Anyway, my answer to the second question is, “I think men who are very insecure in whom they are as men, or have secretly questioned their sexual identities are the ones who start tripping.” If they’re really secure in their sexuality and their women feel secure about who they are as men (and partners), then I don’t think there should be any guilt or concern. I see it as two open-minded adults satisfying each other sexually. However, a woman still needs to keep her mouth shut about what is jumping off in the bedroom. Just because she may think there’s nothing wrong with it, doesn’t mean her girls won’t. They’ll be looking at both of them sideways, snickering behind their backs. Or if a woman does think there’s something wrong with her man liking anal play and she discusses it with her so-called friends, trust and believe they’re gonna have a lot to say about that. They’ll get all up in her ear and head. Then by the end of the night—after three bottles of wine, or a few shots of Henny—they’ll have her ass thinking her man is a full-fledged drag queen. Then her drunk ass will go home and curse him out and accuse him of fucking men. And before you know it, he’s done packed his shit and left her ass. Then two weeks later, guess who’ll be fucking her man? You got it! It’ll be one of the same bitches who sat up in her face and gassed her ass all up. So she should definitely keep her mouth closed about it. Of course, this is the opinion of a ho. So what do I know?
Well, for starters, I know—and I will keep repeating myself on this—I can’t stand a person who flaps their lips like wings, yapping all of the goings-on behind closed doors. That to me is a damn no-no, especially if this is someone you plan on seeing again or becoming romantically involved with. Now if it’s a one-time fuck, then do you. Other than that, keep your fucking mouth shut!
I also know that most men want a woman who knows how to get freaky with it. Yeah, they want a conservative, mild-mannered chick in public, but behind closed doors, men crave a woman who can, I repeat, fuck a dick, suck a dick, and ain’t scared of a dick. They want her to be open enough to experiment, to role-play, to share all of their freaky little secrets.
I sigh, deciding that in addition to the questions I already ask men I meet, I’m going to add some others to the list: You ever had a chick lick your asshole? Or stick her finger in your butt while she’s sucking your dick? (If he says no, I’ll ask him if he’s willing to try it. This will give me an idea of exactly how far he’ll go sexually.) Are you secure in your sexuality? Are you willing to step outside of your comfort zone and really get freaky with it? Ever been with another man? If not, have you ever wondered what it would be like? Would you ever consider trying it if the opportunity presented itself, provided it would be kept private and discreet? This is what I need to know. Of course, I don’t expect him to be honest about that last question, but I’ll ask it anyway just to watch his facial expression and body language. Let’s be real, men who like it in the ass would never admit to it, not to a woman, for fear of being dissed. He might secretly masturbate while thinking about it, but he would never actually confess to it.
I want men to know that all their nasty little secrets are safe with me. My lair is a place where a man can explore his deepest, darkest sexual fantasies without judgment. Without sideways glances. Without being emasculated. Behind these closed doors, I allow a man to be as freaky as he wants to be. Hell, as I already mentioned, I’m willing to strap on a dildo and do him in his ass while jerking him off if that’s what he’s into. I aim to please.
Not that whether he’s honest or not really matters ’cause if I want to fuck him, I’m going to do it anyway. He’d just have to double-wrap his dick, then keep it moving. Hell, there’re many women fucking men who have no idea who or what the hell the guys are doing at the end of the day, so what damn difference does it really make?
Well, knowing gives us choices. Not knowing puts us at greater risk. But either way, one should always, always practice safe sex; especially when he’s not your damn husband or man. But, then again, even then, you still don’t know. Do you?
My cell phone rings. I glance at the number, rolling my eyes. It’s Barry. “Hello,” I say into the receiver.
“Hey, stranger,” he says. His rich baritone voice drips with sex appeal. “What you been up to?”
“Not much,” I offer, sitting on the edge of my bed. I close my eyes, envisioning his naked body sprawled out in the center of my bed. “What’s been going on with you?”
“Same shit. I wanna see you tonight.” He’s talking all low ’n shit on his cell while his wife is in the other room getting their kids ready for bed. He tells me how he can’t stop thinking ’bout how good this pussy feels wrapped around his dick. And how bad he wants some more. Well, of course he does! They all do.
I sigh. Let me tell you a little bit about Barry. He’s a six-foot-four, two-hundred-thirty-pound, wanna-be Rasta whom I met in New Orleans at the Essence Festival last year. He has six children with four different baby mamas. And yes, I fucked him on the spot. Once I learned he was from East Orange, I made it my business to fuck him again, and again, and again until I had enough of his cum-cannon. The last time I fucked him was almost four months ago. It took me almost two days to recover from him rocking my pussy inside out.
“Aww, I wish you would have called me earlier,” I lie.
Between you and me, I have no interest in allowing this man up in my pussy again. One, he’s packing extremely too much damn dick to be trying to fuck me on the regular.
That eleven-and-a-half-inch, dark-chocolate pole is about the size of a damn arm. And I’m sorry, say what you want, but I’m not the one. In my opinion, a big dick like his has to be taken in very small doses, like once every three to six months. There’s no way I want him plunging in and out of me—not today, or any other day. I’m a firm believer that any woman who lives for a big-ass dick on a regular has got to have a pussy as wide and nasty as the Hudson River. Ugh! There’s nothing worse than an overworked, over-fucked, sloppy, stretched-out hole.
Two, he blazes trees like a damned forest fire. Can’t seem to focus or function without it. The shit seems to reek from his pores when he sweats. I don’t know ’bout you, but I don’t think there is anything sexy about having a nigga lying up on top of me smelling like he rolled himself up in a blunt. Sorry, getting a contact high is not my thing. Not that it’s my place to judge, but this nigga is a real fiend, if you ask me. He’d rather blow two, three hundred dollars a week on weed than invest it in something more constructive. Like a set of braces for his crooked-ass teeth.
And three, Barry’s one of those people I was talking about a while back who jumps into a relationship with someone without knowing them, then complains. From what he has shared with me during our few encounters, he met his chick at some strip bar; fucked her a few times; then she got pregnant. Now, the mofo was already in between places and needed a spot to lay his head, so what does he do? He moves in with her. Now, two years later, he’s miserable and feels trapped. Dumb ass! That’s what the hell he gets for splashing off in her without a damned condom. I’ll say it again: Date, date, date before you jump into shit with someone.
“I can get out around two, if that’s cool with you,” he says.
“What about—”
My call waiting beeps. “Barry, hold on,” I say, clicking over to retrieve the other call before he can respond. “Hello?”
“What’s good, lady?”
“Hey, Ian,” I say, smiling. Ian is a sexy, half-black, half-Korean cutie. He’s twenty-seven, six-foot-three, and one hundred and ninety-five pounds, with nine inches of thick cut man meat! And mother-f-ing f-i-n-e. Yes, I’ve fucked him before. Between you and me, he’s really not all that good in the pussy-eating department, but fucking… baby, let me tell you. This dude can slay some pussy. Now that he’s called, I’m going to invite him deep inside these wet sugar walls and allow him to nut himself to paradise! “What’s good with you?”
“This big dick,” he says.
I laugh. “Is that so?”
“Don’t play. You already know. So, dig, you up for some company or what?”
“Hell, yeah,” I reply excitedly. “It’s been a minute since I’ve had some of that dick.”
“Oh, so you’ve missed this dick?”
I smile. I will tell him what he wants to hear; stroke his ego and make him feel like his is the only dick that matters. “Yes, baby,” I moan. “I haven’t been fucked right since the last time you knocked these walls. And that’s been a minute.”
“So you saying you ain’t had no dick since me?”
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying your dick is what feels best inside me. These other niggas don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”
In my mind’s eye, I can see him nodding and smiling and patting himself on the back.
