Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 20

So before I get started, I'm doing this whole no twitter for lent thing, and it's kinda working (but blog posts and ig and askfm don't count).  But anyway, I occasionally have these thoughts of things to tweet that aren't facebook appropriate  (and that's all i have left), so I'll be starting blog posts with very strange quotes.  Here goes...

When I get pregnant, I wanna carry my baby in my booty like Kim K.  It'll be the only chance I get to have a big ass.  I know her baby ain't really in her booty. -__-

Moving on to the topic.  This episode of Misfits is on--

--Being a Non- "Artist"

One, don't let the tagline of the blog fool you.  I am not an artist.  Do not feel like an artist. And, do not want to be labeled as an artist.  I'm just me.  What I do, I do for me and varying other reasons, which I will explain later.

I'm a Misfit and I don't care for traditional labels.  Especially on my sexuality (even though I did label it in a previous Misfit, that was just so I wouldn't have to give a lesson on proper terms for sexuality and gender indentity.... ).  I may even be an extra Misfit on this topic because I know a few Misfits who would argue me down and tell me I'm an artist.  The fuck I am!

I'm gonna break this shit down bit by bit for you.  Explain all the "artistic" shit I do and why it's not artistic.  But we gonna keep it simple first.  Start with the definition of an artist.

Merriam-Webster and nem define an artist as:

one skilled or versed in learned arts.

I ain't learned shit.  I am not trained, and I'm not saying you have to be, but... I'm ain't.  Now, I done already said I don't do traditional labels, and this is a basic example of a traditional label, so I should be able to transcend and go above and beyond... but I'm stuck.  Because I don't want to be an artist.  I don't want the responsibility.  I don't want the attention  (after I die).  And I just have hard time viewing myself in that light.  Not that I don't think I'm talented or acknowledge that some of my work may be seen as artistic, but your labels don't stick.  Get it ?

1.  Ok, so, I make earrings.  Nope, not an artist.  I make fucking accessories.

2. My Natreel'Babies.  Again, not an artist.  I make these dolls, and sometimes their clothes, only because I got fucking tired of Barbies with hair long and blond down to their behind knowing good and damn well mine will never look like that on it's own.  I just think that every little girl should have a doll that looks like them, and while the proportions of Barbie's body are all fucked up, that bish be rocking that bush, lol.

3. Stories/Smut/Poetry/Blogs.  Oh, shit.  Think I may have to do this step by step.  Blogs just don't count.  If I was talking, this is exactly what I would say.
Smut.  You know what, I may just have to be a smutty artist.  Sex is art.  And I'd paint the fuck out your canvas. Too much?  My bad...
Stories and poetry.  The land where my fantasies, dreams and subconscious meet.  But, most importantly, my therapy session.  I can sort out all my problems, answer every question I have.  I just let of stream of consciousness come out of me and sometimes my subconscious follows.  Even as I'm writing this, I'm discovering things so much deeper than what I'm sharing.

4.  The stage.  Now, I rarely ever find my ass on someone's stage.  At least once a year tho.  And the experience is so-- I don't have words for it.  My experiences on stage are the closest my lil docile catholic ass is gonna get to catching the holy ghost.  Seriously.  It's like my spirit lifts out my body and the words I recite ooze out of me like sap from a tree.  I have no control over them, but I know they are perfectly controlled.  The stage is my religion and I worship on it as often as I can, as often as I can tolerate, because I am afraid of it.

In saying all this, I've come to a realization.  I don't like the simplicity of the word artist because it doesn't encompass all that I am or what I am at all.  I'm a worshiper  a therapist and patient, a culture saver, a stylist, a sex goddess (wait. no. that's Isis).  Either way, what I am cannot be simplified into the word artist.  It's not my profession.  It's not what I want to be.  I don't want the responsibility of an artist.  I just wanna be me.  No boxes checked.  No labels needed.  I wanna be free to flow forward and backwards like the water I am.

Misfit.

Out.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 18.1

The question is can you turn a heaux into a housewife...

As a misfit I gotta keep it real. And I think it depends. I mean take this scenario...

Some heauxs fuck hella people because some fucked up shit happened in they past and they use sex to cope. Some heauxs have been raped or molested and use sex to get their power back that was stripped from then via sex. I know someone like that. Some heauxs use sex to make them feel better about themselves and give them confidence. If someone WANTS to fuck them that must mean they got something going for they self..right?

Heauxs like this I think can be turned into a house wife/husband but only if and when they ready for that change. These bitches just need someone to make them realize its more to life than fucking everyone they meet that's attractive or gotta big ass/dick. They need someone to show them that they are important and relevant regardless of they sex game.

The other scenario of heauxdom...

Heauxs that fuck muhfuckas just because they want to. They like fuckin so when that possibility becomes available they jump on it -- pun intended haha -- as fast as they can. They fuck whenever, wherever and don't care who knows. These heauxs are dangerous to themselves and everyone else. You can never be sure how many partners they've had and if they've been safe. You dont know how many babies they got or what diseases they have or had. These heauxs get muhfuckas in trouble.

These heauxs CANNOT become wifey or hubby material. You can't trust em. You don't know where they been or should I say who they been in or who been in them. Shit like that will only get you caught up or hurt. And why do that shit?

Moral of the story is some heauxs can become housewives or husbands and some can't. You just gotta know what kinda heaux you dealing with. And if you're not sure, the safe bet is to stay the fuck away...unless all you want is a heaux for the night.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 19

....On Chasing / Replacing

Scenario #1: You've reached a fork in your 5+ year relationship, and are now faced with a tough decision. Choosing to take the path on the right means you're making a conscience effort to work things out, chase your partner, if you will. Taking the path on the left means that you're done chasing pavements, and will look to start a new journey. Which path should you choose?

Scenario #2: After the 8th argument this month, your girlfriend storms out, and tells you never to call her again. Both of you said things that you probably didn't really mean, and the entire situation was a mistake. Now, that awkward moment starts to set in, and you must make a decision. Do you swallow your pride, and chase after her to address the issue, or do you just cut your losses and move on? What will you do?

Scenario #3: Define irony: You meet the man of your dreams while standing in line to buy sleeping pills. You all exchange contact information, and you feel really good about this guy. The first week or so, the communication between you all is strong, and it feels natural. However, you quickly realize that you seem to be the one that always initiates contact between you two. Should you continue with the 80-20 pattern of this potential relationship, or should you look for someone that's closer to the 51-49 effort you're really looking for in the beginning?

Three pretty common situations we'll most likely face in our adult lives, but three separate ways to look at the issue. In the first case, you'd probably consider the time you've invested into the relationship, and weigh the options of starting over vs staying put. The second scenario forces us to consider why things have been so rough within the given time frame, while also prompting up to look at both the past and the potential future. The last situation is a bit of a tough one, just because it's truly a "what if?" case, and those are always scary.

BUT WAIT, what about what popular society has to say? *gasp* Even there, we're given contradictory information. From our Rap role models, we're instructed never to chase anything except for money. However, from our [softer] R&B advice givers, you better beg until he / she takes you back. This just goes to show us that nobody really knows whether or not it's a better idea to either chase or replace someone. What a perfect way to transition into this topic....

I'm a Misfit, and well....I think one should both chase and replace. Call me indecisive, but in this situation, is there ever really a right answer? Now, my inability to chose stems from my (1) Issues with being able to let go of people, and (2) Not wanting to look stupid for chasing someone that doesn't want to be chased. I'm truly a basket case when it comes to making a decision like this, but [so far] it hasn't gotten me in any trouble. Wait, let me not lie, because I definitely have had some crazy sh*t happen, but this is a blog, not my journal. So, to provide further insight on why I drive straight at the fork in the road, I'll share me views on each of the three scenarios listed above.

#1 - Taking the "right" path: Look, 5 years is a long time, relative to someone in their twenties. This relationship probably started during a major milestone in your life (i.e. high school graduation, college graduation, new career, etc), and you feel as though you're connection with your partner is meant to be. He / she has probably seen you at your highest, and at your lowest, and you really appreciate that. So, when there's trouble in paradise, opt not to seek shelter. Instead, just enjoy the rain and the palm trees. Do whatever it takes to make it work, and fight for your relationship.
Being "left" with no choice: What's 5 years compared to the rest of your life? If the average life expectancy is somewhere near 70yrs old, devoting 5 years to something equates to less than 10% of that number, meaning that you have time to move on / do better. If you're seriously having to question staying in a relationship that is older than most TV sitcoms, that, in itself, is an indicator that it's time to move on. Save face, and do what's probably best for both of you.

 2 - The chase: Foolish pride can lead to our demise. When we decide to not accept and admit fault for our own actions, we are hindering ourselves from life's natural progression. So what if you've argued 8 times this month on the same stupid-ass topic? At least you all are still communicating, right? I believe that is a clear indication that both of you are willing to work things out, and you should take the necessary actions to get the ball rolling. Truth be told, if you didn't care, the arguing would've probably stopped on the 2nd round. Be an adult, and fight for the relationship.
Chase is just a bank: The 8th time this month, huh? You're stupid enough to continue going back and forth on the same issue? You should've realized that by Round 2, this issue was way deeper than what it appeared to be. Hell, you probably know that the argument was just a way to see which one of you would bow out gracefully first. Well, I think it's your time to shine. The whole "agree to disagree" decision obviously isn't going to work this time, so it just might be time to move on. Be mindful of what you've learned, and apply it to future relationships. Thank me later.

#3 - 80 + 20 = 100: If you've ever been fishing, you know that in order to catch a fish, you'll end up doing 80% of the work, if not more. No prize-winning fish is just going to jump out of the water, and into your boat. It takes effort to obtain what you want in life. Remember the adage "Anything in life worth having is worth fighting for," right? Well, this is your chance! By actively chasing someone, you prove to them that you're genuinely interested in them, and that you're willing to put forth the necessary effort. Go ahead and catch the fish!
51 + 49 = 100: Fishing, eh? Approximately 70% of the World is covered by water. Remember the adage, "There are plenty of fish in the sea," right? Sh*t, there are tons of fish in the Gulf of Mexico. Sure, they're probably oily, but you can still go fishing. I guess what I'm saying is that there will probably be another person of your dreams, that will try just as hard as you will to make things work in the beginning. Wouldn't your time be better spent on someone that basically is competing with you to see who can say "Good Morning" first?

There you have it, folks. Hopefully, you can see why my views on this topic aren't black and white. Decisions of this magnitude probably won't decide the faith of the universe, but then again, maybe they could. In my humble opinion, I do believe that one should both chase and replace when the time comes. Now, it is totally up to you to decide how long you'll chase / how quickly you'll opt to replace. Good things come to those that wait, but waiting forever seems a bit too long, right? People live for the thrill of the chase, but running on a treadmill gets you nowhere. I just wish that there was a quick solution for this issue....because it would help me out tremendously.

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 18

....On Turning a Heaux into a Housewife

"I got Heauxs. I got Heauuxxxss. In different Area Codes [Area]. Area Codes [Codes]." - Luda and Nate Dogg

As I slept on the shore of the Persian Gulf in Dubai, I fell asleep watching the waves crash against the shore. While asleep, I had an amazing dream, about an Emirate woman twerking to my favorite 2 Chainz song [I Luv Dem Strippers]. Man, this dream was amazing! She was in my hotel room, twerking for all my Durhams [money], and I was just enjoying the show. However, the dream progressed, and guess who managed to fall in love with the twerker.....me. I mean, this is my dream and all. Anyway, I woke up, with a sense of disbelief, simply because the thought of me falling in love with a stripper was something that I'd dealt with before. *S/O to Patrice and Sweet Lea Lea* It's so taboo to fall in love with a stripper, right? She's a heaux, and you can't save them heauxs, right? What would your people say? What would your church members say? Shidd, my Pastor would be cool with it, as long as she helped pay my bills. However, it shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks. Do you. YOLO. Blah blah blah!

"You can have an ole lady, but dem heauxs, they for everybody!" - Juvenile

I guess what I'm trying to say is....I'm a Misfit, and I honestly believe that one can turn a heaux into a housewife. Yep, I said it, and I really do mean it. I think it's really a perception thing in the end. Some people say cucumbers taste better pickled. Is that relevant to this argument No, but if heauxs were pickles, and housewives were cucumbers, you'd still eat them, right? Wait, so we can eat heauxs and housewives now? I mean, I was eating them before, but not salad. I ain't eating salad. You can keep that sh*t to yourself, ole nasty ass. Timeout, this is way off topic, and it's cold out here by the water. Let me regain my focus. Heauxs can definitely be converted into housewives. It'll take some patience and perseverance but it is doable. You can judge me all you like, but by the end of this adventurous rant, I think you'll understand where I'm coming from.

"You can't turn a heaux into a housewife." - Ancient Chinese Proverb (?)

Okay, now I think we'll all agree that being called a heaux, or associating ourselves with heauxs is not something we all strive for. The filthy stigma surrounding the label haunts both men and women, so we strive hard not earn the title. Heauxs are viewed as nasty, trifling, shallow, desperate individuals searching for validation of some sort. Taking it a step further, in popular society, heauxs are viewed as community property, and although we all want general acceptance, we probably don't want to be "shared" amongst the people. Heauxs are often disrespected, treated like dirt, and used for entertainment. Longer story short, nobody wants to be a heaux....but there are some people that wouldn't mind being with a heaux.

" I wouldn't care if you were a Prostitute and that you hit every man that you ever knew" - Lil Wayne

I'm honestly cuff a heaux**. Hell, it's not like most of the non-heauxs out here are "pure" anyway. Each one of us has done something that we will ultimately regret, and for some of us, it's [carelessly] sleeping with numerous people. However, I think someone willing to change their heauxish ways deserves a chance at being considered for more serious and meaningful relationships. Now, I'm not saying that any of my past dating partners was a heaux, but I'm also not saying that none of them weren't. See what I did there?

**Don't get it twisted, I'm not going to let her just keeping fuc*ing and sucking everyone she meets. If she's going to be with me, then she's going to have to adjust her outlook on things. Remember, this is about turning heauxs into housewives.

Look, in my opinion, many of us would be considered heauxs before being deemed housewife / househusband material. I think every heaux, both male and female, is just looking for acceptance and security. I could be completely wrong, but the confessions of a stripper in Waffle House booth mean something to me. Now, I'm not saying that it'll be easy like she probably is. I just think that in the end, it'll be worth it. That heaux will hold you down. Just give it a chance. Let's be real here.....within every housewife / househusband, you'll definitely find a hoe.....get it?

The Quickie Chronicles - Homework

We had been talkin for a little while now and I was heading to her room to do homework. I wasn't expecting anything more. Every other time we got together to do homework that's exactly what happened. I walk in her room, get on her bed and pull out the laptop. But she just staring at me. "Don't you have hwk to do?" Since she says no I figure why the hell should I start doing anything. We start watching random ass YouTube videos. We cuddling and you know I love that shit. I look into her eyes and she staring at me. I look at her lips and go for it. Our lips meet and that's when everything changes.

The laptop gets moved off the bed and her arms are wrapped around my body. Her soft lips are on mine, her tongue is moving gently against mine and her hands are grabbing my ass. My hands are on her breasts and hers are on mine.

Before I know it I'm on my back and she is tugging on my jeans. My thong flies to the ground. I'm wet. Like a river wet. Her fingers begin to massage my clit. She know exactly what she doing to me. Her head moves to my pearl and her tongue starts encircling my pearl. And damn she know what she doing! Abruptly she stops and tells me to ride her face. I get up but before I get on top of her I take her basketball shorts off. She isn't even wearing panties. I grin. I position my body so that I'm riding her face as she asked, but backwards, 69 is what you folks call it. While her tongue starts goin to work, mine does too. I'm licking and slurping all her juices. I'm flickin my tongue fast then slow then fast again against her pearl. Both of us are moaning. It's hard to tell when hers end and mine begin. I feel myself reaching orgasm so I go a little faster and little more pressure so she can cum with me.

When both of us have left puddles on her bed, I get up pull my jeans on and tell her, "so about that homework"!

I Just Don't Understand.... (work in progress)

random preamble : so, i gave up twitter for lent.  I don't know how well that will work.  I have an abundance of unused words and thoughts in my mind so look for many more random ass posts, Misfits, Chronicles, and even Isis may show up a time or two....

I just don't get it.

I can't fathom how God decided that one plus one equals two,

Or that you plus me equals one,

Equals us.

I just don't get it.

I could try to sound astrological and claim that your lion tames my sting,

that my water douses your fire.

I could try to pretend to understand numerology.

Try to explain how my one and your six combine with some philosophical three

To equal ten,

To equal one,

To equal us.

But truth is, 

I just don't get it.

This has nothing to do with figuring out how opposites attract,

the complete randomness of how we met,

none of that.

For the first time, I find myself asking why.

What purpose do you serve in my life,

and I in yours? 

Am I once again in the role of the teacher,

the savior?

Why is this even happening?

It's really not like we are even possible.

God, I just don't understand

How I see all the blocks on this road leading to a possible us

And I've decided to build a bridge over them,

Dig a tunnel under them,

Or walk directly through the hell fire of them

To get to you.

You speak to me like you've known my for centuries,

And my spirit responds as such.

I feel like I'm living a real life version of PYRAMIDS

Only my ending is happier and there's no pimps...

Maybe I should stop trying to understand,

And just love regardless.

Deal with the heartbreak when or if it comes.

But my complexity cannot be solved with such simplicity.

I feel like a function with no possible solution.

Plug in the numbers,

Do the math,

Find an unsatisfactory answer that leads you wanting more.

The Quickie Chronicles - Ride

I hate Monday mornings.  I hate rainy Monday mornings even more.  I hate broken umbrellas even more than that.

I stood at the bus stop soaked.  Thank God for rainboots and this raincoat, but still, I was wet.  And growing more disgruntled by the second.  A car slowly pulls up in front of me; my only thoughts are that this bitch better not splash me.  They don't, praise him.  The window comes down.

"Say Jade," the guy in the car says, "need a ride to class?"  It was this guy from my Art History class.  I could take this ride once.  It was raining, and he wasn't a complete stranger, right?

"Yes, please," I said opening the door.   "Curtis, right?"

We exchanged small talk the entire ride to school.  It was awkward.  But what's to expect when you ride in a car with a complete stranger.  He seems cool enough though.  We walked to class together.  Class happens.

After class, I rush out to my next one.  Two more after that.  When it's all said and done, I just wanna go home and take a nap.  I make my way to the bus stop, in the rain, all over again.

Again, while waiting on the bus, a car pulls up.  Same thought process to a T.

"We doing this again, stranger?"  Curtis says through the window.

"I guess so." I say as I close the door behind myself.   More awkward conversations ensue.  We land on the topic of bucket lists.  Sexual bucket lists.

"Before I die, I wanna be a member of the mile high club."  I laugh, and confess my fear of airplane bathrooms.

"Road head.  Giving or receiving." I confess.

"Well, here's your shot." he said looking down at his crotch, chuckling.  I just look at him intently.  Oh, he's joking.  I'm not.

I take my seat belt off and turn to face him.  He's trying his hardest to concentrate on driving.  No one takes me seriously.

"Just don't kill me." I say as I begin to unbuckle his pants.  I don't know what it is about dudes and layers,  but bruh, all you need is drawls and pants.  Drawls and pants!  After making my way through like 4 layers of unnecessary clothing, I finally make it to his penis.

"You're seriously about to do this." he says like more of a question than a statement.  I'm practically in his lap with his penis in my hand.

"Ummm yea.  Don't kill us." my last words before I lick the head of his penis.  I make small circles with my tongue as I take more and more of the head into my mouth.  He shuddered so I stopped and looked up.  "You ok?"

"Yea, I'm fine." he said panting.  I went back to work, taking more and more of him into my mouth.  I find a good rhythm.  I still feel somewhat safe.  I hear moans.

The car stops abruptly, and I sit up.

"Just let me pull over."

"Oh."  I mean being in a stationary car isn't part of my bucket list so.... I mean I can still cross this off, right?

"Since this isn't going as planned, why don't we make it more interesting." he said sliding my seat all the way back and putting the back down.  Next, he started tugging on my pants. Oh.

He climbed on top of me, hitting me in the face with his penis, and burying his face in between my legs.  Fuck it.  I went back to work.

Does this count as sex in a public place? Two in one!!

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 17

Ok Misfits, repeat the oath.

Misfits, we ain't SHIT!!!

This will be short and sweet.

Ok, so long before I even dreamed of the fuckery that has become Misfits, there was a British TV show by the same name.  And it was fucking awesome.  I've managed to watch almost all four season in less than a week.

Anyway, this show is about these kids who get caught in a weird ass storm that gives them all super powers.  And then, their journey encountering all the other people who got powers from the storm as well.  Oh, and did I mention that they are all on probation, doing community service.  They so live up to the Misfit oath.

Now, if you wanna join me and watch this fuck filled show, it's on Hulu.  All of it.  Free regular Hulu.

That is all. 

Misfit, out!

The Quickie Chornicles - It's Yo Birfday

This is a part 2 to Birthday Sex.

"If you were my present, it's only right that I'm yours, right?"

Before I get ahead of myself... I had no plans of doing shit this Saturday.  I was in my bed with Netflix.  Comfortable, in nothing but my ex's t-shirt.  Chillen.  My best friend texts me talking about get dressed, she'll be here in 20 minutes.  I ask her where we're going; she says Bourbon.  I swear if I never see that street again, I begin to type.  Before I press send, she calls.

"Bourbon? Please, no."  I say.  No hello's necessary.

"You remember that guy you had sex with on your birthday?" Uhhhhh...  "Well it's his birthday, and he's looking for you."  I flashback to the sex.  I get excited, shit was amazing.  But , then I notice my boyfriends growing pile of clothes in the corner...

"And what does any of this have to do with me?"   Not that I don't already know....

"Look, you know what it is.  Don't shoot the messenger.  I'm outside."

"Well come on in cuz I'm don't have on pants... yet"

As I take my time and get dressed, Sharon sits on my bed watching me.  She tells me what the deal is and of course I'm game.  My only thoughts are it can't happen here, not like last time.  Sharon then suggests crossing something off my sexual bucket list.  Car sex.  I raise one eyebrow, find a lowcut dress, boots, and my wristlet with two condoms in it, and walk right out the door without her.

The same two groups of friends met up again off Bourbon.  I leaned against Sharon's car with a lit clove dangling from my lips.  I'm not the one to indulge in small talk.  It's fake and weird to me; let's just do what we came here to do.  I get off my friend's car and being walking down the street, right by Marcus.  I turn around to make sure he's following, and when I notice he isn't I just stare until he gets the memo.

"Where are you taking me?" he asks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I say with one eyebrow raised.  He seems to understand the language of the eyebrows because he grabs my hand and leads me right back where we came from.

"Keys." he all but yells at his friend who reluctantly hand them over.   "Now take a walk yall... " he says as he opens the car door.  I slide into the backseat, and he right behind me.  Rewind.

"If you were my present, it's only right that I'm yours, right?" I say with a coy smile.   "Happy birthday Marcus."  I waste no time removing my bra and underwear before straddling his lap.  Our lips meet for the first time in months but the old fire and urgency finds it's way back.  The straps of my dress fall off my shoulders and down my arms.  I remove my hands from the traps and let the dress naturally fall to my waist.  We both pause and exhale before he begins thumbing my nipples, taking each breast into his mouth, warming them with his tongue.

My hands work busily undoing his belt, undoing his jeans, digging through shorts and boxers to find him.  I take my time stroking him with my hands before sliding down to the floor and sliding him in my mouth.  I take my time taking more and more of him in to my mouth.  I try to relax my throat and take him all the way in, swallowing as I force him further in to my mouth.  He grabs the back of my neck as I bob on his dick; I choke, taking him all the way out my mouth.  I laughed as I slid back onto his lap.

As Marcus begin rubbing on my booty and trying to kiss me again, I searched the backseat frantically for my wristlet.  Finally finding it on the floor, under the driver seat.  I got off his lap and bent over to retrieve it, but Marcus didn't know that.  He took that as the perfect opportunity to get behind me and slide into me.  I hissed as he entered me and my eyes rolled around the back of head.  He stroked me slowly and I made sure my hips matched every thrust.  Wristlet in hand, I grabbed on to the car door to steady myself with his quickening pace.  Looking down at my burning thighs, contemplating tapping out, I notice the wristlet dangling from my wrist and remember it's purpose.  I try to run away, but he's holding my waist in a vice grip.  Between moans, I manage to get the word condom out my mouth.  Abruptly, he stops.

 I sit facing him, with my back up against the door.  He mouths the word shit, and looks up at me slightly disappointed.  I chuckle as I pull the condoms out.  He slides into one and eases my legs over my head.  My feet pressed up against the fogged up windows.  He reenters me and leans down to kiss me.  My head keeps banging up against the door, so we switch positions.  He sits on the seat, I squat above him and begin bouncing.  After doing that a while, we fear we may blow out a tire or fuck up the alignment or whatever.  So we end like we started.  Him behind me, my head under the driver seat, weight equally balanced across the backseat.

After trying our best to make ourselves look presentable, we ease out the backseat on a quest to find our friends.  I only have one thing to tell Sharon when I make it back to her: "Can I stay at your house tonite?  I left my key at home... "

The Quickie Chronicles - Nature Feels

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I've been having this reoccurring dream.  I'm in the park, by the water.  It's night time.  A faceless man is walking up to me, naked.  All I can see is his well built body and a halo of hair.  I stand up next to him and watch the moon reflect in the water.  I am the Eve to his Adam.  His snake is lead to my apple.  The leaves pillow my body as he ravishes my soul.  Then, I wake up in a cold sweat, with a wet spot all around my ass.

Tonight, I can't sleep.  Sparks keeps howling for some strange reason.  I decided to take her for a walk around campus.  I stay along the lit paths, near the blue lit emergency phones too.  Don't know what kind of shit could jump off this late.

I notice the moonlight shine in the water of the bio reserve's pond.  It intrigues me.  It reminds me of my dream.  I walk closer to it and admire it's beauty.  Sparks seems to be calmed by it too.  She lays down on the ground near the water and dozes off.  I sit beside her, take off my shoes, and dip my feet in the water.

My heart skips a beat and I nearly jump out my skin when I hear some leaves ruffle.  I turn to face the noise.  Out walks a man, naked as the day he was born.  Chocolate, scruffy, all the cornbread and hamshanks he could dream of stacked on his body.  I just sat there in shock.  He barely let his shock show on his face.

"Not use to running into anybody this late." he said with a smirk.

"You come here often?" I asked.

"Only when I can't sleep.  I come out here for a swim."

"Without clothes on?  Is that water even safe to swim in?"

"Ain't nothing happened to me yet.  Been doing it since I was a freshman.  I'm leaving out in May."

"Angie." I said holding my hand out.  Almost touching his...

 "Edward." he said with a chuckle.

I let him take his swim and continued to make small conversation with him.  He constantly tried to get me to join him in the water.  I can't swim so I politely declined.

He came out the water, I guess when he'd had his fill of the water, looking like a fucking gawd.  Adonis.  He walked to the bushes he emerged from and grabbed a towel and some shorts.  He put them on and sat beside me.  We continued our conversation til the sun came up.  I walked back to my room, he to his and went on about our day.

We saw each other occasionally on campus.  We at least acknowledge each others' existence.  And on nights when we couldn't sleep, we found ourselves meeting at the same spot.

On another night when Sparks was extra whiny, I took her out for a walk.  I brought a towel with me.  When Sparks laid down to sleep, I stripped.  I dipped my toe in the water and it sent a shiver up my spine.

"Don't be afraid.  It won't hurt you." a familiar voice said from the bushes.  I waited til he was standing next to me and grabbed his hand.  He led me into the water.  When we got about waist deep, I felt comfortable enough and being to pull away.  He pulled me back to him.  Our naked skin clashed and I felt a jolt soar throw my body.  Who wouldn't wanna fuck Adonis in the garden under the moonlight?  

We stared startled at each other until I managed to find the courage to reach up and stroke his cheek.  I floated in the water until I reached his lips.  I kissed him passionately as he picked me up and carried me deeper in the water.  I let go so I could look at him and fell in the water.  I didn't realize how deep in we were.  I freaked out.  Started flailing my arms.  Sparks woke up and started barking for me at the banks.  Edward picked me up and carried me to her.  Laid me out on the muddy, leaf covered ground.  He just hovered above me for a while, then started kissing me again.  I wrapped my legs back around his waist and clawed his back.   I reached my hand down and started stroking him.  The more we kissed, the more my passion grew and the more it dripped down on the leaves.  I wanted to feel him inside me, and the more I inched him closer, the further apart he pulled.  I thought I'd angered him, the way he pulled away and just stared down at me.  Then he pulled me legs apart and hiked my knees up.  He buried his face in my treasure and I though I'd died and gone to heaven.  I just laid there, writhing in pleasure, staring up at my Black Adonis thinking that this couldn't be life.  I sat up and straddled him, eased down on his joy.  We bucked and bounced underneath the moonlight, my feet scraping the water until the amber glow of daylight came.

We lay there, tired and naked, Adam and Eve, under the new morning's light.