Category Archives: POLYAMORY

SEX! IT’S A FUCKING WORKOUT

Sex is serious work. A few weeks ago, I went to a sex-party with my guy, and boy did we put on a show. Despite my content, I’m not always sexual, but at parties, for some reason, my levels increase, and I low-key become a porn star. My nails and toes are always done, and I carefully plan my outfit. I chat it up with the people I know, and I play into the innocent school-girl vibe for strangers. I play it humble until the magic hour starts; then, I become a fucking beast.

My guy and I walked around for a bit, trying to find a room with some action before picking our beginning spot. We found a place where a couple was on one bed, and we decided to occupy the other. He started by eating my pussy, until I came. Then I sat up and began sucking his dick. As I licked, sucked, and slurped, I could hear an audience growing behind me. If you’ve been reading my blog, you know I enjoy an audience. So, as I’m going in, trying to keep it sexy, sloppy, gaggy, and drippy, a bitch starts to get tired. My guy has a habit of being a bit extra when people are watching. In addition to that, he’s a ‘savor the moment’ kind of guy. That is fine when we’re alone. But at a sex party or when it’s supposed to be a quickie, you need to fuck me hard and fast, so we can keep it moving.

Getting tired of jerking my neck back and forth and my saliva constantly dripping down my thigh, I look up at him and let him know I’m ready to fuck. He decides that he wants me to ride him, so —Giddy up Cowgirl! When I turn around to a better position on the bed, I realize the audience has grown, and right in front of my face is a beautiful brown skin woman. She says something (I don’t remember), but once I’m in position, I mount my man, like a sumo-squat, and begin to bounce up and down. On many occasions, I’ve been told that I ride dick well, and I give all the credit to low squats. I continue to bounce up and down, alternating my hands between his neck and his waist. I was riding like a champ, but, eventually, my 220+lbs body can’t do it all night. So, I dropped one leg down and continued. At that moment, the same chocolate-skin woman gave me a compliment and a $10 tip. I wasn’t expecting it, of course, but I’m not turning down money. Then I thought about it. I’ve given plenty of free shows, not to mention the free pussy and head at these parties. Boy! It’s a lot of fucking work.

After I rode my guy, we switched positions to doggy-style. While there, a guy I clocked earlier at the party positioned himself in front of me, essentially asking if I would suck his dick. It was a beautiful dick, so of course, I did. Because he was thick, I was face down and ass up; I had to maneuver my body just right to get a proper motion to perform all of my tricks. After a few minutes, he asked me if I would let him fuck. I was still very much on my period, and I only usually engage with my main partners during that time. However, I had already started up his engine; I didn’t want to send him down a different path, so I let him know I was on my period; he said, “OK.” Almost immediately after my guy came, the other guy got up and positioned himself behind me. He put on a condom, slid in, and went to town. Once again, trying to keep it cute while getting jack-hammered from the back, one after the other, was not easy. But, being the champ that I am, my body adjusted and enjoyed the ride. After he came, I needed a break and a shower.

I showered with my guy then we walked around to give our bodies time to reset. I enjoyed being a voyeur as I watched other couples go at it and made light conversation. There was an interracial couple that I clocked and couldn’t take my eyes off of. Her skin was smooth and dark chocolate while he was dulce de leche, and I wanted them both. But, as it seemed they were only there to enjoy the atmosphere, I kept my fantasies to myself. 

After my guy and I refreshed, and my pussy no longer felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, we went back to action. We started on a couch but eventually moved to a bed with a few other couples already in action. From one position to the next, we flipped and fucked while caressing against other bodies. I even think I sucked a titty that I think delivered me a dose of breast milk, but I’m not sure. Anyway, we fucked our way all around the bed, then voila the guy from upstairs, positioned himself back in front of me. I knew because his dick and balls smelled like baby powder. Once again, I had to reposition my body to properly suck while getting fucked. Like a champ, I handled my business, then switched partners, and braced for more impact. After that second round, I was DONE!  I tapped out for the rest of the party.

The next day, the pain of the party began to settle in. Not the pain of my pulverized vagina, the pain of my fucking back. Like I said, anything I do, I try to do it 100%. So that means my desire to please is always A1. I’ll contort myself in the most awkward positions to look and perform like the porn star I think I am. Which means face-up, chest down, and ass up. Or, on my back, head twisted sucking dick, while my legs are spread or pushed behind my head. Sex, especially at a party, is a fucking workout.

B!TCH, YOU TRIED IT!

When I decided to start my blog, my purpose was to create a shared emotional outlet. When I began divulging my sexual exploits, I strapped on my seatbelt and got ready for the ride. When I made public my herpes status, I braced for impact. I knew very early that my views and progressive ideas about sexuality, sexual health, and inclusion would not be popular, and I didn’t care. I stopped caring about what others thought, and I focused on telling my story. I told my story for myself and those who needed to hear something different, something new and inspiring. 

With every story, every blog, and every interview, more and more people reached out to me and congratulated me for being the voice they couldn’t find. I’ve since picked up the torch, with other sex-positive activists, to push and correct the language for change. Every day we’re posting, tweeting, blogging, and podcasting for proper and thorough education regarding sexual health and STI stigmas. We know that the road ahead is long, and we continue to rush against the tide. I take pride in what I do, and I maintain a positive outlook, even in the face of nay-sayers. However, last week, I found myself having to check a bitch!

To be clear, I use the word bitch the same way the late great Bernie Mack used the word “Mother-fucker” in The Kings of Comedy. The word bitch is used as a noun to describe a person, a place, or a thing. And by my definition, these people were complete and utter bitches. 

On Facebook, I’m a member of many sex-positive, polyamorous, and swinger group. These groups exist as a safe space for both new and veterans of the lifestyle to meet and engage with like-minded individuals. The groups are regularly a sex-positive space that exists without shame. So, imagine my surprise when a group member decided to screenshot comments from a post, repost them on their page, and use it to further perpetuate an already existing negative and inaccurate stigma.

A close FB friend of mine alerted me to a gentleman that used my public position on being herpes positive to sex shame by writing, “It’s all fun and games until you catch something.” Of course, he posted this in a group that I wasn’t a member of, so I joined the group and addressed him directly when it was brought to my attention. For what it was worth, the group people actually attacked him for trying to shame me; kudos to them. But I wanted to know what his goal was?  He claimed that he didn’t like promiscuous people, and he thought that was a good enough excuse. I took the opportunity to inform him that many people who find themselves STI positive (especially when it came to herpes) were anything but promiscuous. 

The kids living with herpes (acquired through a kiss from their parents), to the victims of assault and rape, to the people who didn’t know their partner’s cold sores caused a threat, and the people whose test results didn’t include herpes. There are many ways a person can get an STI without being promiscuous. He continued to debate me with opinions, despite my facts, but I was relentless. He claimed that he was just trying to get the information out there, and I told him he could’ve done that without adding his little flair. When the conversation got too heavy, and he realized that he was in an unwinnable fight, he flipped the switch and commenced blaming the women he stole the post from.

In full transparency, he wasn’t in the original group where the comments were screenshot from. It was a black woman in the (polyamorous, swinger, sex-positive) group that took it upon herself to screenshot the comments and repost them on her page, and he copied them from her. As black women, we are already oppressed. As black women who are sex-positive, we are double oppressed. It never ceases to amaze me how people who already exist in an oppressive society will find empowerment in oppressing others. I went on her page and couldn’t find the actual post, but from her ill-informed followers’ comments, it is evident that sex-positive activists had A LOT of work to do to break the stigma.

As much as he tried to deflect from the virtual ass-whooping I was serving up, he was right that I should re-direct my energy to her. But before I do, I had to make it clear; I didn’t care to change his mind. Truth be told, I never go out of my way to change the minds of those who have their heads buried in the sand. I only ever comment to reach those struggling with their diagnosis, know someone who is struggling with their diagnosis, or be a voice for those who (years later) need to remember seeing my comments, to see that they are still loved. I do it to empower, NEVER to shame.

Now, onto Bonita (aka Black Becky), your ignorance runs through your veins. The fact that you saw fit to try and shame a person who is already public about her herpes-positive status shows not only how immature you are but how desperate you must be for attention. I’ve looked through your Facebook, and you’re all over the place; you reek of someone incapable of thinking for themselves, and your followers are no better. I’m sure that you and over half of your negative commentators genuinely believe that they “know when a person got something,” despite the fact that you, or them, have probably NEVER seen the full STD panel test of your partners. You’re ill-equipped with the knowledge and ability to have the conversation, and you gloat from a position of sheer-luck and blind-faith. 

In closing, I’ll say this. You are toxic. The rhetoric you perpetuate is toxic. And the fact that you tried to infiltrate a sex-positive space only to shame others is toxic. I pray you get all the help you need and that you don’t find yourself facing the same ridicule you tried to place onto others. 

Bitch, You tried it!

I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE SOMEBODY’S WATCHING ME

When I was a little girl, my street was closed off for a block party. I remember being in the middle of the road, with my colorful dress swaying as I danced to the music. I remember posing for pictures, raising my hand in school, auditioning for various social groups, and enjoying being the center of attention. You see, at a very young age, I was a performer, and as I got older, I perfected my craft. 

I live on the fourth floor, and on more than one occasion, over the 20 years I have lived at this address, I have left my curtains wide open. Over the years, I’m sure my neighbors have seen me sing and dance in my room, undress, have fantastic sex and masturbate at all hours of the day. There were many times when my mom would enter my room when I was getting dressed and close my curtains. She’d make a remark about my body being all over the internet that I’d brush off, and when she’d leave, I’d wonder if anyone was watching. I’d always been an exhibitionist at heart. So, it was only natural that, once I entered the sex-positive space of a sex club, I let my true freak-flag fly.

I’m 25% voyeur and 75% exhibitionist. I enjoy watching people have sex, but I really love being watched. When I used to masturbate, I used to imagine a crowd of bodies around touching me all over, helping me reach my orgasm. When I attended my first sex party, I was finally living out a long-awaited fantasy. The random hands caressing my ass, rubbing my legs, and pinching my nipples heightened my orgasm. After every party, I grew more emboldened.

As my primary partner and I attended more parties together, we often took center stage (not a real stage, just a bed). He would eat my pussy, I would suck his dick, then we’d fuck. We’d occasionally play with other people, then come back together to end our night. Having to tell a man you have herpes with another man’s dick in your mouth is no easy task. So, I got into the habit of inviting men that I already knew and were aware of my diagnosis. It would ensure that the night would be fun, my partners knew my status, and I would be thoroughly fucked by the time the party was over.

At the last few parties we attended, I started taking time to please myself when my pussy needed a break from actual fucking. So, while he was either cleaning up or playing with another woman, I took the liberty to pull out my Womanizer. I would lay back, relax, and let the fantastic sucking motion bring me to a wet orgasm. Every party where I used my Womanizer, a moist spot was left behind as evidence —Sorry. Not Sorry—

The last party I attended was a Luau themed party at Caligula. In the corner, I was getting fucked when one of my other partners entered the room, positioned himself in front of me, and pulled his dick out for me to suck. I was in heaven. —I’ll never know where or how this came to be my bliss, but I have no desire to turn back.— Nonetheless, they switched positions, and once again, I was getting pleased from both ends. Then my partner positioned me on his face and ate my pussy as I sucked my guy’s dick. When we were all thoroughly pleased, we went and danced for a bit. A little conversation, some flirtation, then we all ended back upstairs in the infamous corner. Another MFM threesome and my pussy needed penetration rest. 

The room was dark, so I laid back on the bed with my body facing the room, and I pulled out my Womanizer. I turned her on, and shortly after, the sensations started to radiate through my body. I moaned and writhed with pleasure as the guests in the room speculated what was causing me to make my sounds. Hearing their wondering voices made my breathing quicken, and as I had my orgasm, I let out a loud scream and a steady stream of squirt. I realized the bed was now soaked, so I pulled up the sheet to signal for the attendant to switch it out. 

I wanted to freshen up, so I tip-toed to the 6-person shower. I removed my lingerie, turned on the water, and soaped up. I had an audience, and I liked it. I thought about playing with myself to give my onlookers a show, but my clit was still sensitive, so I just showered and went back to the room. 

I ended up back with my original players and a special guest star. He had told me earlier that day that he wanted to fuck my brains out; and that he did. For what felt like an hour, and a shower break somewhere in the middle, I was fucked while slobbing two knobs. With lube and persistence as my best friends, I survived the pounding he delivered to me. When he finally screamed, “I’m about to bust!” and did, the entire room was cheering for me. They all knew that I had just taken a thorough beating, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Not too long after we finished, they began announcing that the club was closing. When I went to take my last shower, I was approached by BDE (the guy from Corset, Collar, and Lingerie – Part 3). I don’t know if he remembered me, but I definitely remember him. I gave him a short hello and went back to my partners. 

I may not care for eyes on me when I’m walking down the street or on the train. But, for some reason (maybe because it’s a sex-positive space), I love knowing that my sexploits are on full display. I suck with more passion. I moan so the person downstairs can hear me. And like a marathon, cheers from the crowd keep me going, so I can fuck longer. When I’m at a sex party, I feel that people are watching me, and I love it.

SIR, YOU NEED TO PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON

It’s always interesting to see how a person acts when you take them out of their comfort zone. Someone who’s amazing in bed and fantastic on intimate dates can be a total disaster when you toss in a little too much alcohol and mixed company. This was my experience with one of my partners early on.   

In February, a good friend of mine invited me to a burlesque show. I mulled over the invite for a few days, and when I finally agreed and she got our tickets. A week later, she messaged me that her husband surprised her with tickets to the very same burlesque show. I didn’t want to be the awkward third wheel, so I invited Milo, a dance instructor I was dating. I often hesitated to bring men I dated around my friends, especially when it’s still new. In the past, when things would end, I hated having to explain why we broke up or stopped seeing each other. But luckily, both her and her husband were in the lifestyle, and that awkward conversation could be avoided. When I decided to invite him, it was for multiple good reasons. Not only was the sex amazing, but he was also reliable, and since he was a dance instructor, I knew he owned formal attire that the event called for.  

It was agreed that he would pay her husband for his ticket. They would pick us up in the city, we would drive out to Brooklyn, see the show, then go dancing. It was a simple enough agenda, but the night went a bit array.   

The night of the show, I met Milo at a Mexican restaurant downtown for a quick drink. When I saw him at the bar, I could tell he already had a few too many. While we waited for my friend to arrive, I got us each a margarita against my better judgment. Right when we finished our drinks, she and her husband pulled up. When we got into the car, she reminded us that she had made a pre-game drink to avoid the overpriced ones. But, because the drink was too strong for me, she and Milo finished most of it.   

When we arrived at the loft, the atmosphere was incredibly sexy. It reminded me of a scene from the 1920s speakeasy, and I loved it. We walked up the stairs, greeted the host, and looked for the right spot to view the show. The show progressed nicely, the dancers were beautiful, and their sets were entertaining. All would have been amazing had it not been for my date.   

When we first met, I asked him if he smoked, to which he said no. I had to remind myself that a person that smokes when they’re drinking will never admit they’re a smoker. Many times, throughout the show, he would disappear onto the balcony to take a smoke. When he wasn’t inhaling toxic fumes, he was poorly executing a whisper that everyone within earshot could hear. I had to tell him multiple times to be quiet, and I began to get embarrassed. The next thing I knew, when I turned back around, his shirt was off. I guess he figured that since the dancers were taking off their clothes, and he too was a dancer, it was an open invitation for all dancers to strip. I saw the hostess strut over, perky breasts exposed, landing strip visible, and wearing a feather-trimmed sheer robe; into his ear, she whispered, “Sir, you need you to put your shirt back on.” She stood firm, waited for him to follow her instructions, and she walked away. Two acts before the last, I turned around, and he was nowhere to be found. I walked downstairs and out of the building to see him walking back. Where he went, I will never know; but when we got back upstairs, it was the final act. — Thank God! — After the show, we all chatted for a bit, then left to go dancing.   

We bopped around from bar to bar, drinking, dancing, and hoping to find the spot that would keep us going to the sun came up. The final place we ended was tight as a virgin, but the energy was amazing. I was still reeling from his earlier behavior, and to rid myself of the ordeal, I passionately kissed him with a touch of anger. When we kissed, I felt my annoyance change into arousal. I felt a pinch on my ass that I swore came from my friend or her husband (which I would’ve happily invited), but nothing else happened. We left in search of food, then he whispered that we should head back to his place. Once again, I got the impression that they wanted the night to end with all of us possibly together, but I kept my mouth shut.   

We sat back as they drove to his place and dropped us off. Once upstairs, I was overcome with so many emotions, I had to end the night on a good note. So, I made sure to fuck all the bad parts away. Despite how I described the events of the evening, make no mistake, I was mortified. I seriously debated seeing him again, so I had no option but to erase it with sex. I sucked his dick, he ate my pussy until I came, and we fucked like it was the end of the world. When it was all done, and we were both orgasmed out, we passed out.   

In the morning, I took a shower, and on my way out, he apologized for getting that drunk. I told him, “I forgive you, but let it be the last time.” We kissed, and I left. Over a year later, we still see each other, and I’m happy to say, that was the first and only time he got that drunk in my presence.   

MY BISEXUALITY

Certain youthful thoughts will forever be engraved in my mind. I remember the day I got glasses because I tripped stepping off the curb; I was wearing shorts and pink clogs. I remember my first boy crush; we couldn’t have been older than 5 years old. We used to sleep next to each other, on our individual cots, during nap time. I remember one day when we were stretch partners; we put our feet together, held hands, and rocked back and forth. I remember this distinctly because both he and I rocked way too close to each other’s genitals, and after that, we were never stretch partners again.

Another thing I remember was my first girl crush. We went to the same school, lived in the same building, and lived on the same floor. She would always come over my house so we could play after school and on the weekends. I remember us seeing a (heterosexual) couple kiss on TV, and we wanted to try it. One day, when she was over, we hid by the kitchen table, and we kissed. After our lips made contact, we opened our mouths to allow our tongues to dance. When the kiss was done, we never mentioned it again. At eight years old, I didn’t quite have the language, but I knew I really enjoyed the kiss.  

The kiss we shared felt just as passionate as the flirtation I shared with the boy, from when I was five. So, at a very early age, I knew I felt a like for boys and girls, I just didn’t call it bisexual. As I got older, my attraction to women never waned, I just suppressed it for my like of boys. When you grow up in Catholic school, have a Baptist grandmother, and a heterosexual family, you don’t question anything, you just go with the flow. So, for years, I said nothing. I occasionally watched lesbian porn, on late-night TV, but didn’t read into it having to do with my sexuality.  

At the age of fourteen, I joined a youth chorus. There must have been a fine-print that I missed because almost every member was either gay or bisexual. I instantly felt at home. I finally felt free to explore that side of my sexuality without being judged. I flirted with my female and male peers; I even had a girlfriend for about a week. But, when she asked me for money, I broke it off. When my sister-in-law got wind of my questioning sexuality, she assumed they were trying to ‘turn me out.’ There was an exchange of words between her and another girl. And, just like that, I was back in something resembling a closet.    

I flirted with women on and off, but nothing ever manifested. When I was diagnosed with herpes, I put the entire idea to rest. I wasn’t allowed to be a questioning bisexual; so, I had to pick a side and stick with it. For almost a decade, I lived my life as a heterosexual woman, and most of the time, I was content. But, from time to time, I wondered what it would be like to flirt and be intimate with a woman; but fear of rejection kept me quiet.   

Then one day, when I was on PositiveSingles.com, a couple came across my feed. We chatted, met up for drinks, and a few weeks later, I had my first threesome and sexual encounter with a woman. I loved every second of it. Sadly, my time with them was short-lived, as they broke up soon after. I wanted the experience again, but it proved way too difficult to find women with a mutual attraction that wanted to meet. It also became evident that lesbians did not like women that were bisexual. And too often, the women that claimed to be bisexual preferred a consistent male presence, instead of a female one. I wanted to explore being with women only at that time.  

I wasn’t sure where I stood, so I decided the only way to know if I really enjoyed being intimate with women, without investing too much time, was to go to a sex-club. At my first sex club, and most after, I engaged with women. I enjoyed the feeling, but I still questioned myself. When I appeared on the Whoreible Decisions podcast, I defined my sexuality as bi-flexible. Since I never saw myself in a romantic relationship with a woman, it seemed unfair or a lie if I said I was bisexual. Fast forward a year later and countless sexual trysts with women at sex parties, I’m turning a new leaf. As my desire to engage with women at sex parties is beginning to disappear, my passion for real intimacy with a woman is increasing.   

When I’m walking down the street, and a beautiful woman walks past me, I don’t think to myself, damn, I want to eat her pussy (like a man would). I think I want to get to know her, and I wonder if she wants to get to know me, then we’ll see what happens. Despite being totally satisfied in my primary relationship, I want to explore a female connection on an intimate level.   

Every so often, I wonder how it would feel to walk, holding hands with my female love interest. I wonder how we would meet and what our first date would be. I wonder if she would be ok knowing that I’m polyamorous and a swinger. Would we intermingle our lives, or would we keep things separate? And I wonder if our sexual chemistry could transform into love? These are just some of the things that float through my mind when I think about my bisexuality.