Tag Archives: BISEXUAL

Exploring

2020. WHAT A F*CKING YEAR!

2020 promised to be a year of wonder, money, and new possibilities. Then, sadly corona came and shut all that shit down. But before all the mayhem began, there were a few good times and a few fun posts that I wrote. 

In, Maybe This Hoe Life Isn’t For Me, I questioned if being so sexually free was a good or bad thing. No, I didn’t second-guess my actions because society made me; it was my own fucking body. My vagina, despite all I was doing to keep her well, just kept being a little bitch. It didn’t matter if I was having crazy nasty rough sex or faking a vow of celibacy; my pussy had a mind of her own. Sometimes I wish I could trade her in for a new one, but since the one I have gets rave reviews for smell, taste, and feel (and it’s not physically possible), I’ll continue to work with the one I have. 

            I wrote about my first private squirt explosion in Fucking Up Sheets, and again where I squirted while giving my man head at the last sex party before the world got sick in Clean Up on Floor 34. I dabbled with my first fiction story with Johnson, Richard, Dick, and Bob. And I played with my pandemic fantasies in Social Distancing Fail, Wait a Minute Mr. Postman, and Check. Please.

            2020 was difficult enough, then Amerikkka lost its damn mind. Fueled by the protests against the injustices of black men and women, I took time to stop talking about sex and address what I could not escape. From Dear America, Something Has To Change to Slavery Did A Number on Usand Black Feminist, there was so much anger inside that I had no choice but to let it out in the only way I knew how. I wrote from a place of exhaustion and passion. I hope that one day this country can stop seeing our differences and see one another as merely human beings. Before we are black, white, Spanish, Asian, gay, straight, or trans, we are HUMAN. And hopefully one day, the world and everyone living will treat each other as such. 

            In a few posts, I decided to peel back some layers and welcome you to see the thoughts that plague my mind and heart. In My Bisexuality, I expressed my deep desire to date and be intimate with a female. All of my encounters with women had only been in threesomes or at sex-parties. I longed to know the touch and caress of a woman without the presence of a penis. I long to experience the butterflies, share a kiss, and hold a hand. I don’t know when I’ll get the chance, for 2020 threw a monkey wrench in any possibility of me successfully dating. Hopefully, 2021 will be more kind. 

            With the pandemic shutting down any new dating adventures, I sat pretty with what I had going on. I relied heavily on my prior partners and masturbation. So much so that I injured the arch of my foot in, Damn Sex Injuries, but I enjoyed my first threesome within my poly-partners in Two Men Walk Into A Bar.

            By the end of the summer, lockdown had driven many of us in the swinger community insane. Damn Covid! We wanted to fuck! So, that’s exactly what we did. When I first decided to enter the swinger space it was essential for me to be 100% sober when engaging. I needed to know that every dick I sucked or pussy I ate was because I wanted to. I wrote all about my position in I Make my Bad Decisions Sober. Being locked down for months caused me to throw caution to the wind at the first real pandemic sex party. I gave a foot-job, followed by some head. I even took a dick so big that it made me wonder if my vagina had gotten smaller in Did My Cat ShrinkWhen parties finally got swinging I was able to re-embrace my true exhibitionist nature. I love being watched while I’m fucking, so I wrote all about that in I Always Feel Like Somebody’s Watching Me.  And at the last party, my body was so fucked and contorted that in the end, I wrote, Sex! It’s A Fucking Workout.  

            Towards the end of the year, sadly I became distracted. When my father passed in October, I wrote Thank you. I love you. I will miss you. It was an honest letter, written from the heart, about my father and my estranged relationship. 

Later in October, I put all of my attention towards getting my book out, From Behind The Glitter Curtain: An Erotic Memoir. With almost two years invested, I originally planned to release it over the summer. But, when the pandemic caused everything to shut down, the coffee shops and bookstores that offered me writing peace were no longer an option. Getting back into my writing groove took longer than I expected, but once I got my mojo back, it was full steam ahead. 

            The day before Thanksgiving, From Behind The Glitter Curtain: An Erotic Memoir went live on Amazon. A few days later, it was available on Barnes & Noble, and last week it was finally available on Apple Books. I hope to be rolling out some special items with a purchase of the Hardcover book once the spring season arrives. 

With my book finally done, I’m happy to return to writing my blog. 

Many great things are still to come. In the new year, I hope to finally move, start my podcast, and continue to grow my book’s following. I hope you continue to follow me along my journey in the new year. Happy New Year! And may 2021 be better than 2020.

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. 

SLAVERY DID A NUMBER ON US

It seems like the entire world has come together to show solidarity for the racial injustices that we face, and it breaks my heart to see so many black people still divided.   

From classism, to colorism, to LGBTQIA+ rights, this shit has got to stop. We will never get anywhere if we continue to fight the differences that exist between us. A unified black fist can do severe damage; but, if we remain separate and battle amongst ourselves, a weak ass slap is all we’re delivering to our oppressors. If we genuinely investigate the reasons, we remain divided, it all points back to slavery. And, Boy! Slavery did a number on us.   

Slavery not only stole us from our land, but it also robbed us of our knowledge, our wealth, and our beliefs. Captors of our ancestors pushed lies into their brains, by preaching, to once kings and queens, that they were heathens, and needed to be retrained. They couldn’t handle seeing a brown society living in harmony alone; so, they turned us against one another, made a sale on our lives, and forced us into servitude. The captors of our ancestors raped our men, women, and children; forced sons to mate with mothers; and forced fathers to mate with daughters on breeding farms. If you ever wonder where the phrase “mother fucker” or “put a paper bag over the head” came from, it came from forced incest rape during slavery.   

From field nigger to house nigger, light skin to dark skin, black men versus black women, wealthy black to poor black, and the strongest, the hatred within the black community against LGBTQ+ blacks; the mental fuckery of slavery still runs ripe within our community. Slavery did a number on us.   

Educated blacks can have a logical conversation about colorism and how that affects black people in society and the media. But those same people won’t acknowledge how that tool is still used against each other, by each other. It’s no longer the slave master driving the wedge. They simply planted the seed for hundreds of years, and we’re too brainwashed to stop watering the tree. Both light-skinned blacks and dark-skinned blacks are guilty of continuing to contribute to the division. Let’s be real; if the members of the KKK put on their robes and ran through our communities, neither one would be exempt from the lynch mob. It’s time we stop giving power to an oppressive system and fight the same fight.   

***  

Slavery did a number on us when it robbed us of our riches. We come from kings and queens, so why do we not support our own? Why do we continue to give all of our hard-earned dollars to a system that oppresses us? Why? Because we no longer associate success with ourselves from our lineage of kings and queens, we associate our progress, success, and status with theirs. That is why we give hundreds of dollars to various European designers but ask for discounts with our own. A white Gucci shirt for $200, take my money; but, that same white shirt for $50 from a black-owned company, it’s too much. We don’t take pride in our own, because many don’t see the value in our endeavors.  

I won’t stand on a soap-box and say that I’ve never given my money to a corporation that doesn’t care about my black life. But during these times, when faced with so many injustices, and with so many companies donating toward the fight for equality, we have to do our part. We may not be able to donate millions to the cause, but we can push our dollars back into our communities. So, for myself, I have been and will continue to support my local shops, my local restaurants, and buy black. Stop fighting with our fists, and start fighting with our dollars.   

***  

Slavery did a number on us when I ripped us from our beliefs and forced onto us a god of hate. I saw a meme that read, ‘black people hate everything about slavery, except for religion.’ I decided to attempt to explore that.  

Who were our ancestors, before Christianity came to their land? How did we worship? What did we believe was right and wrong? I’ve asked this question to many god-fearing-Christians, and none of them can ever answer me, because all that they know has been taught to them by their ancestor’s captors. Just think about it, the Bible is simply a collection of stories; but the power interpreted by those stories, by the reader, has caused more harm than good. Think of all the wars waged in the name of religion. Think of all the invasions of civilizations in the name of religious expansion. And when it comes to slavery, the stories in the Bible were used as tools by slave masters to teach blacks that slavery was where they belonged. Hell, the only reason blacks get dressed up for church on Sunday is the tradition of showing off your slaves. As a slave owner, how your slaves looked on Sunday showed your status. So, the better the slaves looked, the more high-class you seemed. And, despite being released from slavery, we held onto that slave mentality. If the Lord indeed said,” come as you are,” you don’t need a large-brimmed hat and new pastel suit to praise.   

***  

Slavery did a number on us when it took symbols and acts of love and procreation and used them to break us down. What is the reason why so many blacks have a problem with homosexuality? We didn’t have the language before slavery. So, why is there so much dislike and hate now? The answer is slavery.   

Simple research will inform you that are places that historically had buck-breaking camps, butt-breaking camps, have the highest level of hatred for homosexuals. Just think of the damage done to a black man, when the white slave owners, or overseers, would rape the men in front of the entire black population. And despite all their resistance, they were forced into submission. Think of how that mentally impacted them for generations. Then, consider how the women and children had to stand by and see their once strong protective man forced into submission. These heinous acts, put on full display for all to see, is why there is such hatred within the black community against homosexuals. And despite finally getting our freedom, our minds remained enslaved.  

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a proud supporter of the LGBTQ+ community. I was finally able to acknowledge my own (B)Bisexuality in my 30s, despite the fact that I have a very liberal family. I can only imagine the struggles for those whose family is religious and conservative to live their truth. 

Being a member of many Facebook groups, I often find myself in a thumb battle trying to break down the nuances on Black LGBTQ+ rights, and how if Black Lives really do matter, then All Black Lives should matter too (not just the straight black lives). I find myself arguing against comments like; gays have more rights than we do, or they’re forcing their lifestyle on us.  

I tell them that the civil rights for black people and other religions, etc. have been in the constitution since the 60s. Decades later, under Obama, there was an extension to include the LGBTQ+ community at large; but that is not MORE, that’s EQUAL. I tell them that, just because a bill is signed into office does not mean justice will always be served. If that were the case, the country wouldn’t be protesting for black rights 50 years later. I remind them not to conflate the more significant LGBTQ+ movement to be inclusive of the blacks and POCs within the movement. The first gay pride can be credited to two trans-women of color (Marsha P Johnson & Sylvia Rivera). But, the movement of then did not acknowledge trans rights along with gay rights. Sadly enough, the movement today has all but white-washed that history from its beginnings.   

Merely wanting to be free to exist is not a force. Wanting to see like representation in the media, is not a force. Wanting to walk down the street without being harassed or assaulted, is not a force; it is a fundamental human right. And the same goes for being black. You don’t have to like me, but I’m here, so you should respect me.   

***  

Again, black people, slavery did a number on us. But we have to stop giving it power today. We have to stop watering the trees planted by racists. We have to come together and march for every injustice thrown our way; because that’s the only way, we’ll make and see change. 

I MAKE MY BAD DECISIONS SOBER

For as long as I can remember, I never loved the feeling of being drunk. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good margarita with my Mexican, or bottomless mimosas during brunch. But when it comes to getting drunk, it’s just not my thing; I prefer to get nice. Because I don’t get drunk, I can never use the excuse, ‘I was so drunk, I can’t remember’ line. This means I have the unfortunate responsibility of having to playback, in excruciating detail, all the events of a drunken night with friends, or a day of drinking that ended up in a fight.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no goody-two-shoes. I’ve thrown up across tables, fell asleep in bathroom stalls, and in many clubs. But, like an elephant, I remember everything that happened leading up to the moment I fall asleep. I can recall the exact sip that put me over the edge. On a drunken birthday, I remember picking up dollars from the floor and handing them to the strippers on stage. I remember waiting on line to use the bathroom, then falling asleep on the toilet. I remember the bathroom attendant looking over the top of the stall to make sure I was alive. And I remember my friends escorting me back to my section and letting me go to sleep. I woke up when the ship docked.  

I used to envy those people that blacked out, for the sole reason of zero accountability. I always saw the ‘too drunk to remember line’ as a cop-out or an excuse to do fucked up shit and get away with it. –” I’m sorry I slept with you best friend; I was drunk.” — I wished that I could fuck up majorly and, like Jamie Foxx, blame it on the alcohol, but I couldn’t. For a while, I envied those people; Then, when I started attending sex parties, I learned to love my ability to remember.   

If you’ve never been to a sex-club or swinger party, they’re always BYOB. To my very first party, I brought a bottle of Bacardi Coconut Rum. I had the bar-lady mix it with pineapple juice, took a few sips, and then scoped out the room. The liquid massage the rum offered my body, was just the right amount of relaxation I wanted and needed. I engaged in some great conversations, ate some pussy, sucked some dick, was in a threesome, and rode a man’s face. And the only reason I remember every detail of that night was because I was sober.   

When I started attending LS (Lifestyle) parties regularly, less and less alcohol was needed. For starters, attending parties with a guaranteed partner removed a lot of pressure. And since I screened my partners before the party, I had an assortment of dicks ready to please me. Secondly, with the right amount of people, the party jumped off rather quickly, and with everyone having a good time, a drink to loosen up wasn’t necessary. That high school dance feeling of, waiting for other couples to dance, did not exist. I was extremely comfortable being one of the first couples to start things off. Lastly, I wanted to be in total control of whatever happened throughout the night. I need to know what titty I’m licking, dick I’m sucking, pussy I’m eating, and whose dick is fucking me. In a room full of bodies and chaos, I need to have control; and I couldn’t have that if I was too far gone. Would I recognize the person a few days later, while walking down the street? –Of course not! But, at that moment, I knew that every decision I made was mine, and that was all that mattered.   

In addition to wanting to have that control, I wanted to be able to remember how it all felt. I wanted to remember the kiss on my partner’s lips when he sees the outfit I changed into. I wanted to remember the feeling of my lingerie against my skin. I wanted to remember the feeling of eyes on me. I wanted to remember my partner kissing me, then laying me down on the mattress, and removing my panties to devour my pussy. I wanted to remember the weight of other bodies on the bed. I wanted to remember the feeling of tangled limbs and hands caressing my legs in the air. I wanted to remember the feeling of my toes and nipples being sucked and licked. I wanted to remember the feeling of a veiny dick in my mouth as my partner devoured my pussy into a screaming orgasm. I wanted to remember the moment he turned me over to fuck me. I wanted to remember the smell of the pussy I bend over to eat and the feeling of her breasts in my hands. I wanted to remember his hands around my throat, restricting my airway as he rammed my pussy and found his orgasm. And, in the end, I wanted to remember him pulling me back to kiss my lips once he reached his orgasm.  

I make all of my bad decisions sober because I want to be in control, and I want to be able to recall the memories of each encounter. I want to remember the feelings of inhibitions lost and lust that enveloped the room. I may forget the names and faces, but that intoxicating feeling will stay with me forever, all because I make my decision sober.   

WORKING THE GARDEN

My 2018 ended on an extremely low note: I had not had sex since August, I was still unsuccessful at online dating, and I felt like I was reaching for blog content. Growing tired of the nonsense, on January 1st, at the stroke of midnight I deleted all my dating apps and I figured I’d take time to just be alone and reevaluate the direction of my blog. 

In January; after a year of carefully writing around the topic, I wrote my first story about my life and dating while having herpes. 

In February; I took another step down the sexually free runway; and I attended my first sex party. I re-downloaded Tinder and Hing, and I explored FetLife (this should be interesting!). This time, however, I decided to have a different approach. What if I stopped searching for a relationship and just enjoyed the art of dating? Sure- many times I’ve said “I’m not looking for anything and I’m just having fun”. Then, like clockwork, on date three, I would begin to wonder: What are we? Where is this going? Big wedding or small wedding? How many kids will we have? Apartment or house?  

This time around, I told myself to STOP! I told myself to not only smell the flowers New York Botanical Garden had to offer, but to enjoy the process of planting them too. The lilies, the tulips, the roses, the hydrangeas, the azaleas, and countless others. I told myself to find happiness in the sowing of the dirt, planting the seeds, the watering, and the sunlight. When a flower dies, that does not make its life lived any less significant. The death of the flower does not erase the joy you found in smelling and viewing it. Instead of waiting for the richest hue right before the decay. I made the decision to learn to enjoy the moments that were happening all around me, from the very beginning to the very end. I was excited to start this new journey. But first… I had to tell my mom.  

So, in March I told my mother that, not only, was I bisexual; but that I was also polyamorous, and non-monogamous. To which she rolled her eyes, gave me a lecture about sex and diseases. To which, I had to remind her that, I actually acquired herpes when I was in a relationship; so, her point was moot. 

For years I was determined to find the one that would deliver me from the endless hurdles of first dates and dry conversations. So, what’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite food? Blah blah! I hated talking to someone, and thinking it was going somewhere, all to find out that they were a total fuck-boy; but I kept on going. I believed that I would swipe right on the perfect guy, we would like each other, meet, fall in love, and live happily ever after. Fear of dating with herpes kept me on this self-inflicted-toxic-path for almost 4 years. I gave into the idea that people with herpes weren’t allowed date casually. If a guy hit on me at a party. I would flirt a little but eventually I would fade away. I couldn’t go around spreading my toxic vagina. I couldn’t have a casual one-night-stand. I had to dive all in and hope for the best. I didn’t have the right to be selective; because, people with herpes can’t be choosey. I had better be happy with whatever I could get! So, what! if he has no teeth, bad acne, not job, and a little wiener. He accepted your virus and now you’re together for life. 

Then I had an epiphany. I am not now, nor have I ever been toxic. I am human and I deserve to be happy. As long as I was honest and upfront about my status, I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. That not only meant starting a situation-ship, that also meant ending one as well. I stayed in many relationships long past their expiration date. If he accepted my herpes, I had to accept whatever shit he came with as well; I had to make it work, because no one else would want me. I had to learn that I deserved the same happiness that everyone else had. I deserve romance, great conversation, and to have fantastic sex whenever, however, and with however many partners my vagina and mouth could handle. As long as I told them up front, I was doing my part. So, I decided to try something different. 

Instead of writing a long drawn out profile, I kept it important to the fundamentals of what I was/am looking for, and I put it all on front street: polyamorous, non-monogamous, bisexual, and herpes positive.  

Non-monogamy, because I am not in a space of solo-commitment.  Polyamorous, because I actually require an emotional connection that precedes the desire to engage sexually (energies over sex). Bisexual, because I enjoy being with women as well; and of course, herpes positive because I’d rather not waste your time if it’s a non-negotiable for someone.  

Within a week, I had a Tinder date; we’ve been seeing each other for just over a month. The following week I met a man from Hinge, and we too have gone on a couple of dates. I’m finally in a place where I am enjoying the journey of dating with no clue on where the hell I’m going to end up. I’m sowing the dirt, I’m planting the seeds, and I’m watering the soil. I’m enjoying the butterflies, the flirting, the conversations, the kissing, and some great sex. I am rooted in my happiness at the moment and hope you’ll continue with me on this journey.