Adventures of a College Educated Misfit part 13

On New Years...

I'd like to point out that its funny that this post happens to be the 13th one when its on New Years 2013 haha.

Anyways....

I hate the fakeness. I hate those people that act like they gonna be different and shit cause it's a new year. Ain't shit finna Change. And if it do. it should be a better you not a new one. People use the new year to change people's past opinions bout them. But as a misfit I gotta keep It real... And if I didn't like your ass in 2012 then don't expect shit to change now. Ain't shit change but the year in the date. I ain't with that fake shit.

Now it's a blessing that we have made it to 2013. It's awesome. But don't be actin like shit done changed. Don't act brand new. Don't act like ya baby daddy is gonna come back in your life. Don't act like you gonna finally hit the lottery and get out the projects. Ain't nothing gonna change because it's a new year unless you make it happen and the new year has nothing to do with it.

Now I'm not gonna keep ranting, but the point is: don't forget how shit was 40 minutes ago because the situation you in is still the same damn situation. Just deal
with the shit!

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 12

....On Being Hurt

As we all know, and have probably experienced, there is a vicious cycle when it comes to finding love these days. Not familiar with it? Well let me build the scenario [I love doing these hypothetical situations]:

Susan, a beautiful woman with morals and respect seeks to find love. One afternoon, she meets Joe. Susan and Joe start dating, and become quite serious. However, Susan fails to realize that Joe is an ain't sh*t dude, and winds up being cheated on....six times. Now bitter and broken, Susan vows to get revenge, and when she meets Bobby, she does to him what Joe did to her. Subsequently, Bobby is now broken, and well, the cycle continues.

Sad, but true, this is all too common within today's society. We find it hard to trust anyone, simply because we fear the hidden agenda they might possess. We're worried that the feelings really aren't mutual, and that Cuffin Season has claimed us as a victim. So, we walk on egg-shells and will exit stage left at the first inkling of trouble in paradise....OR we lash out any anyone we think is trying to deceive us, operating on a "Imma get you before you get me" mindset. This is what I'd like to talk about....

I'm a misfit, and you hurt heauxs disgust me. For the record, I understand that both men and women fall into this category, because I, too, was once a hurt heaux. Anyway, yeah, you heauxs need to do better. While I understand that your past greatly influences your actions and reactions, you can't just assume that everyone is out to hurt you. Yes, it is wise to protect yourself, but in the process, you are only contributing to the cycle. Your insecurity and apprehension is merely creating more hurt in the world, and the unlucky victim now has to put the puzzle back together. Now, his or her newly broken ass is looking to redirect this frustration, and where does it go? Yep, that's right...to a new unsuspecting victim.

This has got to stop. We all have been hurt in the past, and honestly, we'll all be hurt again in the future. However, we cannot continue to let our fear dictate the future. If you hurt heauxs continue pushing people away, you'll never find love. You'll never achieve the comfort and security you're looking for, because you won't allow anyone to get close to you. Better yet, if you don't get a handle of your confidence and inner security, nobody will ever want you....unless they're on the upside of a cycle.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit 11

On that plateau life...

Confession: I haven't had an orgasm since Feb. 21, 2007.

Let me explain.

My freshman year, there was a group of speakers that came in to talk about one thing, the female orgasm.  At that point, I'd never had one, so I was intrigued.  They taught us about every type of female orgasm, where they come from, how to have them...

And then came the chart.  And while this isn't the exact one, this will help with my story.

Now the image they showed us had a flat line for female on the plateau.  We all know an orgasm is about build it up.  From a hint of a feeling to a tingle to a pulse to a throb to a wave to a tsunami... and finally, AHHHHHHHH  *in my angelic voice*.

I get stuck on that tsunami.  And while that may be fun, bitch I wanna reach my happy ending too!

How do I know that that isn't really an orgasm?  Because I know every book should have an ending, and because I had one before, a few...

After having my first orgasm, I learned I could cum again, quickly.  I rolled through about 3 of them things, consecutively.   Blew my mind, blew his mind.  I lived blissfully for a series of 6 months.

Then, NOTHING.

Now,  I've never been able to get myself there.  EVER.  But now, seems no one else can either.  I hit that plateau and the hopes of a real orgasm teases me.  I may convulse, I may moan  (and I am not a moaner), but I don't, as my Honduran friends say, finish.

I don't know what this bullshit is.  I don't know how I can fix it.  But if you're willing to help, please call  (504) 400-63......  *dropped call*

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 8.1

On love, not so much on war...

why is it so difficult to find love, or more so to keep it. i have found love. 2 real times i would say. one time lasted way longer than another. but i can remember them both like they were yesterday. i just like everyone i believe just want love.

for the sake of this entry, i should define what i feel love is:

for one it is hard to describe and whatever definition i provide will never put it in the correct words. it may be  different for everyone. but for me, love is when you wake up in the morning with someone on your mind and fall asleep with them in your thoughts. its when you worry more about their well being than your own. it is when you would do any and everything to make sure that they are happy, even if that means hurting your own feelings. love is knowing the good the bad and the ugly and still wanting them to be apart of your life. love is when you cannot imagine life without the other person and cannot really remember life before them. it is the feeling you get in the pit of your stomach and deep within your heart when someone else says there name, you hear their voice or you see or smell or hear something that reminds you of them. love is knowing that you could be with them for the rest of forever and not get bored. love is being happy with someone even when everything else in life is not going the way you want. being happy when you really are not happy.

that is one way i can put love in words. and for me it is everything. i have always been the girl that expected to go to college and find my future husband---along with get a degree and decide what i wanted to do with the rest of my life. well actually when i went to college i thought i had already found my future husband--which obviously turned out to be false. anyway after that i just knew i would find him. but that definitely is not happening, i went to the wrong college for that. anyway, i just thought that this is the time. the time in my young life that love would find me for good. as a senior now i figured my future husband and i would be deciding where we wanted to go after graduation and where we wanted to start our future together. but that is not the case. i am going to graduate single and make these decisions alone. but i am at the point in my life--and yes i am still quite young, 21 to be exact---where i am ready to find love, and make it last. i want all those things i mentioned above. that is really one of the only things in life that i know i want.

but how do you find it? where do you look? when do you know that it is too late and that you lost your chance on love? how do i know that one of my past loves was supposed to be my future love and that it just got messed up? how do you know?

this rant may seem very random, and i guess it kinda is, but my point is that love exists, we just have to learn to find it. we have to understand that it will be different for all, and that maybe it is not something you want. i am a strong believer in everything happens for a reason, and if it is meant to be it will be. i guess i just have to remind myself that. and if you or any of my other #misfits are asking any of the questions i posed, you have to remember it too.

i guess i and all of you just need to have faith. . .

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 9.2

Independent

"I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T do you know what that means man?........ She got her own house, she got her own whip......... She got a pretty smile, smell real good, only time she need a man is for that good juug" xTrill Fam

Are all "Independent" woman who are able to do for themselves looked upon with the same stigma that being independent, for the level and things she's acquired at that point in her life, as an angry, bourgeoise and entitled female?

Interesting point to bring up, my fellow misfit. There are several points I'd like to discuss, and I think I'll go a different route on this one.

First, although independent women can come across as angry and masculine, it doesn't mean they're always trying to emasculate or do everything on their own. Be it lonely or not, do you agree that being an educated, successful and career operating black male makes you a hot commodity? Do you also agree that thirsty hoes whisper many beautiful things in your ear that you want to hear and reap ALL the rewards of a relationship an independent woman seek?

I pose these questions on the basis that independent women exist because hot commodity men, have a fear of commitment to a strong individual who can bring them to a greater level of success if he’s willing to do a little work instead of instant gratitude that a thirsty hoe can easily flip within minutes to win your affection.

If hoes can win in the sense that an accomplished man who has faced many hardships in life will be just fine with not pushing himself to new heights of greatness, love and a level of accomplishment because a hoe will cater to his ego, than so be it. Honestly, its tremendously sad to know that the male ego is so shallow that instant gratification through a booty dance and hustle scheme will be all it takes for him to fall in love.

I can go on all day on my feelings associated with men’s fear and lack of confidence to attempt these strong women. But for this rant’s sake, I will end on yes, strong black women can do the most. But, if black men  tried breaking down a strong woman’s walls, imagine how much more of power a hot commodity black man could be…. wouldn’t it be nice to see black love more successful than a joke and the black man’s position in America strengthened? Instead, he will settle with a hoe because he is too afraid to meet expectations of what a strong black woman is more than capable of helping him to achieve. Interesting….

Once again, strong women seemingly take independence to a whole new level, but can you blame them? Look around, who is making moves without using their vagina’s to trap a man? When has a woman been able to make her own salary higher if not more than competitive than a male counterpart? Strong black women have to fight every day and yet yield everyday because they are women, yet a hoe uses her vagina like a Visa and men throw themselves at their feet…. ah man I’ll just leave on this note.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 10

It's all in the game...

It's all in the game or maybe how you choose to play it. You can coach it, be a player, commentate or simply watch it. Either case, if there is a game to be played, you have a role to play in it.

What game are we watching? Why its none other than the most popular and most played game in life, the game of "love" so to speak. Some may say its a game we all play to win and usually end up crapping out. Others say love shouldn't be a game, but ends up in a game of tactics or.... A cold war of the hearts. Any way, the point is, whether you signed up to play, coach, commentate or watch, you're involved in the game and the position you play depends on various factors. I feel it depends on your maturity, where you are in life and what events lead you to the role you play and the lane you're most comfortable in.

Some factors contributing to the role you play in the game are:
1. Who hurt you
2. Fear of being hurt
3. Level of Confidence
4. Degree of self perception in terms of what you feel you deserve
5. Thirst level
6. Aien't shitness
7. Need to feel needed
8. Attention
9. Sponsorship
10. Escape/Vacation

11. The time of year you begin the season of cuddle…

.....the list can go on and on. Where I'm going with this? A misfits understands the various roles and factors of the game and transition into any of these roles with no problem. There are times we find a balance to have a successful game and times where we take the L.

If you read this and chose one of the roles of coach, player, commentator or audience, you my friend, are a misfit, but not a true misfit to your heart. See, in order to play the game, one must know all the roles. Develop a great offense/defensive and be able to distinguish between the two. Understand when the plays are being set up and which star players should be handed the ball. Empower talent and root for the home team all in house. What I’m saying is, in order to be a misfit of the game is to simply see the game as that of an officiate, referee or umpire. Why? Take a look at what Robert Go-to-hell has done to the NFL season. Without a strong body of officials, hard work may go to naught, while crappy schemes develop winners. Without proper game calling, controversial calls are made and everything is held in the balance of a win or a loss.

As I would like to seriously go into my observations and tangent, I will focus on this fact. Everyone if you will, please ponder this phrase: “Hoes be winning” and think of the factors associated with what it takes for a hoe to win and the contributions as to why they succeed in wining. Have some things in mind? Great! Now let’s ponder on the phrase: “These hoes be acting up.” Now think of the many ways hoes be acting up and the factors as to why. If you’re thinking of them as the “winning hoe” on the offensive” and the “acting up hoe” on the defense, kudos to you LOL. But that’s not where I’m going with this, although it is a good point….. Anyway the focus on these phrases is to say what stance are your taking on the phrases pin points what lane you’re most comfortable driving (or riding) in. As a misfit, you comfortably move in and out of roles that better suits your level of misfit and “aien’t shit” level.

So… digging deeper into my many layers of not being shit, I thought to have you fellow misfits look at your “role” in the game. Eh, it really doesn’t matter now, does it, misfits never fill their shoes to any other standards but their own and recreate the rules, right? J

I would like to dig deeper as I have a rant in my bones on the topic, but I'll stop cooking to say looking back at 2012, 2013 will be quite interesting for the misfits...

Thanks for reading,

Lava ;)

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit 9.1

Not quite on being an independent woman or independence at all...

First off, I'm not the type to write a response.  We  #Misfits need to be allowed to roam free, and this is our sanctuary...however, I read this here and was like... something's missing.

I do not know why this post made me think of independent ratchet bitches, ones that live and die by that Boosie song.  It also made me think of chicks that are just angry, or scared.  This is where I come in.

I am not an independent woman.  I know the difference between being an  "elite independent woman" and being self sufficient.  No one wants to be alone.  Everyone needs someone.  Some find that in the love of a spouse, some in the love of a child, an offspring.

The anger of an independent woman is not the anger of an independent woman.  How many women these days were raised in a single parent household?  How many of the fiercely independent woman have, dare I say it, DADDY ISSUES, along with all the other issues that can challenge ones self worth and needs?

Let's dig deeper into what daddy issues are if you didn't click the link, and the different ways they can manifest.  My one account can not begin to explain the way these issues does/does not effect/affect (i have to learn the difference one day. i admit it) all the fatherless girls out there.

In my experience, true daddy issues do not manifest until you've been in a relationship.  If you make it through your first one successfully, without learning any painful truths, congrats.  You are not one of us.  But if learn that although your self esteem is at a decent level but you're self worth is all fucked up, congrats.  You are one of us, and maybe you are ready to grow.

Let me try to break this down for a male to understand.  If you can't deal with our baggage, leave us the fuck alone.  We need to make forward progress, and while pain can help up progress....

ok.

1. We have a desire to be loved by our significant other like no other.  This can apply to lesbians too; I've seen it.  We will love you til our skin bleeds, heart breaks....Romeo and Juliet type, mostly one-sided love.  We put up with shit that most women would look at us and wonder what the fuck is wrong with us.  But we are looking for a love and acceptance that we will never find.  We are looking for a father.  We're the chicks that don't look at you crazy when you ask us to call you daddy...

2.  The anger.  While we have a strong desire to love and be loved and accepted and cherished and honored..., we have a bitterness that matches that desire.  That bitterness/anger is attached to our questions and fears, all leading back to daddy.  But let's focus solely on the anger.  Sometimes, we don't need a man for shit.  We've come this far without one.  Now you already know we have this longing for love, so you know we don't want to be alone.  But we will,  because we have not seen it in it's true form (cuz tv don't count) and don't know how to place it in our lives.  At this point the anger is still strong within us, we want but don't need.  And then we go through that line of un-self-fulfilling relationshits.... different story, different day.

Sometimes, it is our mother's who have influence our views on men.  Passing their bitterness for having to raise us alone down to us but making side and snide comments about our fathers.  These are the people who raised us; their views stick to us like glue.  Take me for instance, I was raised by the strongest matriarchal line.  All the men in my immediate family (that I did not have a strong dislike for) were dead by the time I was 6.  So I had NO male influences in my life.  And while my mother never said anything against my father and encouraged me to reach out to him, my reality stopped me.  My mother was never in a relationship, that I knew of, when I was growing up.  The old love around me was quickly ending in death.  These women then focused on their children and grandchildren.  When I was little, I had a billion barbies and 1 ken doll (eventually 3).  He helped make the king cake babies.  I'm going to far into this.  Just know that the messages we receive from other mothers, blatant or subliminal, help shape our anger and bitterness and fierce independence.

3.  ...but it's mostly just fear.  Of the unknown.  We do not know a man's role in our life.  How we should act.  What to do.  How this works.  And until we are secure enough in ourselves and self worth to venture out and try something new and learn something, we will shake at the feet of relationships.  We are not looking for professors, teachers, or even books.  We can learn by trail and error but we do require that you have a little bit of patience with our fragile asses.  If you are not up to the challenge, don't sign up.  Don't halt the progress we are making.  Even if we want it.  Let us know.  It will hurt, but we'll get over that much easier.

This is all I'm gonna share before this turns into a full fledged rant.

P.S. Look, while I have strong dislike for beyonce and would love to pin this all on her, she ain't eem part of this.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 9

….On Independent Women

I have the luxury and the privilege to be the only [registered] male contributor to the blog, specifically the Misfit series. It is truly a pleasure being associated with the talented women that share their thoughts and talents with the world through this medium. Additionally, I know that each of us understands that we ain’t sh*t. So, I fully expect them to respond to this Misfit rant.

Independent women….what the eff is your issue? Do you think that your ball-busting nature is attractive? Yes, you probably feel you deserve an Alpha male, but trust me….Alpha males don’t quite like Alpha females. You sit on this high-horse of expectations, and then get pissed when the person that best meets your expectations is the person you see in the mirror every morning. Lighten the eff up, and understand that the world doesn’t revolve around your rarely touched vagina.…

You know what? Let me clam down a bit. Before I dig deeper, let’s define what it means to be independent:

Independent:

1.  Not influenced or controlled by others in matters of opinion,conduct; thinking or acting for oneself
2. Not subject to another's authority or jurisdiction; autonomous; free.
3. Not influenced by the thought or action of others
4. Not contingent upon something else for existence, operation, etc.
5. Not relying on another or others for aid or support.

Taking note of the above definitions, how many of us can truly say that we’re independent? Honestly, you’d have to be a self-centered, arrogant, conceded, son of a bit*h to be “independent.” This, ladies, is why I frown upon independent women. For me, I strongly dislike women who believe that they don’t need anyone’s help. While I understand that confidence is important, how dare you disqualify someone because they might not be able to give you what you can’t already obtain? Bit*h, you were HIT the first 20 years of your life. Pump your brakes, and put the car in park.

What are you all so afraid of? I’ll never understand the struggles and obstacles women face every day in the fight for equality, but damn. I just want you all to relax a little. Yes, Black women rock. Yes, I am an avid supporter of all women, whether independent or not.Yes, in order to maintain a sense of power, it is necessary that you flex your muscles every once in a while….not every damn day. Hmph, and you all wonder why you can’t find love….

Here’s why I’m upset: I’m all for a woman being able to take care of herself. In fact, I’d prefer it if she could stand on her own two feet. However, I would like a woman that will let me be a man, you know? A woman that allows me the opportunity to treat her like the Queen she is. A woman that will make mistakes with me. A woman that will ask for my help when she needs it. A woman that doesn’t always need to be on top [when we sleep in bunk beds]. To go further, I’d like a woman to be willing to treat me like a King….and that’s the issue with independent women. They’re typically not willing to compromise or yield to anyone.

I’m a Misfit, and I don’t particularly care for this new breed of independent women. Quite the bold statement coming from a man that was raised and reared primarily by strong, independent women, right? Well, my distaste for these “I don’t need a ni**a for nothing” women is strongly rooted in the sense that everyone needs help sometimes. My Mother and Sister are both ULTRA independent, but not to the extent that these Yaki-wearing women are these days. Whether you’re independent or not, true strength and courage comes from the ability to admit that you need support. Don’t get me wrong, I know and love some strong, independent women. However, the glue that keeps their independence in tact: humility.

P.S.—This is all Beyonce’s fault. Just know that your role model is married and a mom…and still independent.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 8

Ok, so I'm addicted to the Tamar Braxton song "Love and War".  Listening to it right now actually.  You should check it out.

Confession: I want love, not war. That's all I can deal with right now.  Some of y'all will see nothing wrong with that statement.  Let me explain.

Last week, some older women told us younger folk in the room that love shouldn't hurt. While I sat there trying not to tell them they were fucking lies, I tried to open my mind up to their opinions.  But I found myself siding with the young, newly wed mother sitting beside me.  Love does hurt sometimes.  And the fact that I can say that has nothing to do with some dude beating my ass.  If love caused me physical pain, I'd be sitting in St. Gabriel right now because dude would be DEAD. But love causes emotional and psychological pain like a muthafugga, in a non abusive way.

Here's how I see things.  Not many people will agree with this, that's what makes me a misfit tho.  I am a firm believer in balance.  And while love and light is all good, sometimes there will be fear and darkness.  And if you thing their is something wrong with embracing fear and darkness, you have a problem with being a human being.  In my opinion, you are striving too hard for perfection that you will never find.  Through living, embracing and conquering fear and darkness you find love and light.  But you have to fight to get it.

What I'm trying to say is I want a balanced life.  I will take the good and the bad any day over just the good.  There is no struggle in good.  No growth.  No purpose.  I need little dark reminders of who and who's I am, as well as who and what I love.

Now it seems like I'm contradicting myself, I know.  Let me explain that too.  At this point in life, I have enough war, battle, struggles, etc...  All I want is love.  And I know that I cannot have it that way, which makes it even worse.  This is where my 5 challenge comes in and fucks me up completely; my friends know all about that, I ain't telling y'all...  I want all the things "convenient" of love without the fight.  It's impossible for me to attain, and as I write this, I'm starting to reevaluate how I should go about fixing this.  Doesn't stop it from being the truth, won't stop me from looking for it.

I guess this blog is two-fold : I want what I can't have and I want what others fear/dislike/don't understand.

But, I on't be carin...

I'm a #Misfit.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 7

....On Marriage

Traditional logic has taught us to believe this story:

Billy and Amanda
Sitting in a Tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
First comes Love
Then comes Marriage
Then comes the baby in the baby carriage

However, modern times has evolved, well degraded our natural expectations to this fairy-tale:

Ja'Quan and Quita
Laying by a Tree
F-U-*-K-I-N-G
He comes first
Who needs Love
Now she's pregnant, but it's cool, because they'll eventually get married.....right?

Is the idea of marriage really just an afterthought these days? Has it merely become an obligation to expecting parents? What about a false sense of security for an insecure woman? How about a bargaining chip for a man with too many women? An opportunity to try and escape your slutty past? A method of winning? A sick joke? What happened to the days when saying "I do" wasn't followed my a mental subtweet "because I basically had to?"

Whatever the case is, it just seems like people are getting hitched for all the wrong reasons, and is why this misfit is having doubts about the future. I don't want to be married to someone because it was convenient, or because I want other people to be jealous of my happiness. I want the real thing, and sadly, society has brainwashed much of our generation. We're glued to the television to watch shows about "Wives" that aren't even married, but they're enjoying the perks of a marriage. Do we not see the irony in that show? Just to be fair, the shows I frequently watch also glorify the "shacking-up" life, so I, too, have taken a shot of the kool-aid.

When will we get back to wholesome love stories? You know, relationships built upon trust, not lust, emotion not slow-motion, dialogues not monologues? Love that conquers all, as opposed to love me or leave me ultimatums?

If and when I do present myself at that alter, understand that it will be because I'm deeply in love, not because I'm loyal. Not to fill a void, to please my family, or to compete with my peers. Fu*k y'all. What you eat won't make me sh*t. Marriage isn't for everyone. It's for the only one....well two.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit 6.2

Virginity...again

Ya see, unlike my coauthors I am not a virgin. However I respect their decision...

Now to me..

My first time was nothing like expected. No candles burning. No sexy music. Not even a relationship. Judge me if you want. But it was special to me. The way it happened wasn't even what I thought. I wasn't expecting it. He had been asking and I had said no. Several times. But it just kinda happened. Really. We were kissing and touching and running like we always did. Grinding on each other half naked like young people used to do and bang his dick was in me. It honestly took a sec for me to realize that we were actually doing it. I'm not gonna lie my first time wasn't the best but it didn't hurt like everyone convinced me it would. I didn't bleed I didn't cry. Most of all I dont regret it. I loved him. And he loved me. And I know you're wondering why we weren't together, lets just say shit was complicated. But the love was as real as it could be. We lost our virginities together and I have never regretted it.

I believe that you should never have sex just to have sex --- i am guilty of that though -- but your first time should def be special.

But hey. That's just me

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 6.1

....On Virginity

I remember it like it was yesterday.....[insert dream-like flashback music and cloudy scene]

I'd just slipped on my favorite Girbaud jeans, well technically, my only pair of Girbaud jeans at the time, my FUBU jersey was on the hanger, ready to be thrown on, my diamond-faced watch was bling-blinging, and of course, my Reebok Soulja's were fresh. It was the night of my first High School dance, and I was ready for action. The entire car ride there, I kept thinking about all the girls I would dance with / on, the phone numbers I'd collect, and the thongs I'd possibly catch a glimpse of. However, when my Mom's Navy Blue, 1998 Dodge Caravan pulled into the parking lot of the school's Gymnasium, she expressed to me that what I have is a gift, and that I should only share that gift with someone special. [back to reality]

I'm a 27 year old venture capitalist, with an impeccable stock portfolio, and a perfect gift....myself. I took heed to my Mom's words of wisdom, and opted to remain a virgin until after I'd found and married the perfect woman for me. Yes, I understand that seeking perfection within imperfect people is futile. Well, I just believe that when I find her, she'll be perfect for me.

Now, I bet that you're already assuming that something has to be wrong with me. Maybe my body type isn't athletic, or my penis size is laughable, or that I just have nothing worth looking at. Hell, you probably believe that I'm one of those crazy people from that show Trout....wait, maybe it's Catfish? Tuna? Whatever. Well, you're wrong. See, when my Mom married my Dad, they were virgins, and that was the ultimate gift they could ever give to each other.

Sure, I've had girlfriends in the past, and all but one left me after finding out I was a virgin. The one girl that managed to stick around was also a virgin, but she kept talking about memories and memory foam mattresses, D's and V's, and something about bourgeois vagina. She was just as awkward as I was. I wonder what happened to her?

It amazes me how easily people give away sex. You can buy it off the Internet, find it in the casino, hell, two of my co-workers have sex in the file room every other Wednesday evening. Some of my friends have had sex with people they met in the Wal-Mart checkout line. Sex might be great, but having standards should take precedence....right?

I mean, wouldn't you prefer a new car, as opposed to one that's dented with 100K miles on it? How about a fresh banana, versus one that's bruised and browning? Anyway, I just truly believe that the best gift a person can offer is themselves, especially if they're still pure. It's the one gift that keeps on giving, but ironically can only be given once. So, I'm willing to wait for someone special to give my something special to.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 6

I'm 25 and I'm still a Virgin

Let's talk about sex, baby or maybe not. See the conversation always makes me uncomfortable or comfortable depending on the company I'm around. See, only a few people in my life know I am a virgin and that's the way I'd like to keep it.... For a reason.

Everything is so sexualized. From children's television shows to music lyrics, sexual innuendo if not the flat out sexual vocabulary drips in every word or action. It's not uncommon to find someone who is having sex compared to someone who is truly a virgin. A real virgin, never had penal insertion, not the ones who have had their hymen's reconstructed. Plastic surgery for this really exists... Google it if you don't believe me.

Now lets look at what people think of virgins and their reasons why: saving it for marriage, loves The Lord (praise Him) or just a weirdo. Well, what if that person just hasn't found the right person? Being a 25 year old virgin as a female has to be less difficult than being a male. For one, what if I said I'm a virgin because I just haven't found the right guy deserving of my body?

Honestly, if I wanted to have sex, it would be had. I just don't think the guys around my way have what it takes to receive me in that way. So maybe my standards are to high and I'm acting bourgeoise with my vagina, but its because I care. And I refuse to let some round the way, sleep with anything thrown at him type of guy who will take my possessions like they are just another chic.

Hell no, I'm not a typical girl or a random chic. I'm more than a simple sexual encounter or another memory in his memory foam and I'm damn sure better than a one night stand. I have standards and its challenging to find a guy with some.

It's a constant observation of the thirst taking control of these fees that they will do anything to get the D. It's not that serious for me. The D aien't got sh*t on my V. It's brand new, never been used and ready to go the distance for the man who deserves to receive my gift. 

I'm a 25 year old virgin misfit who can talk the talk, but hasn't met a guy deserving enough to walk the walk with me. It's always a reminder to hear those who have shared themselves with others say they wished they didn't or kept it for something special. I can wait for someone special to give him something special. 

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 5

....On being a Non-Traditional Frat Boy

In life, we'll all encounter the dark and evil tortures of what people expect us to do. How we're expected to behave, act, dress, so forth and so on. Many of these expectations are derived from either our past involvement with nouns (you know, people, places, or things), or with the potential of what we could possibly become. It's sad that people expect you to be a certain way, even before you've been introduced to a particular situation.

Hello, my name is Glenn, and I am a non-traditional Frat boy. Now, before I divulge personal, yet unclassified information, trust me when I say that I am in no way bashing or belittling any Greek-lettered organization, nor its members or aspirants. Having just crossed those burning sands a little less than two months ago, I can assure you that my level of respect for Fraternities and Sororities is at an all time high. This post is not meant to offend anyone, but as always, I'm just going to share my thoughts.

Whew, that PSA was totally ridiculous, but necessary. Okay, back to the topic. In the African American community, especially the college scene, we tend to admire people that appear to have social clout and authority. Subsequently, we find ourselves drawn towards them, like moths to an open flame, willing to sacrifice ourselves just to be associated with these people of status. Well, these "important" people tend to be athletes, or of course, members of Greek-lettered organizations. Those select few who manage to earn acceptance into Greek-lettered organizations are either highly regarded or fervently hated. Let's focus on the positive feelings, shall we?

Let's face it: Being Greek has it's perks and privileges. Ironically enough, some of those perks and privileges result from others believing that they too, can attain those perks and privileges. In my case, the letters on my chest have resulted in unknown hands caressing my cheek, and soft whispers in my ear. Whispers of wishes and wetness waiting on work. Sexual favors being offered not for money, but for perceived power. Women with expectations based on previous interactions with men who've used their letters to sell a dream, as opposed to buying an engaging conversation. Letters that have knocked down walls, instead of reinforcing them. Men, members of Greek-lettered organizations that pass down lessons on respecting women, now pass women around to earn respect. It angers me to know that men are trading their dog tags for deep throat, paddles for pu**y, and t-shirts for T&A.

Truth be told, I'm more disappointed in the women that subject themselves to that foolishness. What kind of low self-esteem, basic bit*h are you to have sex with a guy because he's in a Fraternity? Then, you have the NERVE to expect him to respect you, when you all didn't even exchange last names? To take it a step further, there are some of them (or you) that think it's okay, and look to stack up your sex count with the frat boys. Do you think that gives you power? I mean really....do you think that the attention you're receiving is favorable. Contrary to popular belief, all publicity isn't good publicity.

Oh, and let's not forget the bond between Fraternities and Sororities, one in which aspirants of both are placed together in rooms, and sexual favors are exchanged to forge a "united front," or the sense of "family." What family do you know encourages brothers and sisters to have sex? When it boils down to it, you're still popping pu**y for power.....

Fu*k that! I didn't sign up for this. I earned my letters by possessing outstanding character, virtues, and respect for myself. I'll be damned if I'll be caught USING my letters for anything that misrepresents who I am, or what my Jewels stood for. How dare you use your "social clout and authority" as a bargaining chip for sex. I don't need my letters for sex. Ask any of the [insert number here] girls I've been with. Oh, and I'll chop the next bi*ch in the throat that offers me some [kitty] because I'm an APE. Yes, bit*h, I know what you're expecting, but I'm not like them...I'm a non-traditional frat boy.

How I'm feeling...

I could have been good for. I would have made you happy but I'm not "good enough". And ya know that's your fuckin loss. I was ad at first cause I love you but at this point I've been thru worse and a lot of pain. So fuck it. Fuck you. One day you'll realize I could have been the one to make all your dreams come true. But by then it'll be too late. It actually already is. I'm over it. I'm over you. I can't deny that I love you but I'm done fighting for people that don't wanna fight for me. One day ill find him. The guy that fights for me until the end. The one that sees my flaws and my strengths and takes all if me. Not just part of me. And until then ill just work on being the woman I wanna be and the one I know I can be.

I just wanna know why is it that men can lie so easily. Well people in general but specifically men. Like don't say things tou don't want. And don't pretend like things are ok. Especially when they aren't. Just be real about it.

But like I said one day ill find the one for me. All the ones I thought were that one weren't and they have all taught me something. About love and myself. Love should come easy and it shouldn't have to be so difficult to keep. And I should t have to prove it all the time. You should just know. So for all the ones that took my love for granted, FUCK YOU

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 4

.....On the "Eclectic Personality"....and why it supposedly makes me less straight than other straight people.

And I mean those air quotes with every fiber of my soul. Lets jump right into it, shall we? I'll keep it brief, as it won't take me long to get to my point. A week or so ago, I was approached by an acquaintance via the twitters because he had a burning question to ask me, Being me, of course I thought it was going to be about something that was silly and petty and would piss me off and it was all of these things. The question was something like this; "Have you ever been with another female before?" I was completely taken aback by the question because, well, I had never been asked the question before. The next gut reaction was laughter. I told him no and he followed with "Well, have you ever heard that before? I again replied no to which he responded....get ready for this now..."Well, you do have an eclectic personality."

Pause. Time Out. Flag on the muhfuggin play.

So the basis of you coming to me with this bullshit rumor is that I have an eclectic personality?! I asked my good and trusty friends of many years, Merriam and Webster, to help me out with this next part.

eclectic

adjective

consisting of many things of different sorts <the museum's eclectic collection has everything from a giraffe skeleton to medieval musical instruments>


Got it? Fabulous. Thanks, M and W. Now, while I would define my self as more eccentric than eclectic, I do admit that I have an eclectic set of interests. But the real question is, why would any of these things make me more subject to being attracted to the same sex as opposed to a not so eccentric straight person? Now, don't get me wrong, I love the gays. I have tons of friends who are gay or bisexual and we talk about our sexual exploits the exact same way over a glass of wine with an occasional "He/She ain't shit" thrown in. I believe that they deserve all the same rights and privileges that "traditional" people and couples are afforded. However, this in no way indicates or hints that I may or may not like girls. I am an advocate for the peen. I love it. I'm dying of thirst RIGHT NOW because I moved thousand of miles away from all of my good peen and haven't been in this new place long enough to acquire any. The struggle is real.


I said all of that to say this: Yes, I love art. I love movies, music, theatre, dance, poetry, and books. I love boys. I love boys who love boys and girls who love girls. I love politics. I am a lover of people, things, opinions, rights, and beliefs, but none of these things are justification for you to put me in the could be gay box. As a matter of fact, let's all be more cognitive of the boxes we designate people to.





CJ

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 3

--On Bisexuality

Let's start this post off like those meetings....

"Hi,  my name is Sydney and I'm bisexual." ......  *waits for yalls response*

Anyway, I just felt the need to write on this topic.  I'll keep in brief.

First of all, I first figured out I was bi when I was like 4.  All I remember is that I was in Kindergarten.  I had a "thing" with one of the girls.  And while she probably has long forgotten that, I.... yea.

It really hasn't been until recently that I realized the fascination I had with the women on TV where really crushes.  I was always aware I like girls in the real world, but TV was some different shit.  I just don't understand why all my crushes were on white women: the pink ranger, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Alyssa Milano...

Moving on.  Ok, so, in real life, I am a selfish muthafuppah.  I'm an only child and I have a strange sense of entitlement because of that.  HOWEVER, this does not relate to my sexuality.  I, in this case, do not want to have my cake and eat it too.  It's not like I'm hoarding dozens of sexy people in my basement and preventing others from getting them.  How am I selfish because I know what I want?  Is it because it doesn't coincide on what your views of how sexuality works?  Sorry, your personal preference has nothing to do with my real life.

I did not choose to be this way nor can I just pick and choose what I want.  "Hmmm, this morning I woke up with a strange craving for pussy...."  No, not really.  Don't work that way.  Actually, my sexual desires are not way linked to who I am attracted to.

Of course, there are physical aspects of a person that attract me to them.  I'm attracted to people that wear glasses more that I am people who have freckles.  I'm attracted to men more than I am to women.  I don't know how this shit works, I just know what I feel.  For me, sexuality is fluid and bisexual is a label I use to keep folk from being confused.  If I fall for a person, I'm not falling for their gender, I'm falling for them.  I can't say I'm bisexual because I am equally attracted to both sexes.  I'm not attracted to gender at all.  Gender is a non-fucking-factor in my quest for the illustrious love I'm not sure I believe in, but that is another story.

Bottom line: if my sexuality confuses you, ask questions.  Don't call me selfish, don't call me confused.  I'm neither.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit -- Part Two

--On Ratchet Anthems

First off, I think we need a good running definition of what a ratchet anthem is.  Issa Rae does best at trying to provide a definition, and also shit is just mad hilarious.   (Be sure to check out all 5 episodes)

With that said, I still think there are several different definitions of ratchet anthems (or at least two).  The first and most simple definition would be a ratchet person's anthem.  We should already know what a ratchet person is, so their anthem would reflect their lifestyle.  They are known for their really ratchet and explicit lyrics, mostly about money, molly's and strippers.  Oh, and bands, cuz they a make her dance. Examples of this type of ratchet anthem would come from some of my least favorite artist : 2 Chainz, Juicy J, and the like...

The second definition would be an anthem that causes not normally ratchet people to behave like the ratchets.  You know, that song makes you pop your p***y like a stripper and wanna fight a bitch, and then you catch yourself like  "what the fuck was I doing?"  These songs have the same overly explicit lyrics, but have more....substance?  I don't know.  Examples include songs from Crime Mob, Big Sean, and the lesser known, Ms. B.

The third definition isn't that well know; I think I made it up.  This section is dedicated to the light weight ratchets from New Orleans who just want love.  Do you see where I'm going with this?  While I know a few folk who may be slightly offended because they think they belong to this group when they really don't, a few will actually get this.  I mean, I shake my ass and get excited when songs for the "genre" of ratchet comes on, but I know it doesn't apply to me.  Let me try to explain this better.  So you're in a club with mildly ratchet fees  (the ones who look respectable til the dj plays dat b.e.a.t. and they lose it, bend over and you realize they ain't wearing drawls), and the dj plays dat b.e.a.t.  But not just any song to dat b.e.a.t., a love song.  They body start looking all confused.  They ass wants to pounch, but they head and hands wanna sing the song and act it out.  And then the start singing to the most ratchet, broke down lookin ni--.... I'll stop there.  Here are the examples: Refill (but only the version with zydeco roots), Officially Missing You, and Dance for You.

But wait, there is one more definition, the misfit definition.  This misfits definition of a ratchet anthem.... has more than one definition.  Sigh.  This is complicated.  I think it may just be that I want this song on the list.  But, no, I think that other people will agree with me on this.  Songs that are ratchet with a "message" catch our attention.  This would include songs that would normally be labeled ratchet only to find out the artist had a different vision of it.  Case in point: Spectacular.  It's a ratchet anthem to a filthy one night stand.  BUT to Kiely it's a way to bring awareness to the fact that women get drunk and go home with strange men and fuck them, or something like that.  Here's her explanation:

They took off the video she made explaining it, well trying too.  It was hilarious.  Anyway, she calls herself trying to bring awareness to an issue.  Yes, we all have known somebody who has randomly hooked up with someone, or have done it ourselves.  But, the sparkly booty shorts and gyrating on a brick wall and railroad tracks?  Or the fact that she woke up next to a bubble bootied dude who looked like predator? Or that she apparently let him pull a track out her short ass bob as she was getting her back blown out?  Or that somebody would really walk down the street with a handcuff attached to one wrist hitting on anything that past?  And the same men who were dancing in the club with her the night before would be on the street, in the same clothes, judging her?  Y'all get the point.

A misfit like me finds a song like this and has a intense debate on whether the song has any message or validity and move the fuck on.  Hell,  I still wanna recreate this video.

Sigh.  The other part of my definition is simple.  It's a song that resonates with that ratchet hood heaux that I am not and my college educated mind at the SAME DAMN TIME.  The song doesn't necessarily make me wanna twerk, but it does make me wanna do that Tipping Point dance.  Trouble knows what I mean.  The song is ratchet in the way it makes me act but not necessarily in what it is.  Makes no sense?  Maybe some examples will help: Mercy, and, my current favorite, Backstreet Freestyle.

That's all I got.

Misfit.  Out.

The Adventures of a College Educated Misfit (ACEM) -- Intro

First off, THIS IS THE 100TH POST !!!!! Yay us !!!!

Second, this is something new we will be trying.  Of course there will be more than one misfit.  We have to figure how close to real life we want to make it.  I just came up with the title and decided to run with it.  I want to write but smut ain't really my thang....

Here goes...

According to Merriam-Webster's Learners Dictionary (yes, learners), a misfit is defined as:

"a person who is different from other people and who does not seem to belong in a particular group or situation".

Enter me.  Now you may be wondering why such a well adjusted person as myself would label...myself, in such a way.  Nah, probably not.

I shimmy along the outskirts of what is normal.  Things I was once teased for are things that make me who I am.  I do not comprehend the concept of conforming.  I am who I am and those who don't like it can kick some rocks then smoke them.

Let's mosey along to this first adventure.  Guess we'll tackle natural hair first.

I've been natural for.... 14 years?  The majority of my friends are natural, both vets and newly transitioning.  And I love it.  Wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.  I can do any-fucking-thing with my hair.  ANYTHING.  But, alas, you see no adventure in my struggle.  Let me explain.

A day in the life of a natural chick, whose hair is not in a protective style  (i.e. braids, weaves, under a wig...)

It all starts when you wake up.  Stumble to the bathroom.  Brush your teeth, wash your face.  Look up in the mirror and see your wad of glorious natural locks packed to your scalp.  Normally dry and tangled.  I dare you to find your scalp.

You now have two options.  One, hop in the shower, co wash and detangle with either a wide tooth comb or wide plastic bristle brush.  Or, two, load your favorite spray bottle with warm water, conditioner and your favorite blend of oil, spray away, and begin the detangling process with two of the weapons listed above.  There may be other options, but those aren't options for me.  If you wanna dry detangle your hair, go forth, heaux, and let your ends split.

So, you chose option two.  Upon finishing your detangle battle, which took about 15-20 minutes, you notice some flakes in the front of your hair.  A lot of natural girls are plagued with this.  It's not dandruff.  It's like our scalps revert to that of a babies and we all get cradle cap.  After frantically picking out the flakes, and I mean picking like you do an afro, you seem to be mostly flake free.  Next battle.

You have made it quite far past the TWA phase (teeny weeny afro), but not quite to the Angela Davis.  In other words, you afro doesn't look quite full and fabulous on it's own.  You have to tie something around it.  Now it can't be too tight, don't wanna pull your eyes and make yourself look Asian.  You also don't wanna put too much tension on your edges.  You know what those are, and you know who has damaged edges.  You know, the broads who hairline start at the top of the head and right in front of they ears.  You decide to tie a silk scarf around your hair to hold in moisture and tie it tight enough to hold your hair in place without giving yourself a headache.

The journey to twisting, washing, deep conditioning, etc... is a lot worse.  And on top of that you are bombarded with basic heaux blogs.  I been natural for blah blah months and this is my journey and what I've done. NDC, heaux!  True, there are a few blogs out there with good information that I actually use and trust, but most of this shit is just that, SHIT!! You mean to tell me that my hair type, color and curl pattern, all that shit really matters?  No.  Not really.  The same shit I do to my hair is that same shit my friends do and we all have different curl patterns, and all of us have healthy hair!!  Hell, I get most of my advice for CurlyNikki and she has curls.  I have them backwoods, huts in Africa kinks.  And I'm fucking PROUD.

I'm quite sure I'll have another adventure in natural glory to blog about later but this is a good start, no ?

Welcome to the Adventures of a College Educated Misfit!

The Quickie Chronicles: Out Of My System

 

My lover kissed me good bye as he left for work. He always kisses me after her sprays his favorite cologne of the season. This season, he can’t get enough of the Weekend by Burberry I gave him for our anniversary. No, we aren’t married and I wish people would stop rushing my time. I rushed my last relationship and what it got me was a broken heart and side eye. Five years of dealing with bullshit to get a broken heart and side eye is simply not the business. My ex is the reason I wake up early and sip on this coffee like it will save my life. The situation is simply this, I love him and I love the way he sexed me. He wasn’t good for me, but damn it, he made me feel good sexually. How do I tell the man I’m with I’m not satisfied? How do I continue to make love to him while fantasizing about my last lover? The situation just isn’t right.

I mean, how do you move on when someone was the best you ever had sexually and your heart is with the one you love… but the lover can’t satisfy my sexual needs ordinarily. I mean we’ve enrolled in Kama Sutra classes, taken yoga, do his and her version of kegal exercises four times a day, watch pornography to get a clue that maybe I’m not doing enough, but my love just isn’t hitting it on the regular like I need. Obviously, I’m doing everything he needs perfectly because there aren’t any complaints on his end. I love him, I really do, but how do I tell him his sex just isn’t doing it for me? I figured I had a problem, like I was stuck on my stupid ex after all of these years of trying to sweep it under the rug. Well, I finally thought I would talk to someone about it. I slide into my shoes and head towards the door. The minute I turn the knob to walk out and just like magic guess who is staring at me in mid-knock… my old lover.

“What the hell are you doing here Brian?” I almost yell out of horror until my panties start to moistening. “Nicki, I had to see you. I need to talk to you about something.” I gave him THE stupidest side eye I could muster with a healthy side of nucca please! “It’s been three years, sir. You left me, no warning, no notes just rolled the hell out. I moved on and forgot all about you!” He looked at me wounded but determined to talk. I folded my arms and gave him the “what the hell you have to say now” look as he stammered on. He explained why he left, that he wanted to find out what life was like beyond our relationship and how he just needed time to see how much I really meant to him, blah, blah, blah. The icing on the cake was that he just wants me to consider having sex with him one last time to get it out of his system…

Now the pure sexual need in me says hell yes, but I can’t fight the feeling that I just need him to vanish just as quickly as he appeared at my door. I told him I would think about it and shut the door on his face. He asked how will I contact him. “Come back tomorrow same time. Now go.” He says he’ll be back later tonight like my permission just isn’t needed. I hear him walk down the stairs and I slide down the door to the floor. What the hell have I done? Not only have I failed trying to be a hard ass, but I told him to come back because I am literally going to bang his brains out. Damn, you, Brian!! How will I ever concentrate on the rest of my day?

Long story short, I couldn’t function at all during the day. I was way too giddy and anxious to blow my back out on Brian’s joystick. He walked into my place looking around taking note of how long he’s been missing in my life. He waited a while just catching up on our lives and how good the good times were. He made note of how he’s never found anyone to love him like I did or anyone to sex him like we did. That’s all I needed to hear. If we didn’t have anything in common anymore, sex was that thread. He apologized for everything, all of the shit I blamed myself for he apologized and held me real tight. I didn’t realize the tears were streaming down my face and his lips found that one familiar spot that always conceded to his will. Before I could count to one I was naked and straddled on the floor.

He kissed and licked me from head to toe and back. I was a quivering mess when he finally decided to undress next to me. All I could think about was what new things has he learned from other lovers… what positions was he planning to put me in and how long would it take me to come off of his efforts. Needless to say his tongue got the first three.

Spread eagle on the sofa he put on a condom and slid in slower than a drop of molasses from the bottle. Trying to grind into him to speed up the process of going in deeper, he just backed up going slower. Because I’m defiant to the end, he used techniques like these to make sure he had control. At this point, I didn’t care. It was all animalistic and need driven. He finally plunged in and stroked me like it was the reason I needed to breathe. He pumped with a force that made my back arch and moans cooed the pleasures he gave me. There was nothing and no one in the world that could bring my body into submission like Brian and he always knew exactly how to make the soft pink matter work in his favor.

Before I could make out my fourth orgasm I was on my side in a perfect L being served all the strokes of bliss ever in life. He hit all the corners only he knew existed because no one else has ever dared to reach in those places. Gasping for air and clenching the sofa for dear life, he smacked my ass and moaned my name because all I could do was clench down on him harder. The more I clenched the faster and deeper he plunged into the most sensitive spots of my body. He pinched a nipple with one hand while swirling my clit with the other. Sending me to my fifth orgasm I find myself shaking and quivering on the sofa looking up at this man in awe. He lifts me like a rag doll and I’m forced to straddle him as he slides in… deeper… slower, then faster, I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I am just there. Being sexed in the best and most visceral way I can imagine. He finds a wall and my back arches due to the temperature as he drills deeper into my sixth. Crying out his name he gasps out my name and grips me closer to his chest as I try to support myself but my legs just won’t let me be great. He looks deep into my eyes and says he could never have me out of his system because of what we just shared and always shared in the bedroom. Too bad for the both of us, we will never be able to get our sex out of our systems…

The Quickie Chronicles - Birthday Sex

I am not one for random hook ups.  Honestly.  Not saying I'm against them or anything, I've just never had one and don't see it happening.  I'm a little too conscious for that shit.  Until I've had a hand grenade and had my booty sufficiently rubbed in public... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

My excuse for any fuck shit I got into this week has already been "It's my birthday!".  LOL set myself up for failure.  I'd been celebrating all week, even had a little list of shit to cross off.  I did all but one.  I'd tried to get in contact with old  "friends" and even considered calling up an ex.  I just wanted my booty rubbed.... and I refused to turn 25 without ever having birthday sex.

I'd all but given up on the last part of my quest.  I ended up on Bourbon with a friend and decided to celebrate the last night of my birthday week to the fullest.  We were suppose to meet a friend of hers out there.  As he walked up, I felt slightly betrayed.  I thought we were meeting girls.  My ass can be so naive at times.  I took a slow drag off my clove and spoke politely to her friend and the guy with him.  They instantly struck up a conversation, I just kept smoking.  I was not going to baby sit.

Marcus struck up a conversation with me.  Or should I say the half a bottle of vodka he drank tried to have a conversation with me.  I was called all kinds of mean because I tried my hardest to blow him off and make it to a bar.  Nothing ever worked.  I mean eventually we did make it to the bar, but his hand were becoming familiar with my body even though my words to him were not the nicest.

By the time we made it to the land of hand grenades, my ass had been groped enough for my to scratch getting my booty rubbed off my list.  We sat across from each other at the bar.  My friend and I nursed our drinks as the boys at hot wings.  Drunk asses.  I played with the straw with my tongue and made occasional glances towards Marcus to make sure he was paying attention.  Then I started ignoring him again and talking to my friend.

When he was finished with his hot wings, he moved next to me.  Rubbed on my ass and pulled me up closer to him.  Apparently I'd been biting my lip at him and he wanted to see the show up close and personal.  I obliged, a bit.  Remember I'm mean.

It was getting late and I was getting tired.  My friend was ready to go, so we left.  On the walk back to her car, I told her what was going on with me and Marcus.  She told me it was my birthday and I should get it.  I sighed and kept walking.  She texted her boy and set shit up.

When they pulled up to my house I almost refused to open the door, so my friend did.  Then she left and told us to have a good night.  I started to back out of this whole thing and then he grabbed me and it was on....

In my mind, kissing and hooking up never mixed but I didn't refuse his lips.  He fell backward on the bed and  I fell right on top of him.  He commanded me to strip and I did.  He gave my perky nipples the 15 seconds of attention they deserved and told me to get up.  He climbed on top of me and fingered me.  It had been a while since I experienced that.  It took everything end me to not just say give me the D.

When he thought I was wet enough, I guess, he got up to find his pants and the condom in his pocket.  He took off his boxers and slid it on.  It was at the point I realized he was messing any clothes.  I need to work on being more vigilant.  Anyway, he slid my down to the edge of the bed and quickly entered me.  I gasped. We started grinding to our own rhythm.  Soon after I start to run away.  He pulls me back and flips me over.  I start throwing it back on him with all my might.  It's been too long since I've been bent over and I'm enjoying every minute of it.  Slowly I began to collapse from the pressure building in my pelvis, he just rolls me on my side and keeps going.  He stops and lays down.  I sit up to see what the deal is, he just stares at me.  I know the look and meaning.  I climb on top and start riding him.  He forces me down on him with each trust forcing involuntary screams to escape my lips. He pleads with my to cum and the convulsions in my legs should let him know I'm doing just that.  I start running away again, but he follows me.  We both end up panting on the floor.  I kneel up against the bed as an effort to try to stand but he's right behind in, right back in me.  His constant urges for me to throw in back at him cause my hips to whip into a frenzy.  Again, I gracefully tap out.  I get up and sit on the bed.  He remains on the floor, panting.  Eventually he gets up, and mumbles something about getting this nut out the way.  He asks me how I want it.  I say I want him on top.  He throws my legs over my head and eases back into me.  I'm already shaking.  He hits me with that slow stroke of death and I squirm in torment.  Finally, he gains speed and sends us both over the edge again.  We both lay there, panting for several minutes. Eventually we both get up.  He goes to the bathroom, I go to find a tshirt.  It is then that I realized that we managed to fuck every single thing off the bed, even the mattress pad.  Too tired and weak to care, I find the blanket and pillow and clock out.  I feel him hit the bed not far from me and few minutes later.

I'm not sure how long we laid there but I felt him stir.  Watched him retrieve his clothes.  Walked him out and locked the door behind him.  All I can remember thinking is Happy Birthday to ME !!!! And then I slept a really long time.

Interview with a Vampire....

Now, I remember watching 20/20 when I was little, and they did an interview with a "vampire" in New Orleans. If memory serves me right, this was before the Twilight and True Blood phenomenons. I've always been intrigued by the occult and nightwalkers but I never believed they were real.

 Until tonite. I was intrigued by Macaroni Tony with the feather in his hat, that's what caught my attention. Then I noticed him doing magic tricks, entertaining the masses in the French Quarter, right outside of Cafe du Monde. As he walked away, cackling, I noticed two perfectly sharp fangs in his mouth. I thought I was crazy, but my friends saw it too. Naturally intrigued, we all left to find this mysterious man. Get him to perform magic tricks for us as well.

 Fear set in my bones when I first saw him. I was afraid to approach him. Afraid to speak to him, even though my bold ass already said I would let him bite me. After walking in circles, we finally approached him. Ask for a magic trick like we'd seen him perform across the street. As he and his lady friend packed up, he seemed slightly uninterested in our request, but, as we began to walk away in defeat, he called us back.

 We stood under the light as we were instructed. He told us to come closer and not be afraid because he doesn't bite....often. He showed us his fangs and stared directly at me. I didn't flinch. I just starred back, intrigued and slightly aroused. He did a much more elaborate trick for us, using my hands. I watched cautiously to catch him in his act. My friend could only say that he was magic, that there was no explanation for our amazement. We left and went home. He stayed on my mind. My first encounter, I wanted more.

That night, as I slept tucked tightly in my bed, he visited my dreams. He seemed to hover over me and stare down. I stared back. He spoke my name in a whisper and I sat up. He sat before me and barred his fangs. Again, I did not flinch. I just looked back and bit my lower lip.

 "You do not fear me." He spoke calmly in the air. I only managed to shake my head no. He grabbed my chin and moved towards me. I could feel his breath on my neck. I could feel my heart beat faster. I was afraid, only slightly. I was mostly aroused. Silly me.

 He let go of my chin and moved back to look in my face again. He leaned in again, only to kiss me this time, biting hard on my bottom lip and drawing blood, which he licked up. He moved back again. My expression remained the same. Heart pounding, heaving breathing, lust in my eyes. He leaned in again to kiss me, pushing me back on the bed. He felt like a feather on top of me.

 My panties eased down my legs to my ankles and made contact with the floor. The vampire stared in my eyes from in between my legs. I bit my lip and hissed. The wounds were still fresh, I'd almost forgotten about them though. He trailed soft kisses along my inner thigh. Then I felt pain and felt my life force being drained from me while I was simultaneously having an orgasm. As I let out a gasp, I felt him stop. I felt his eyes gazing at my face, trying to decipher my expression. All I could do was nod as I signal for him to carry on. 

He returned to my mouth, kissing me with lips covered in my blood. The metallic taste was not appealing but there was still a strong sexual surge coursing through my body. I wanted more, I wanted it ALL. Sensing my desire, the vampire, whose name I still don't know, unbuckled his pants and proceeded to penetrate me. Unsure of which myth I should believe, I stopped him and asked if he would use a condom. He laughed at me but obliged my request.

 The vampire stroked me for centuries. He stroked me through history, time and space. He stroked me incoherent. He stroked me until it felt like my head spun around like the exorcist. He stroked me to sleep. 

The next morning, I woke up as if nothing happened. I'd dreamed about having sex with vampires before. This was nothing new. As I got out of bed to walk to the bathroom, I noticed blood on my sheets. I looked down to my thigh and saw to puncture wounds about and inch and a half apart. There was a used condom on the floor and my window was open.

 What the entire fuck ???

The Quickie Chronicles - Office Hours

I walk in her office hours and she sittin at her desk grading papers. I walk in with my fake tears already formed. I hike my skirt a little and take a seat. Rumor was she went both ways, I was tryna find out. She looks up and asks how she can help me. I burst into tears and tell her how I'm doing bad in her class and I need to graduate and ill do ANYTHING to make that happen. She looks at me and I swear she smirks a little and before I can say anything else she closes her door, sits on her desk right in front of me, opens her legs and asks, "ever ate pussy before" I chuckle and say "I'm the best". I scoot further in my seat so her pussy is right in my face and move her lace panties to the side. I use two fingers and massage her clit a little before I insert them inside of her. I lean in and I can see the anticipation of my tongue is killin her. I give her soft strokes with my tongue up and down her clit making sure I use my whole tongue. A common mistake of men is only using the tip but I know better. Her juices start flowing and I'm catching every bit in my mouth, not letting any of her wetness hit the desk top. My fingers are stroking and my tongue is writing circles on her clit. She is so wet. I slide my other hand to my own clit and massage myself. I'm so wet. As I begin to bring myself to orgasm my fingers go deeper into her and my tongue moves a little faster. I'm slurping it all. Before I know it she squirts in my mouth and I feel myself coming too. I pull her panties back over, fix my skirt and sit back in my seat. "So about that grade..?" I say with a smirk. She walks back to her chair and says "you have an A, don't worry!" I stand up and walk to the door. Before I open it to walk out I turn back and say "who knew office hours could be so helpful" and smile and walk out.

The Quickie Chronicles - Only a dream. . .

When I walk in our bedroom he's naked. Towel by his ankles and boxers in his hand. He looks at me and smiles that sexy smile. "Don't even bother" I tell him as I start unbuttoning my cardigan showing off my new lingerie. With that he walks over to me and picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Our lips meet and it seems like its been forever. Soft, gentle, perfect kisses. He lays me on our bed and pulls off my skirt and thong. He moves down the bed and finds my opening and puts his tongue to work. Now when I say best head ever I am not exaggerating. He knows my body inside and out and he is licking and kissing and nibbling softly on my love box like its the last thing he will ever do. My river is flowing and his tongue is painting circles on my love button. "I wanna feel you" I say in my sexiest voice and in one slick motion he is on top of me giving me soft deep thrusts. I'm moaning and cant get enough. His girth fits me like a glove. Slow and deep. And then deeper. That's the way I like it. I can feel all of him and I'm taking it like a champ. I'm throwing it at him an matching his pace. We are as one and it feels so good. He is grunting and damn near screaming and right before we release my alarm goes off and I realize it was only a dream.

I want...

I wanna be loved again. I want someone to wake up and go to sleep with me on their mind. I want someone to be concerned if they don't talk to me for a whole day. I want someone to be there for me on my best days and my worst. I want someone to love my strengths and my weaknesses. I want someone to love me inside and out. I want someone who wants to be with me and only me. I want someone who loves to be around my friends and family and wants me to be around theirs. I just want someone to love me that I can love back with all my heart. Is that too much to ask??

The Quickie Chronicles - 1 Earring, 1 Ride

from the newest ghost writer- Lavender Sage!!!!!


the dress, it was tight. i think i turned around and looked at my ass in the mirror quite a few times. shit i looked good. real good. and i knew for sure i'd find something to fuck. i wasn't new to this. yea i had a boyfriend, but he is an hour away at another school. besides, he wasn't fucking me right no ways. i'll deal with him later, right now i don't wanna be bothered. he's so emotional. and clingy. ugh. not my type but i'll let that shit go later.

 me and my roommates ALWAYS pre gamed, so i was pretty sure i'd be drunk enough to let go of it all by the time i got to the party. see the good thing about my roommates was that they knew how to have a good time and keep the drinks rolling. the only thing i didn't like was that they talked too damn much. see i'm very private about my shit but my room was in the front of the apartment, so i could be discreet as i pleased.

we got to the party right when it was starting to jump off. it was packed, the football and basketball team was there, but i didn't want those heauxs. i was trolling for that dick, i saw nothing that sparked an interest or wet my lips. so to the bar we go, another round. the dj was straight. the same ol tracklist as all his other parties in this small as town, but it was whatever. i'ma twerk my ass.

being that i was a bit drunker now, i can handle my liquor well, i wanted to do another troll before that last call. and that's when i saw him. he was thick, not skinny but not fat. i checked his footwork, yes the newest pair of jordan's. his levi's were nice, the cut i liked. fresh fade, nice jewelry. my height and that's pretty tall. he was there with a few guys i knew from campus so they tried their best to through him on. i didn't need all that. i thought he was pretty nice and i knew for sure that his dick in his pants was nice being that i through it back on him by "accident" trying to hear what he was saying. the basics was asked, "whats your name?" "whats your major?", you know the routine. after about 15 minutes, of playing coy, i was like fuck it, i don't want anybody see me leaving out with him when the lights came on. so i suggested that we leave and go to my apartment. i signaled off to my roommates that i was leaving and for them to ride with someone else because i "broke the heel of my shoe". their drunk dumb asses fell for it. we hopped in my little 4 door and sped off to my apartment. remember, i said discreet. i lived in a popular college town part of the city and i really didn't want anyone to see us.

 i was full of patron and i've been known to act my porn star-ish ways. my bed had always been strategically placed in front of the mirror covered sliding closet, so i was excited to be starring in my own show. i locked my door. cut the lights, all except from the candle that was lit in the corner. i couldn't stand for my room to smell like sex afterwards. i laid him down on the bed and went for that thick dick i grinding on not just an hour before. he took off his jordan's then started to unbuckle his jeans. i told him to handle his watch as i handled the buckle. as i was sliding down his jeans, his dick was standing straight up to tell me hello. that excited me so much that my mouth got wet, immediately. i slid out of that tight ass dress only to reveal the lace set i bought earlier from Macy's. i stood back a bit in my drunken stuper to make a plan of attack, as big as his dick was. i had to perform right. it was a one night stand, so i always made sure to go hard as if this was my only shot at life.

while i was coming up with my strategy, he ask for me to take my bra off so he could pinch my nipples and for me to turn around so he could check my ass out in the thong i had on. all he was doing was setting himself for the perfect oscar winning performance. i pushed him back down across the bed, laid him back, placed a pillow under his head to prop it up just right so he could watch a part of the show as well. i knelt before him as if i was trying to let him see what he was about to feel in a few short minutes. a nice view in the mirror. i went down on the head of his dick, just to play with the tip. then around the crown of the head. then down the long way that lead me to the little trick i learned from a magazine my roommate was reading by the pool. i twirled my tongue around the middle, in between where his dick met and where his balls started. he moaned so loud, i thought he may have gave the signal to my neighbor on the opposite of my paper thin walls that i was fucking somebody, yet again. i barked from him NOT to cum. not just yet.

 i slowly took off my now wet thong. something about being in control of giving the best head a nigga's ever had, was a true turn on to me. I grabbed the condom from the nite stand, correctly and slowly rolled it on, and climbed on top that still tall dick. i had to position myself on top to make sure i took it all. i could see his look of shock in the candlelight. true amazement. before i could get a good stride in, he smacked my ass so loud and hard that i jumped. "oh yea? that's the shit u liked huh?" i replied in a whisper in his left ear and i whipped my hair back. i caught notice of myself in that said mirror and immediately had that bad bitch mentality come through. "u got this now turn him the fuck out." i rode him until my thighs started to burn. no way was i gonna let a one nite stand cum first. thats not the rule. i cum first, who gives a fuck if u do. after a few more strides, i came. i came hard to where i shivered. he through his fist in my hair and pulled as if that was his way of saying he should be getting kudos for it. no nigga that was all me. u were just here for equipment purposes. since i was playing nice, i decided to let him cum but i told him to hurry because i was beginning to go dry. i instructed him to bend me over so i could get wet all over again. remember we're in the mirror. me being bent over in front of the mirror taking dick so hard that i'm beginning to bruise at my tramp stamp, is quite a scene. he did as he was told and beginning to do a few quick pumps to where when he did cum, he fell over on a pillow and went straight to sleep. condom still on and all.

as soon as he erupted, my roommates were placing their keys in the door. "we brought u some waffle house. we figured u were hungry!" they screamed through the door. i was so bent i was like fuck it. i'm not one to turn down free waffle house after that drunk nite. i had worked up an appetite too but i could not find the energy. i blew out the candle after a few minutes and crashed along with him. i believe his name was Rashad. i'm not sure. who gives a shit. he was a one nite stand. the next morning, i woke up to a hangover to beat the gods that was fighting the sunlight coming through my curtains. i noticed a body next to me and couldnt for the life of me remember wtf happened but we were naked, there was an open condom wrapper on the floor, and a clip on earring laid on my nite stand. i got up. slipped on some sweats and took a quick piss. i tried to make my raccoon eyes vanish before he could roll over and think he slept with a booga wolf. when i returned from the bathroom. there were awkward "good mornings" and a "where is my phone?". i made the reference of him going home. he made mentioned to getting my number but my phone was off to play on the "my phone is dead." lie i always run. i wanted him gone before my roommates or my neighbors to see who was creeping out. and then he goes "can u give me a ride? i don't have a car."

**face palm**