A Wasted Day??

Okay well damn. I have been in front of this fuckin' computer all damn day.
Well, I did go away for a little while when I got on my skates with BigSon, tryna teach him how to roller skate.My momma bought him some skates for his bday in January.
I had actually planned to go roller skating this evening, since it's usually family skate night..but since it's a holiday they're not open for the earlier hours.
I haven't been on skates in 3 years, and before that, in 6 years, and before that, 10 years +. I broke my ankle roller skating on the sidewalk when I was 12 years old. For many moons after that I was scared to skate.
6-7 years ago, I bought some more skates...and just hadn't gotten up the courage to go...
My ex went skating religiously every week.And I found out why: it's like the club up in the roller rink. Niggas hooking up and 'causing scandals and shit.
It's more than just family leisure and entertainment.
Back when I went skating with him, I was pregnant, so I was scared of busting my ass on my embryo/fetus.
Today, was cool, no fear, and I was actually steady. I'm going to need to practice to get back to being fluid, but I skated around the yard pretty well. BigSon has some learning to do, but he was a'ight.


Anyway...I guess I'm going to work an extra few hours in the next pay cycle so I don't disrupt my budget, so I can get my Ipod.
I seriously need one. I have completely filled up that memory card I bought (for my palm) with today's downloads. And it was empty before.
Best buy has a 30 gig Ipod for $349...and the F.M. transmitter (so I can listen to my music in my car) for $39.

Ah, here I come to join the ranks of the consumer gadget addicts. I already have this and that, now I'll be adding another. They serve a purpose I suppose.

Off now to cook dinner...for tomorrow. No cooking after coming in from work tomorrow, so I'll cook tonight. What was TONIGHT'S dinner??: Healthy Choice instant entrees.

It's Easter but and....I don't do bunnies and celebrate some commercial shit like that. Only for Christmas.

How trifling can you be?

To be a "baby's daddy" in the true sense of the word.

I looked up this word in the "Ghetto Dicshunnary"

Baby's (Baby) Daddy--n.--[ba be' dad' e]--one who contributes to a region's birth rate while depleting the region's capital resources due to non-support of resulting offspring.
synonym--deadbeat.


Why do I have any involvement with a baby daddy? My son's sperm donor is a deadbeat.
Pissed off because his checking account had been garnished, he called me a few weeks ago. He asked if I had an address for him to send some money to.
Yeah nigga, my P.O. Box hasn't changed. You know that. I'M the stable one.

I need to call my girl's man and initiate a search on his so they can pull any and all monies he owes. Fess up and pay up nigga.

Sometimes it snows in April

sometimes I feel so bad...sometimes I wish that life was neverending, but all good things they say never last...love isn't love until it's past.

I'm really depressed, I really premenstrual...they tried to kill me today at work.

Train this new person: we won't pay you extra, we won't give you any incentive (educational), but we'll sap you 'til you're dry and tired and can't think for yourself anymore. Oh, and here's MORE work.

I'm love-less, sex-less, money-less and tired. That makes me equal to 3/4 of the population of the US. Well, 3/4 of the declared population. All the illegal immigrants don't count. Really, they don't count them, can't count them. They don't want to be seen, until they need jobs, healthcare, or to sue you because their "rights" were somehow violated.

I work to pay bills....and I can't even get all those paid. We're just ordinary....*insert piano riff here*

Maybe it'll get better...maybe I'll just sleep...

"Ain't we never gonna see the light?? Ain't we got no shame?? Naw, we ain't got no shame??"

But you better act like you got some sense.

I like it, I REALLY like it

I used to keep a diary but I fell off long ago.

I used to write poetry, but my inspiration was sapped from me.

I used to have a vivid imagination for stories, though the mood had not struck me in long whiles.

Through his eyes, in his face, in my life, I've found the space to write again.

Again, I look within them, him, her, me, watching, interpreting, balancing out thoughts, wishing for in silence.

oooooooh, I'm going like it here.

My Birthday

Today I am one year older. In the tradition of many women, I may begin to turn back the clock; or at least freeze it. It's not a bad age but since 40 is the new 30, turning 31 means I'm going to have to really kick my own ass...because I'm supposed to only look 21? I'll settle for looking the way I looked at 25. I was pretty hot!!

Beyonce did NOT coin the phrase "bootylicious", I did. I will meet her in court to support and back it up. Bootylicious was the word that I'd coined to describe myself. Titty-plenty and bootylicious: me. Funny thing is that I first used the word on the internet, talking to a guy in Texas. Beyonce's from Texas: was she online reading my post? Or was I talking to her daddy??

When I was 19, I was even hotter: coke bottle shape, Serena had nothing on my thick, tight thighs, my ass was taut and round, boobs big and full. That led me to meet a man, well one of many, who LOVED my shape...he changed my shape by putting a bun in my oven.

When I was 25, I embodied the confidence of a woman who has borne a child, had regained my shape, and was on the grind, graduating college. I had two or three lovers at the same time. Scheduling was a bitch.

After college, I was working and traveling across this great country of ours, this U.S. of A. I traveled to the East Coast and I was embraced with open arms for my body. California is about Barbie sized broads. The East Coast/South East recognizes the beauty in ample hips, defined waist and full busom. I was a star! Got me into a little trouble, but fuck it, I wasn't married.

For a few years it was my season...until I met them. Two men: both with traits that I love in a man, even the same last name. One was no competition for the other, he was the total package. The other needed tweaking...and oh how I love to fix things and see the results of my work. I chose him, the fixer-upper. FUCK!! I should have heard the sound that they use on gameshows to indicate wrong answer; BUZZZZ!!!
He changed my shape, again. The result of that is snoring on the couch embodied in a big head, small body, expressive-eyed joy, who's only care in the world is Sesame Street and Barney...and his big brother.

Which brings me to my birthday. I'm two years out of that relationship, and thanking all that is holy that I did not marry that man. He would have been the male version of Lacey Peterson, only the pregnant woman would be killing the man.
I need to seriously rebuild myself from that relationship. My waist needs tucking, belly needs crunching, thighs need biking and walking. I can't be lazy anymore, and god am I lazy. But I'm no spring chicken anymore. Lord knows I don't want to look like some of these 25 year olds I see today: pot bellies, love handles, back/bra fat, jiggling things, in tight clothing. And some of those oafs have never given birth. There is no excuse for that shit.

I've never been tiny, though I've fantasized about it, only because I wished to be a ballet dancer. I've had that fantasy since I saw The Red Shoes when I was a little girl. I bought that on DVD the other day. I've always been shapely, thick, since I began puberty in my preteens: there went dreams of ballet. But now, I've gone overboard, I sympathize with Kirstie Alley; I know her pain. My excuse is two years old and he's actually my inspiration. He's lanky and fluid and lightly toned.

I'm 31 today. I can't be a wanna-be; I'm a need to be, gonna-be.

Break me off tonight...please

Here's the "other story" of "that's another story"....

Friday nite, I go on a meet and greet. This is a guy I've been corresponding with via email and some phone conversation since about October. We've kinda tried to get together before, but it just hadn't panned out: he wasn't available when I was, I wasn't when we was. Sometimes, I must admit, I didn't feel like being available.

So Friday, I did. I was scared. He'd seen me and I, him, in photos. Flesh and blood is an entirely different issue. I'm gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, cute, delicious (lol), depending on who's doing the description, but it's still all up to personal interpretation. He could have interpreted me as ugly [the horror!!].

I even went out shopping for something new, different to wear. Nothing fancy, just something new. Who am I kidding?? I wanted to shop anyway.

That night, he's running late and I'm running late. I get there before he does; he calls and says this L.A. traffic has got him, but he's coming. Since we're meeting near businesses, I take my liberty and stroll through my local record/video store. I buy a three DVDs, one of which is The Red Shoes.

He calls and says he's made it to the area, so I go meet him and we drive over to a walking spot. Here is where we actually see each other in person, outside vehicles. We hug, say our compulsory greetings and begin to walk. Casual conversation is had, and we gaze at the ocean and homes we aspire to one day attain. We sit on benches a couple of times and talk. Once we cuddled up, that is, he sat in front of me, leaning against me to brace me from the chilled breeze. It was nice and warm, nothing lewd or inappropriate. Good, neutral conversation.

We walk back. Mind you, while we've talked a lot, it's been nothing too personal. So there's a vibe that a connection is there, we just haven't crossed it yet. He even smacked me on my ass as I was ascending some stairs. Awkward is the exchange before a kiss, even if it's perfunctory. We arrive back at our cars and sort of stand there. We hug goodbye, but we're still both standing, waiting. I feel a kiss in the air, but it's not come down and grabbed either of us. So he walks me to my car, sees me inside, and kisses me on the lips. Nice lips. Then he closes the car door, but it bounces open: HE CLOSED THE DOOR ON HIS THUMB!!! We chuckle (he's not seriously hurt) and he closes the door again, with all body parts clear of the door. We've said we'll see each other again.

BUT I'M HORNY. I was horny when I met up with him. I wouldn't have had sex with him on that first date: it wasn't that kind of date. But we could have done some really wet, deep kissing. It wasn't that kind of date either.

Needing the release, I call my friend. This man is married. I've known he was married all along since we met, BUT the attraction overrode my sense. My friend and his buddy were trying to get together at one point. They never did: we did. The passion when we get together is...well, it's just lust. Lust is good, lust feels good.
My friend is doing his regular Friday night activity and I ask if he's willing and able tonight. He is. I go to meet him.
We hang out at the bar, among friends, one of which he'd brought with him. He asks his other buddy if he could give his "carpooler" a ride home. So he's all set to leave with me.
Not wanting to alert private eyes, watching him, he leaves ahead of me. Ah...the M-E-T-H-O-D of modern love, er, lust.

I waited 10 minutes and left after him. A man who's got it bad for me follows and tries to convince me to give him some time. He looks dejected that I don't, but I've got to go get mine!!
My friend and I had agreed that we're meeting at my place. I race home. He's not there. I call and the call goes straight to voice mail. Call again: voice mail.

I'm PISSED and HORNY. Fuck him!! No, really, I wanted to FUCK HIM!!
So I work one off for myself and go to sleep.


Today

I call him and ask, rather demand, to know what happened. I emphasize that I'm pissed. He says he's equally pissed: his buddy ("carpooler") ratted him out. Apparently carpooler called his own wife to pick him up even though the good buddy was going to give him a ride home. So Friend's wife calls him questioning his whereabouts. Since she's up and waiting, he's got to go home.

I remind him that it's my birthday today. He asks what I want and I tell him I want an MP3 player. However, he, personally, could substitute and will he be able to see me tonight? He says yes and we'll talk later. This conversation leads to the title of this entry.

My walls are throbbing so hard at the mere thought of his thickness, hardness, thrusting against me.

Call me wrong, call me a whore. Right now, I'm horny.

His asshole.

I'll ponder it. I've seen many things on the internet, but I've never, EVER had a man willingly show me his asshole. He was under the fantasy that I'd lick it, if ever either of us were to traverse 3000 miles and enter the other's real life consciousness.
He saw my picture on a dating site (yes, I internet date, not internet lick assholes) and was intrigued. He showed me his photo and he was gorgeous. So we began to talk, rather type. The conversation quickly turned to sexual matters. He called me delicious; said I looked so. He began to talk of the things he imagined he could do to me. I began to fantasize.
And why not? I'm not fucking anyone currently...I could have the other night, but that's another story.

So as he ran down the things he would do for me, and I gazed at one of his photos, I imagined what I could do to him. My words on the screen turned to what I would do if he were in front of me, and he asked if I wanted to see what I'd be working on. YES.
Oh, did I mention that he was on cam by this time? He tried to get me on cam but, though I am beautiful, I was not camera ready then. So he cam'd, I watched. He was every bit of what his photos looked like: Tall, athletic body type, Italian, dark haired, intriguing smile. Today, he hadn't shaved and looked really rugged and sexy.
Okay...so he stands up, his hairy chest, and hairy belly lead to a less hairy pubic patch. Then the undies come down over his tool. Impressive. yes. I'm no good with TV measurements, but he had to be 7 inches, SOFT and dangling! I gave him kudos on it: cut, no curve, ample to work with. He began to stroke himself standing in front of the camera and he got hard. He pressed it to his belly to show me his erect length: It made it to his navel with no problem. Then he turned sideways; approx 9 inches long. Are all Italian men like this? It wasn't exceedingly thick, but it could be a mouthful.
I so love to see a man stroke himself that I attempted to inspire him to continue pleasuring his tool. My words spoke of my mouth on his body and my hot breath engulfing him, licking and sliding over him. But he had plans for my imaginary mouth. He asked the question: Do You Lick Your Man's Ass?? Not wanting to stop the mood, I answered yes.
Well, I wasn't lying because I have licked my man's ass. My man's ass not some random man's ass. On seeing me type "yes", he was almost ecstatic. And he did it. He did the thing that I would not expect any straight man to do: he bent over and exposed his asshole to me. He didn't just bend over, he pulled his ass cheeks apart.
My mood was immediately lost.

We dallied on for a while longer, but by then, I was no longer enthralled by the prospect of this Italian Stallion (did I just say that?).

I can not get this man's pink asshole out of my head. And it wasn't puckered either, and that just leads to a few more questions.

I don't know. Maybe I just expected things be a little bit more traditonal, especially on a first- type-cam date. Heck, now there's nothing to save for the second-cam date.

Well, he hasn't seen me. He may get to see me, but he surely won't see my asshole.


If this is what internet dating is going to do for me...I think I'll be Lesbian.

But then again, that would mean I couldn't absolutely drool at another man I saw.

Nevermind.