bind me to it, I just leaned against it with my arms crossed in the V. I rested my chin on my arms, sighed contentedly, and waited for his lashes to begin.

He began as I had suggested, with the small black and blue suede flogger with twisted tails. I like this flogger for warming up, as I mentioned previously. Since it is very light, it offers more of a sting than a thud, which is my preferred flogger sensation. However, the stings made fast work of waking up the skin on my back, shoulders, and ass cheeks, although he did not use it for long as the weight was not to his liking. 

He skipped over the unwieldy bungee flogger and went for the purple and black buckskin instead. I loved the way each swing caressed my skin and left behind the slightest sting, but it was also not heavy enough for me. Even if he put his full force into it, he would never be able to hit me hard enough. That being said, each lash I received released tension in my neck and shoulders, relaxing me more and more. If it was a skill that I possessed, I would’ve begun to purr then.
After using the buckskin flogger up and down my back and across my cheeks for a while, he still was not satisfied. He put it to the side and reached for the tool that is the best extension of his arm: my heavy black suede flogger. While Big Green is my favorite for the sheer weight and force behind the tails, this flogger is the personal favorite of my collection. I love to use it on others and I discovered on VD that I love it to be used on me as well. Each swing is the perfect combination of thuddy blunt force and stinging bite. Although he never would, I believe that if he hit me hard enough, this flogger could break my skin and draw blood. 

A few strikes in, the first of many moans escaped my lips. I lifted my head from my arms so that I could uncross and wrap them around the upper arms of the cross, gripping them lightly. The best part of our session had finally begun. I was completely warmed up and my flesh yearned for for more. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Everything beyond me, him, the flogger, and the Cross pressed against my body ceased to exist. I alternated between melting into the wood and pushing myself away from it, to meet his strikes halfway.

It was not long before my skin was tender and extremely sensitive to even the most delicate touch. During a short break in his rhythm, he came in close behind me, grabbed one of my pigtails and pulled my head back so that he could kiss me. The touch of his soft, sensual lips on mine after the bite of the leather was such a contrast that it took my breath away. As he kissed me, he trailed his fingertips and nails across my back. My whole body shuddered as I moaned. I felt wetness drip out of my cunt to soak my panties. He let go of my hair and my head lolled forward. My chin nestled once again in the upper V of the Cross as he continued my beating.
Not long after that I guess he decided then that I’d had enough flogging (which is practically never possible), because the next thing I felt was a sharp sting on my ass. I didn’t know what it was, but it hurt like hell! For the first time I really flinched. Our scene took a definite turn from there. Before that moment, while there were some painful strikes, for the most part it was very warm and relaxing to me. This was altogether different. Instead of pushing my ass out to meet his strikes, I was pulling away from them. I went from lightly gripping the Cross, to grasping it, and digging my fingers in with each lick. My breathy moans became loud groans and cries. The first tears started to gather in my eyes and a few spilled over.

I don’t know how long he continued with what I only later discovered were just the tails of my favorite flogger (it FELT like a single tail!!!), but he stopped only long enough to quickly change implements. Next came a hard smack with my leather paddle. I didn’t have to look back to see what it was; I could tell by the sound it made. Again, this was an implement I loved using on others, but hadn’t had much experience receiving. My ass was on fire by this point and each firm slap only accentuated it. I tried to turn my cheeks away, but he planted his hand against the center of my back to hold me in place while he paddled me extensively.

I love seeing stars

A short time later, he lifted his hand and stepped away for a moment. I was trying to catch my breath when I was distracted by cries of real agony elsewhere in the dungeon to my right. I stole a glance in that direction to see if I could determine the source. My eyes were met by the asses of two young girls bent over a table. Blood was flowing freely down their cheeks. Instantly I became woozy at the sight and turned my head away. In addition I felt like a complete wuss for thinking the trials of my own ass were bad. Little did I know how much worse they were going to get.

My torture began in earnest then, as Roland was right there again, this time with the riding crop in his hand. As if he had radar to guide him, he set to smacking me with the crop all of the spots that hurt the worst, also targeting my super-sensitive, soft inner thighs. My tears leaked in abundance then, wetting my cheeks even as my pussy felt as if would flood. I writhed and jerked as he used the cane portion across the backs of my thighs and calves. When I danced from one foot to another, he immediately brought the crop down on the soles of my feet. Without actually leaving the cross, I tried to move my body as far away from him as possible, to free myself from the endless litany of his strikes.

What happened next is a moment that will be forever frozen in time in my heart and mind. I cannot imagine that the perfection of that one instant can ever be equaled. Thinking of it right now, more than two months later, sends shivers down my spine, blankets my skin in gooseflesh, and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Roland stepped close enough that his body was against mine but barely touching. He put one hand on the back of my neck, leaned in to my ear, and uttered a barely-audible, single word, “Behave.”

With no hesitation whatsoever, I halted all movement. My tears stopped. Where my nerves had previously felt jangled by the pain I was undergoing, they were stilled. My pulse slowed and my breath eased. I calmly leaned against the Cross as I had in the beginning. Not an ounce of tension remained in my entire body. It was like I was a terribly wrinkled shirt that had been smoothed all at once. I have never in my life experienced anything like it.

I could not tell you a single thing about what he did to me after that. There’s no way for me to even begin to guess how much longer I remained on the Cross. All I remember is that eventually he was done. I only knew it was over when he came up behind me, turned me around, and enveloped me in his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder and I felt like I was home.

He held me and comforted me for some time and then tilted my chin up to face him. He tenderly kissed my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, and finally my lips. He squeezed me tightly.

I started to shiver then, not with desire, but with cold. The world around me came back into focus and I realized I was standing mostly naked in the middle of a warehouse. I was also getting dizzy. “I need to sit down.”

Roland gently escorted me to a nearby couch after first grabbing a towel for me to sit on and a blanket to wrap around me. (The Woodshed is excellently supplied for aftercare and comfort.) He asked if I would like a cup of coffee and I only nodded, as I was not quite yet capable of speech. He returned in no time and I gladly accepted and sipped the hot liquid. I was a happy puddle of girl.

When I’d mostly recovered a few minutes later, I saw that he was protectively standing a few feet away, watching a fire-cupping scene at a nearby table. (Something I tried a bit later, but didn’t care for. A tale for another time.) I looked up at him and I felt that everything about my countenance exuded love. He finally looked down and noticed. With an embarrassed grin, he inquired, “What’s that face for?”

“This face?” I said, circling a finger around my visage. “You don’t recognize this face?” Again I circled.

“No, what is that?”

“This is my ‘worshiping you’ face, Sir,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?”

When I nodded to the affirmative, he told me to prove it. I asked how and he pointed to the floor in front of him. I was on my knees before him faster than he could blink an eye. I beamed up at him from my new lower vantage point.

He pointed to his feet. “Kiss them,” he commanded.

Without sparing a second’s thought about it, I leaned down and lovingly kissed each of his shoes. Never before had I publicly, or even privately, given myself over so willingly and completely to another. I had been broken. For the first time in my life, I felt owned. I felt like I belonged to someone. I felt like I belonged with someone. I felt whole.

[In case you missed it, he gave his perspective as well.]

Wanton Wednesday – For her

So far I have 3 recordings under my belt. Two were recorded as gifts for Harper Eliot, the first of which is hers to do with as she pleases. On Saturday I posted the third. Today I am giving you the second, because she agreed that it must be shared. Or in her exact response to my request for posting it, “The morning wake up? Hell yes. More people need to hear your fabulous words from your fabulous mouth.” Considering that I would swear honey drips from her lips when she speaks, that compliment put me over the moon.

At any rate, perfect for Wanton Wednesday is my reading of the Twitter seduction of/for this same delightful, delicious, deviant lass.

For her

Posted in participation with Wanton Wednesday, hosted by Dangerous Lilly.
Click below to see who is being seductive this Wednesday.

TMI Tuesday – Illicit skills

The questions at the TMI Tuesday blog have always been hit or miss with me. This week’s questions unfortunately count as a miss for me (the answer to all of them is no), except for the bonus question, which I like a lot.

Bonus: Have you ever been paid for your sexual skills? What skill(s) did you perform?
I have never been explicitly paid for any service, although it’s often said that we all pay for it in one way or another. 😉 You know, go out to a nice dinner and then maybe a movie afterward. Or you go out to a bar or nightclub and buy someone a few drinks. In the courtship/dating stage anyway. After you’re locked into a relationship, either formally in marriage or otherwise, you pay for it in many other ways: gifts, sacrificing your free time, etc.
However, there was a time in my life where I seriously considered sex for pay. Okay, truthfully, I have considered it many times in my life because I love sex and the only way I could love it more is if I was getting paid for it! Even when I was a young girl I thought about it. I can remember back in the 80s one time when my mom was watching a made-for-tv movie starring Loni Anderson about a high-class call girl. I was excited by the idea of getting paid for sex, even back then, long before I’d ever actually started having sex. My mom had said to me that she wouldn’t mind doing it herself, if she could be a high-class call girl. She would never want to be a streetwalker, she said, because that’s dangerous. I can admit that even that part appealed to me. In hindsight I can see I’ve always had those darker desires, but never understood them until I was older.
Back to the question at hand: About 10 years ago I met a man online and through his dogged persistence over a few months I finally agreed to meet him and have lunch. We agreed ahead of time that he would buy me lunch and I would suck his cock afterward. I’m sure he wanted much more, but that is all I was comfortable with at the time. Our first lunch was at Bennigan’s on my meal break from work and I blew him in the backseat of his car in the parking lot behind the restaurant. And so began our infrequent lunch date tradition, of sorts. Lunch and “dessert.”
A few years later, I was going through some very tough financial difficulties. I was going to school full-time and was having a hard time finding even a part-time job that wouldn’t completely hose my school schedule. My situation was getting rather desperate. I was behind on all of my bills and rent. My roommate bailed on me. My car broke down. We were running out of food. And did I mention that I was a single parent? It was like I was living a bad country song. 
One afternoon I was talking with my lunch date friend and he offered a solution. He would set me up with some buddies of his. I would suck their cocks for $50/each. Now, not being a patron of the world’s oldest profession, I do not now nor did I then know what the going rate for a blow job was. He told me $50 was pretty expensive but he insisted to his friends that I was worth every penny. I can’t say I disagreed, then or now. As badly as I needed the money, I never went through with it. I felt that it was a very slippery slope, and not one that I wanted to attempt to circumvent. Essentially I know that I am lazy and it would be really easy to move from blow jobs to more. That is not the example I wanted to set for the child in my care. Not that I hold any judgment against those that do. It’s just not the right path for me.

Also while on the subject, I thought I’d share an anecdote from a time I was offered money. This is copied directly from my LiveJournal and was originally posted March 5, 2005. 🙂

[Quick note: The neighborhood I lived in back then wasn’t the best. There were some apartments literally next door to my house that had been raided by the DEA at least once, and that’s where this guy lived. I’d had a few other incidents with him (most notably asking me if I could watch a puppy for him for “15 minutes” that turned into 24 hours wherein I had to hunt him down, only to find him sitting on the steps smoking a rock), and he was really mostly harmless.]

The Crackhead Chronicles, Episode IV

Tonight’s crackhead story beats them all.

Earlier, around 11:30pm, I went out with my best friend to go to a couple of her offices because she had to drop some stuff off and pick some other stuff up. We got home about 1am. She came inside for a few minutes and then I walked her to the door. As she is getting in her car, who do I see approaching from the apartment steps next door? None other than our friendly neighborhood crackhead. She is in her car in my driveway with the engine running but of course waits to see what’s going to happen, if I am going to need assistance or if I am in any kind of danger.

Dude asks me how it’s going and stuff, what’s been up. I say it’s been alright and shit. Then he tells me that he has something beautiful he wants to show me and talk to me about, something good, but not with her still there. He wants to wait for her to leave. She pulls out of the driveway and right about that time my phone rings. I tell him I have to go answer the phone and he should go. He said he really needs to talk to me and that I should go answer the phone and he’ll wait. So I go inside and lock the door and try to grab the phone. I missed the call but checked the caller ID. Of course it was her and she immediately called back. I told her that he was still out there waiting.

I go back to the door while talking to her on the phone. He’s all mumbling that he doesn’t want her to hear but he wants to ask me something. So I tell her to hold on and lower the phone to my waist. It’s really hard for me to understand what he’s saying to me because he’s talking really low and basically mumbling. Now, dear readers, after finally understanding what he was getting at, I am really terribly sorry that I am not able to transcribe the whole conversation because it would’ve made the whole incident 1000% more enjoyable than I’m sure it’s already going to be. What I did get was something like this:

him: Do you like coke?
me: No, I don’t do ANY drugs. [yeah, right]
him: Yeah, I do remember you telling me that now. You don’t even drink, do you? [complete bullshit, we’ve never had anything remotely close to this conversation before.]
me: No, not really, I don’t do anything.
him: [I think this is what he said] Hey, listen, can I step in and out for a minute?
me: What? NO, you can’t come inside.
him: C’mon, I’ve got $50.
me: No, you’re not coming in this house.
him: Well, we don’t have to go in there, you can come to my place.

[Now it really dawns on me what he’s getting at.]

me: Uh, no.
him: I can give you $50.
me: No man. No.
him: How much then?
me: No way, that’s just not cool. I’m not down with that at all.
him: I don’t mean any disrespect or anything. You know I really dig you, right? You’re kinda fine and all. I don’t mean any disrespect.
me: No, seriously. That’s not cool, I’m not down with that. If this is what this conversation is about, you just need to go and please don’t come back around again.
him: Aight, it’s cool. I’m sorry. I’ll holla at ya.

Then I went inside, double-locked the door loudly and started talking loudly into the phone to let him know I was still on it. My best friend drove back by to make sure he was gone and he was nowhere to be seen.

To sum it all up for you in case you didn’t catch it: I got fucking propositioned for paid sex by a fucking crackhead!!!

After thinking about it for a minute, I was almost honored and let me tell you why. Consider that your average crack rock costs about 20 bucks. He was willing to give up at least 2-3 crack rocks to be able to fuck me. It that some high-priced ass or what??? Hear that ya’ll??? A fucking crackhead was willing to give up his rock to be with me. Him paying me. Not him offering to fuck me or blow me for money to buy rock. Have you ever known a crackhead? I have. I’ve lived with one for several months. This supposedly “straight” man whored himself out to all kinds of nasty men so he could get his crack. Ol’ crackhead D wanted to do just the opposite. How beautiful is that?

Goddamn I must be hot. “[I’m fine] like a black woman. [I] got a black woman’s ass.”* I’ve got serious junk in the trunk. I’ve got the bodacious gadong-a-dong-dong**. JLo ain’t got shit on me. This shit ain’t lined in gold muthafucka. This shit is lined in PLATINUM!!!

I think Imma take my fine ass to bed now. Holla!

*Direct quote from a black guy hitting on me one night at the Landing.

**Courtesy of Urban
1. A fine ass worth watching, and possibly exploring later.
2. For a larger ass, simply add more “dong” on to the end.
3. From the Missy Elliot song “Work It”.
4. If you didn’t know already, Missy Elliot is from P-Town (VA).
“and you think you can handle this ga-dong-a-dong-dong”
Supa Fly:
“dammmmmmmmmn she got the gadong-a-dong-dong-DONG goin on!”

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