nablopomo: in the words of weezy f. baby

...'i'm an alien'
laymans terms, i'm an artist.
i'm a writer.
i've known i was different since i was a little girl, rocking bubbles and clips. my mind has always operated on a different level than those around me. not saying better, just different, the way i would use and view words, the visuals that words would bring to me, and the way i felt when absent from my one true love. people told me i wasn't normal.

as i got older, and up until recently it hit me, and i understood. people who are in love with their art, who live breathe, and die entangled in their art function in a seperate reality. they don't live like everyone else does, often called 'crazy', some become hermits, some take drugs to numb the pain of their brilliance, some go as far as to take their own life. masterpieces aren't created while 'sittin up in their room', masterpieces are created through glazed eyes, staring blankly out of a window, counting the black stars in their white sky. pictures are painted staring past what the eyes see and dredging up the soul. music is created from places some people may never reach. artists live inside their head, they function off of what makes sense to them, and honestly this reality sucks! when i am expierencing a writer's block i am unable to function, i can't breathe this air, it smells stale to me, i yearn to be in my seperate reality. that's where i feel at home, that's where my world is MY world, and that's where everything makes sense. give me a white sky with black lines woven in between the clouds, give me a hot pink pen and set me free.

i'm not saying i'm brilliant, but i can relate to the love of none other but my art, i'm also saying.....set me free. sometimes i wish this reality would just let go of me. i've been seduced by the death of life...the art of words, and i don't want to come back.

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nablopomo: my drink and my stripper pole

i am not a club person. truth be told i have never been to a club, it's never been my scene. i don't even have ambitions to go to a house party. i think that's why people think i'm very stuck up, and 'artsy fartsy', i'd rather go to a lounge, poetry slam, jazz festival than drag my ass to a club anyday....and from the pictures i see, and the stories i hear, i must say i'm not too impressed.

dutty ass girls dutty whining on a dutty floor littered with empty bottles. guys who don't know the meaning of the word 'no'. chicks who insist on assaulting the world with their mirrorless fashions. dj's interrupting every friggin song with 'all the sexy ladies..blah blah blah'. chicks who insist they are not there to get chopped but to chill with their girls. bullshit. hot breaths. danced off deoderants. corn worthy shoes (which their ass can't walk in). bathrooms that smell like home on the range. and expensive flavored juice costing me $10. wtf?!

and no matter how 'classy' the club is that you go to, there are always fall downs who ruin the night for you.
but as i get older i find myself wanting to take my stripper dancing ass to a club, of course it has to be high end club though, none of this ghetto ass bullshit. i think i would be an amazing clubber, and i must be honest after seeing this video i think to myself "if i could find a club atmosphere like the concert in this vid, i would be so there" soo if i do go to a club, i will share my failures and successes with you guys.

so, check out the vid and also this email i rummaged up from a disgruntled club goer.

.kisses.

********

Reasons Why Clubs Are Just Absolutely Horrible.

Reason 1: The Line Up.
The line is filled with girls glittered up and guys wearing leather jackets. Why does every guy look exactly the same? Thankfully, I am set apart with my doughy face and detailed eyebrows. The Line Up is key because nobody believes they belong in it. If you wait in line, you’re not cool. To who? I’m not sure. Probably to the other people who are waiting in line who you think are not cool. We must impress them. So then we begin to suddenly know somebody who can get us in. Chatter, as follows: “Ask the bouncer if Mikey’s working, he’ll get us in.” “Tell them you’re with Sarah +10” “This is Joey’s place man, he’s the head promoter, he’ll get us in.”


Truth is, Mikey was fired, Sarah’s passed out on a toilet at home, and there is no Joey. You just made that up.
Wait in line.


Reason 2: The Girls Who Never Have To Wait In Line.
There’s this faction of women in this world that anchor their pride in this one fundamental belief:
I never wait in line at clubs.
When you meet them, they will immediately inform you of this fact. Wait in line? Me? Fuck that. Do you know who I am? The answer to that question is really just their name. Look. They even do it at job interviews:

"Well, Sarah, thank you for applying to become the Chief Budget Analyst at Royal Bank, let’s get started, shall we?"

"Okay, fun!"

"Let’s start with what you think your key strengths are, Sarah."

"Okay, you know at Lot? I know the owner so me and my girls literally walk in. Mink? I dated the head bouncer, so they don’t even check. I can totally get you in, just text me and I’ll text him, kay? Circa is nothing, they know us. We’re in like thirteen of their promo pictures on their website. They kind of owe me but my friend Tony, he told—"

"I think I lost you. You applied to be the Chief Budget Analyst right?"

"You know what I’m craving right now? Like one of those fun peach bellinis! Wanna go for one?"

"It’s 820am, Sarah."

The new Chief Budget Analyst at Royal Bank.

Reason 3: You’re Really Not That Hot.

At clubs, many young ladies believe they magically turn into Victoria Secret models. This is due to young men who magically develop cataracts. I blame the entire system. Guys walk into a club with one core mission: make out with anything that has an attached uterus. This makes it easy for women who wouldn’t normally get attention at say, 10 am waiting for a streetcar on King street to transform into Jessica Alba at 230am when everyone’s heavily intoxicated. And it’s not like the women are walking away winners here. The guys they’re making out with? Train wrecks. If you don’t believe me ladies, take a look at your friends list right now and tell me how many of your male friends with a name that doesn’t rhyme with Leepak Bethi you would actually make out with sober.
Exactly.


Reason 4: Can’t We All Just Pee?
Going to the bathroom is an event at a club. Hundreds of people seem to need to pee at the exact same time I want to. Also, I am privy to the most inane conversation in the history of the universe.
“Dude, Sarah actually looks hot tonight. Did you see that ass? Mikey, you should deal that.”
“Dude I’ve dealt it like nine times already.”
“Fuck you, no way. When? You lie.”
“No man seriously. It’s true. She totally wants me.”
Then several young men deconstruct Mikey’s claim as to how he ‘dealt Sarah’ until Mikey finally exhausts all of his weak supporting arguments and runs away from the bathroom crying, flailing his arms wildly in the air. Then, while washing my hands, I get to see several young men try to fix their eleven hairs on their head, each spiked up individually. When they have completed, they look exactly the same.
Gel doesn’t fix ugly.


Reason 5: You’re just too old.
If you’re thirty-five and you go to clubs every night, I think that’s cool. Nothing is more appealing than someone who knows what’s hot on a Tuesday night. And also, we enjoy when you tell us what the club was called in 1989 when you first went. It’s like a fun history lesson!


Reason 6: Eating shit food after the club.
Actually, I have nothing against this. Have you seen me? I weigh a staggering one hundred and seventy-five pounds and at several points in my life, I have teetered on the brink of obesity. This is absolutely tremendous.


Reason 7: People who can actually dance.

<------She probably waited in line.

Many of you know I can’t really dance. You’re nice enough not to tell me. Wait. You know what? No you’re not. Many of you have told me many times, shattering me emotionally. How dare you. But it’s true. Much like my poor swimming ability, I can’t really dance. I bop my head up and down to the beat of Biggie sometimes and throw one or perhaps both of my hands up in the air, creating the fascinating facade of me actually dancing. But this is all an illusion. It kind of works until some dude named Hugo comes along and salsas it up with everyone while I unravel on the inside. Who names a kid Hugo anyway? Ass.

PS. There’s no way in hell Mikey dealt Sarah.

********

cassidy ft swizz beatz - My Drink N My 2 Step [new]

by Lvick

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nablopomo: meet crazy as named gritty.

i make it a point not to deal with, date, breathe the same air as crazy....now.... but i had to learn my lesson first.
and his name was gritty.

i first saw gritty when i was 16. we were at a park concert and he was with his wife and son, he must have been 23. i was instantly attracted to the passion that he had for God and for life, it was so beautiful and that made him beautiful to me. a year later we met at a tim's and we struck up a convo and it was there he fell in love with me. now divorced, i let him know that i had a boyfriend so nothing could gwan. he never hid the fact that he loved me though, telling me always his plans of marrying me.

we became very good friends fast, and our friendship was unhealthy, but we were attached to each other and both blinded to see the extent of the damage that was being done. we were friends for about 6 years, when one day i saw his piercing green eyes, and i realized that i loved him, not only as a friend, but as more than that. i wanted to be with him, and take care of him until his disease killed him. i say take care of him because he was diabetic and very sick, unable to hold a job, constantly in the hospital and shit. i broke up with my boyfriend smooth and told him i was in love with my friend, and against my mom's advice (i swear she knew his ass was crazy the whole time), gritty and i became a couple.

him, irish and sri lankan wanna be jamaican, me, jamaican plus, i was in love with this sick bald headed skinny 'white' guy, and this sick bald headed skinny 'white' guy introduced me to crazy....

and his ass was crazy! ouhhh let me count the ways:
*when we made out he would bark at me! yes i said bark!
*he would get on all fours and sniff the crotch of my jeans beggin to taste her.
*when we would hug, he would press his ear to mine and hold it there. he had an ear fetish.
*verbally abusive. i cried like every convo we had.
*he would hide out in his home talking about man's dem wanting to kill him.
*he felt the need to hide from me that he was arrested and went to trial for attempted murder. i found out because i googled his ass.

so that shit lasted about 3 months before i came to my God-given senses and broke up with him.....via text..... i know you're thinking text message was the wrong thing to do, i then follow up with: upon reading my text he began to curse my life, literally cursed the day i was born, so you can imagine what would have happened if i did it in person (he had previously showed me how to kill someone with one swipe of a baseball bat...yup).... ouhhhh i am soo glad i didn't give him the goodies!

there is sooo much more to this relationship, and i will definitely divulge the ugliness in later posts, but here is what i felt the theme song for our break up was, well from his point of view anyways. and yet this is still one of my fav songs....

.kisses.

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nablopomo: repost: love of my life

                                       

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nablopomo: you can't start a fire sittin around crying from a broken heart

my musical upbringing has been completely ecclectic thanks to my father, a country born jamiacan who was never really into reggae, but give him some elvis presley, the boss, conway twitty, al green, the beatles, abba, and he's good. i grew up listening to all of that, and i love all of that.

my musical playlist includes hip hop, r&b, 80's rock, 60's-70's music, reggae, rock and roll, counrty western, contemporary, and jazz ( i love me some jazz). i am grateful for the wide range in my musical fav's, i think it has made me a well rounded person, and even though i get strange looks and snickers when i start singing along to blondie, or bonnie tyler, my world is wider and i'm a better person for it.

here is a song that anywhere it plays i will drop everything i am doing to sing, and dance along. (i remember when i was in the mall with smooth and we were walking like the sexy couple we were, this song came on, and i became karoke queen up in that spot, fake mic and everything...LOL...poor smooth) *feel free to insert snicker here.*

i can relate to the boss (bruce springsteen) when he says..(all from memory)

stay on the streets of this town/ and they be carving you up alright/

they say you gotta stay hungry/ hey baby i'm just about starving tonight/

i'm dying for some action/ i'm sicka sittin here round here trynna write this book/

i need a love reaction/ come on baby gimme just one look/

you can't start a fire/ sittin round crying from a broken heart/

this gun's for hire/ even if we're just dancing in the dark/

you can't start a fire/ worrying about your little world falling apart/

this gun's for hire/ even if we're just dancing in the dark./

i have to stay hungry, the minute i become complacent where i am, life is no longer worth living. i need action, i write better in the midst of chaos, keep the drama to yourself, but nothing plus nothing equals a shit load of nothing!.
i need love.
the life i want will not happen for me if i moan and cry about my past sadness and my broken hearts, i have to let that shit go and press on to my future.
the life i need will not happen for me if i walk the path in fear of failure, so what if i fall, what if i fail, that should give me a reason to keep trying, to keep plugging at it, because one day i will not fail. my failures do not make me a failure, my willingness to give up does.
.
.kisses.

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nablopomo: the dream kinda failed on this one

The Dream Feat Fabolous - Shawty Is A Ten Remix
by PeteRock

some signs you are not a 10

... if you wear leggings as pants. leggings were not meant to be worn as pants, no one looks cute with camel toe, even in a pair of killer heels. fashion etiquette states that while wearing leggings one's shirt/blouse etc.. must be covering the ass. even if you don't subscribe to fashion etiquette, look in the mirror.

... if you are a dutty chick. we are all asking you to bathe, wash your hair, comb your hair, clean your room, bathroom etc... you can't play clean forever, eventually the dirt will shine through.

... if you are a loud ass brawling chick. there is a difference between being loud and outgoing, having fun with your peeps (like my loud ass), and being the one who feels everyone needs a cussin', or that your phone convo is sooo amazing the whole building needs to hear it. you are not cute.

... if you insist on wearing and carrying the latest name brand everything, but your ass is catching the bus. the money you spend on the brands you can save up and buy a car. this however cannot be said about those who live in big cities which do not require you to drive, hence the second part...

... if you insist on wearing and carrying the latest name brand everything, but your ass is still living at home. the money you spend on the brands you can save up and live on your own, this can be said anywhere.

... if your pussy is a sample. sexually liberated is cute, very sexy, however screwing any guy who breathes your air is not. your pussy is not a sample, it's important to the survival of the human race, treat it as such.

... if you wear heels you are unable to walk in. please stop it. and wear your size. if your pretty little ankles cannot support the shoes, don't wear it, because men and women will laugh at you, some will point. okay okay.... i will point.

... if your weave looks like crap. enough said.

... if you carry around negative energy everywhere you go. please go away. that shit is contagious, and no one wants to be around you and those who do are exactly like you. misery likes company, but very few people like misery, because she's not cute.

... if your so desperate to be liked that you'll kiss everyone's ass and throw honesty to dogs. be yourself, and everyone will see it, and appreciate it. insincereity is obvious and it will throw you under the bus everytime.

.kisses.

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nablopomo: adina howard knows...

"mmmm mmmm mmmm"

i absent mindedly take a breath to lick the remainder of my juice off the corner of my mouth.
"you so nasty" i remember him growling, as he wiped his pussy juiced fingers on my tongue.
i can sense his eyes closing, as his body relaxes, fingers warm and sticky caress my ass, as my mouth shows him my gratitiude for his dick. his hands wander to my breasts, sensitive nipples cringe from the pain as he pinches....one small hand fondling his balls, as the other one holds on to to his shaft, up and down, up and down, up.... and..... down......

"kiss me"
i gave his head one last nibble, flicking the tip of my tongue down the hole which brings me my milky gift, i arch my back allowing him full view of my ass. raising my head, i kiss him loooonnnnng and hard. sucking on my tongue, he sticks a finger in my ass and proceeds to finger fuck me.

"do you like giving me head?" he asks, as my chest rises and falls matching his stroke in my nether hole.
"yes" i managed to sigh out, my breath tasting like our sex.
eyes closed.
hole violated.
feeling delicious.

my hands smell like cock, and i don't want to wash it off.

.kisses.

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nablopomo: t.i.'s promise

i have never been the type of chick to be a gold digger. i'm not one to esteem material things above happiness or do they equate in my life. i've been known to leave one man who has 'everything' for a man who has nothing. i don't know, that's just how i've always been, money is not that important to me, never has been, and it never will be.

this song however speaks to the hip hop materialistic chick that could potentially be me. i
imagine having a man, who will give me anything, everything materially i could ever want, i would never be in lack of anything, including late night sex so wet and so tight... but i wonder...would i get that which i desire most?

his heart.
and would i be happy?

.kisses.

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nablopomo: just lay it on the line!

'you're not my girlfriend'

fuck i know! you really don't need to keep reminding me why you don't open up to me, why you're too busy for me, why you feel like you have to 'watch' what you say around me......... what am i doing that's so offensive that you feel the need to remind me what i am not to you?

i'm not your girlfriend. but you want me to be faithful to you? what does faithful even mean when you're in a non-relationship?

"i don't want you fucking anyone else as long as your fucking me" are you being for real?

you claim you wanna break down my emotional walls. you want me to stick around when your ass goes to the army... stick to what? the non-walls we have?

tell me baby, what are you afraid of? i'm not asking you to knight me girlfriend, i'm asking you to be real with me, be open with me, and if this is a waste of time, tell me cause i'll be 30 in 4 years and my ass can't be stuck in 'we're talking'

"whatever this is, is going to go nowhere" and i meant that. there is only so much a grown ass woman can take. i told you 'i'm here', but now that i think about it, where the fuck is here? almost a year "if that's how you want to look at it, ok?" ... almost a year and i'm standing in the middle of nowhere, half expecting leatherface to show up and chainsaw my ass up..it would serve me right. this is clearly my punishment for liking younger men.

*sigh* i invite you to every event my ass is going, and you make me feel like i'm the hunchback of fuckin notre dame, hiding me, not bringing me anywhere (not counting the baseball game baby) 'i don't want my friends to know what i have'.

honey, it seems like what you want, what you have is a fuck friend.

(written in the heat of female frustration and hornyness, i would have probably written it differently tomorrow)

.kisses.

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nablopomo: i don't want a fly guy

i love men. (well i like girls too) but i love men.
i'm completely bi-polar when it comes to the keepers of the cocks though. as you read (hopefully) in an earlier post, there is a special place in my heart for thugs. hard knock lifers, men who smell like hope, fear and the streets, tattooed brothers who don't give a shit! yup, i love me some thugs. on the other hand, i am forever in love with geeks, awkward men who don't know what to with with an ass if it sat on their face (tehehehe).

short pants, white socks, short sleeved button shirts with ties. i love them pocket protectors! LOL. eyes in books, think criminal minds...dr. spencer reed.

there is something about a nerd that turns me the hell on. i guess it's because i'm very aggressive, both in personality and sexually, and the thought of turning a man out, and helping him embrace his inner freak is very appealing to me. but even on a relational level there are times when i don't wanna deal with pussy chasers, the confident men who think every girl wants to smell the sweat on their chest. the kind of man i have to worry about (there i said it), and it's true, i get tired of convincing myself i trust your pretty boy ass, with your waves and shit, when really i don't trust you and your man of the world attitude.

i mean damn it! i'm a huge geek myself, and there are days when i want to just chill out at home (NOT wearing a snuggie), and have a Lord of the Rings marathon.

shy, geeky men have an appeal that confident men don't have. and that will get me everytime.


.kisses.

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nablopomo: fuck my fears!

i have dreams. but my dreams aren't worth shit unless they become my reality.
i have fears... damn right i have fears! but my fears propel me to make a fool of my insecurities.
life is not life, unless life is lived.
fuck my fears, i'm gonna live!
dreams, meet my reality.

live.love.laugh.above all.live
.kisses.

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nablopomo: realize that i need love too

i'm a habitual cheater. i've always cheated. that's the only thing that's consistant in my relationships. i can see through all the bullshit, i know all the excuses, i know enough to know that there are no excuses.

love has shit to do with being unfaithful, a lot of men and women will say ' i love him/her...but '. there is always that but.... damn but!... cheating is a crime of opportunity/boredom. plain and simple. strip away all the layers and at the bottom of it is boredom, you aren't getting what you need from your significant other, there is always someone else willing to give it you, and the opportunity will always present itself. are you strong enough to stand against it? are you able to put the gnawing feelings of disatisfaction aside? the lonely nights of pump, pump, snore when what you really need is biting, licking, fucking?

i'm guilty of emotional cheating. i've cheated physically a few times, but mostly i'm an emotional cheater, more times out of boredom, sometimes out of lack of attention.

if you're showing me that you have no time to talk to me cause you're too busy, i'll call someone else, after getting shut down a few times. i'm calling you because i want to talk to you, because i want to share my day with you, my thoughts, my feelings, random shit, i want to share it with you. but you tell me you can't talk now....crapness. i'll call someone else at 5 in the morning then. and best believe there will always be some other dude or chick ready to hear all the things i should be telling you.

and that's the honesty about it. if i'm making the effort and it's not being reciprocated, truss my pretty ass fingers are dialing someone else's number...straight.

i'm not ashamed to say that i need attention, shit i have a short attenton span. i send you naughty pictures, slutty text messages, i shake my ass on webcam for you, to keep my ass from getting bored and what do you do for me?....*crickets*.... i need the phone calls, and the text messages, emails.... i don't need to be coddled, i'm a grown ass woman, but it would be nice to know that you are there and we are us. ...

do i want to stop. yes i do. it's unhealthy. and i don't want to hurt the one i'm with. but baby, i always try and make myself available to you when you need me, when i tell you i need you, listen to me, because there is someone out there who is needing me.

i try to be.... but i'm not that strong.

.kisses.

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nablopomo: perfection moving

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nablopomo: just me (and my hair)

a little over 3 years ago, i made one of the biggest decisions in my life. it was one of those big ones that required thought, and tears, and maybe i shouldn'ts, it was definitely not one of my just do it! moments.

yup... i went natural.

i traded in the all day outings at the hair dresser, the relaxers, the burned scalp, the security and the cute flipped hairstyles for my natural texture. my curls, my fear, my confidence and my heightened sexuality. i must admit there are days when i look at my hair pulled into a cheek bone revealing puff and i think to myself 'i miss my straight hair'. i stare at my face, the face which puzzles so many people "where are you from?", and i remind myself that i am not my hair,

but i am.... well kind of....

in a way i have become my hair. natural, without lies, complex (who am i kidding, i was always complex), attention grabbing (who am i kidding there too?). i just love walking into a spot and being one of the only women rocking her hair. and i do mean rocking, because it is fabulous, i am fabulous and fabulosity can't just be worn...like wtf? you gotta rock that shit! loud and proud! ( i just recently dyed the back half burgandy), and sexy as hell. " your a freak aren't you? " apparently being a poet and a natural woman equals down to earth, freak.. it was a triple whammy when i was a vegetarian.

i never realized how much men black, and white love natural hair, love to feel the texture, love to smell it even. a man seems to really appreciate the beauty of the unrulyness of my hair. as poetry guy says, and i quote "i wanna fuck her hard enough that her hair will get so nappy, i can't run my finger's through it"... yes baby, i'm sure.

don't get me wrong, it was hella hard. i am very high maintenace. not gold digger high maintenace, i just like to look good, so going from straight, always done, hair to hair i didn't know what to do with, was like me throwing myself in front of a slow moving train, and not being able to run, nowhere! but i've fallen in love with my hair, this is one time that i thank God for the diversity in my genes (so called 'good hair'), i can go from straight to curly anytime i want. i rock mohawks, fohawks, chiney bumps, french braids, twist outs, wash and go's, and the almighty puff! however i cannot rock an afro! (i don't have the texture for it...sigh). plus i have saved soo much money, it hurts my feelings knowing the trips, and shoes, and purses, and bills, i have spent on my hair. damn!

do i want to go back, no.... well sometimes, but even if i did, there are a dozen people who would kill me before i sat in the hair dressers chair. i made the choice to come over, not because i'm going back to africa, or because i'm joining the cause, but simply i wanted a change. and i'm making the choice to stay. i am not my hair, my hair is a manifestation of who i am. i am me.

teheehehee, plus i love to feel a strong firm hand with a firm hold on my coils jerking my head back to ask me 'do you like that'.

for all my napptural sistahs, or those wanting to do it check out this website, it's helped me and i hope it will help you.

http://www.motowngirl.com/

.kisses.

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nablopomo: dancehall dance session.

i love reggae music, dance hall reggae and i am whining to the floor, give me my stripper pole please and thank-you. and if you ask me, as a jamaican i would be the first to say that jamaicans are very creative and a sexually charged people when it comes to dancing and creating dances. (hence my inate stripper pole), i will also be the first one to say we come up with some stupid ass dances (most of which i can do, but that's not the point).

this is one of the dances that i absolutely love and whenever i hear this it makes me wanna find a reggae jam in a swamp. GULLY CREEPA! can't you just see usain bolt doing his victory dance all over again!

enjoy!

.kisses.

Elephant Man - Gully Creepa (2008)

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nablopomo: is the 'd' detroit?

this national blog posting month is more exhausting than i had imagined. especially since i wanted to be extra and choose a theme for myself which is my favorite songs and the stories behind them in my life.

no doubt it has sparked my juices and has allowed me to talk about my favorite subject being sex, because music has a lot to do with my sexuality and experiences. mind you, the whole month won't be about sex, i'm not that one dimensional, but for me music and sex are bff's.

so i'm going to post this video, because it is one of my all time favorites, not because it's good, but because it's bad.... and not naughy bad.... oh no... just plain bad.

a big shout out to kween and butterfly effect for embarking on the challenge also.

.kisses.

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nablopomo: you make me wanna hershey's kiss your licorice

i met smooth my 2nd last year in high school. he walked into the cafeteria one day like he owned shit. but he didn't scare me.

"hi my name is (*****)"
"what's up i'm (*******)"
"what school did you come from?"
"st. augustine, i'm here to play ball"

he was acting like he didn't want me, and that threw me off... for a second. but i fell instantly in love with his big brown eyes. this dark chocolate man with light brown eyes stole my heart as i ate my fries (with ketchup and mayo dip). i turned to my girlfriend and told her 'i'm going to marry him'

a grade older than me, he made his move a while later causing instant envy at this outsider who captured the prettiest girl in the school. this tall basketball player, who ran the school was the sweetest man i ever dated. i remember times he would comb my hair in the cafeteria, walk me to my bus before going to play ball, and when my school uniform sweater got torn, he sewed it up for me. he waited almost a year to have sex with me, without pushing me, and when he did he was so nervous

'this pretty light skinned girl is in my bed wanting me to take her',

and once he did i was addicted. and he was too.

'you give the best head i've ever had' while his leg was shaking.

when he finally kissed my kitty "i don't do that", his big strong hands lifted up my leg while he bathed me, he sat down on the tub ledge and his virgin tongue timidly entered my pussy.

this nigga who resembled curtis jackson, but was in no way a thug had me wrapped around his finger. seeing him in a fitted, baggy jeans and a tshirt had my mouth salivating. the very smell of him made my pussy wet and i stole moments with him whenever i could. giving him head in doorways, riding his cock any chance i got. fucking him when his family was home, making him bus again and again. his touch on my arm would cause my knees to buckle, and his kisses caused shivers to run up and down my spine. we spent many days and nights locked together in mutual sweat, all sex funky and there was no where else i wanted to be.

damn. i loved him soo much.
we went through so much together. and when i told him i (think) i liked girls one thanksgiving, he said 'i love you, and i'm going to stay with you through this, but now i have to worry about you leaving me for a girl'

6 1/5 years we were together, and although we are no longer together we are still best friends. he reads my blog, and doesn't question me about it, i offer him my body whenever he needs it. i know he has my back no matter what, and i will always be his ride or die.

baby, this song has always reminded me of you, and it still does.

.kisses.

India Arie - Brown Skin
by Dante35

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nablopomo: stripper poles and 94' hondas

okay, don't laugh but i'm a car dancer. a total car dancer arms, neck, grinding, whining and all, which may look a little odd because i dance like a stripper.

this is my favorite car dancing song.

.kisses.



The Dream Rockin' That Thang
by benorel

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nablopomo: screaming loud daddy is you with it?

baggy jeans, a wife beater and sneaks, with a fitted.
that is my weakness.
shit.
*sigh*...tatts.

when i see a man like that, my legs get weak and my pussy get's wet... real fast.
a thug.

now don't get me wrong. i love the good men, the men that every women wants, a nice clean cut brotha, who smells like cologne and not like the streets.

but a thug.
i tell myself that i passed that stage of my life a long time ago. when i was with prince a, who had guns, smoked weed like he breathed air, ran with the crips, and beat up my pussy on a reg. and i do mean beat up. i passed that stage. i didn't want bad boys anymore. he broke my heart.

but there are days when i wake up, longing for a thug beside me smelling like sex, alcohol and a hard life. wanting him to roll up behind me and wrap me in his tatted up arms, sweat beginning to form on his tatted up chest as he whispers into my thighs, with that sexy growl thugs seem to have ' i want to fuck you '

as eve says

i only take em thugged out/slighty bugged out/fuck with his tongue out/know the job ain't gettin done/till the body's gettin drug out/hot boy/keep me right/play your part/i'll keep it tight/where else you gonna be in the middle of night/but up in the sheets with me iight/gangsta/ true to your gang/street master/you the one i need when there's beef street blaster/aint afraid to stop a cat/plus pop a cat/soldier. cash. money. rule your world/what's topping that/ s-430 keep me on my toes/get a tingle in my spine/my spot only he knows.... (that was completely from memory).

when those moments of intense longing for a rough arm creep up on me, i play this song, smile at the next thug i see, contemplate giving him my number, and i sashay away, because i remember i passed that stage in my life a long time ago.

.kisses.



Missy Elliot feat. Nas & Eve - Hot boys
by dinidin

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nablopomo: a dutty dutty dutty love

yay, my first nablopomo posting. here goes...

this song reminds me of someone i will call skinny jeans. (in fact many songs remind me of skinny jeans). i met skinny jeans the day he came from jamdown, and it was definite sparks at first sight. he was the only freshie i ever liked, and he was a sweetheart to boot. but i had a boyfriend wtih whom i was madly in love with, so skinny jeans never made it very far with me, despite his pleas in the sexiest voice filled with the sweet rollings of patois.

the fleeting moment he kissed me, it was like i was standing on the highest peak at dunns river falls with the hot tropical sun beating on my face. it wasn't love, it wasn't lust, it just was what it was.

when i hear this song, it brings me to place which looks like a dark night club filled with electricity from the movments of bodies holding and grinding on each other. the walls are bleeding with intensity and in the captured silence, in between deep breathes one can hear crickets moaning along. skinny jeans is standing behind me, one hand on my abdomen, stroaking what i want to be my kitty. i am slowly whining on him as he breathes and nibbles on my ear, his jamaican bred goodies finding a place in between the crack of my jamaican blooded ass.

do i wish something had happened between us, not really. we are good friends up until this day, and i would have it no other way. but there are moments when the air will fill my excitement with this song, and i take that moment to dream.

i will always love this song, and i will always have a special place in my heart for skinny jeans.
.kisses.

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