not having that. I did it once, and the trick tried to fuck my ex. So, now you know why I hate when a woman runs her damn mouth about her relationship or her man to her so-called friends. I did that shit once—confided in a bitch about my relationship, and it cost me, dearly. I lost what I thought was a good friendship, and a relationship with a man who claimed he loved me. Then again, in hindsight, I really didn’t lose out on shit. If anything, I gained. And finding out the truth about both of their asses saved me a bunch of drama in the end. Still, the whole ordeal was painful. To be betrayed by someone whom you thought you could trust. After all the times I had her back, bailed her out of situations, gave her a shoulder to cry on—hell, even lean on, unconditionally loved and cheered for her, and…still, that wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
And when that trick-bitch turned around and tried to fuck my ex, Vaughn, I knew then I would never,
“I don’t know what the fuck you’d do,” I had snapped. “But what I do know is you been coming around here every time Vaughn’s car is outside—just popping up, like you were in the neighborhood, knowing damn well your motherfucking ass lives all the way across town. I also know that the last four times you dropped by, you made it your business to sit across from him so that every time you opened and closed your legs, he could get a glimpse of your pussy—”
“Bianca, now c’mon, girl,” she urged, slamming her hands on her hips. “You are really starting to bug now. I can’t believe you are going to stand here and accuse me of trying to get with your man. That’s really stretching it. Please, he is cute and all, but he is not my type. And you should already know that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Karen, do me a favor and save that shit for someone else. A pussy has no motherfucking conscience, and you know like I know that a horny bitch will fuck another woman’s man without any thought. And I don’t care what you say,
Then this bitch had the audacity to go into an Academy Award winning performance and start shedding tears, talking about how hurt she was that I would come at her like that, accusing her of trying to disrespect our friendship and my relationship. Lying bitch!
“You’re like a sister to me,” she had the fucking nerve to say. “I don’t know what you think you saw or heard, but I’m telling you, I would never do no shit like that.”
“And there are plenty of sisters who will fuck her own sister’s man, so don’t give me that bullshit.”
Well, long story short, the bitch would do some shit like that, and she tried. But, she didn’t exactly get what she wanted. And when I confronted Vaughn about my suspicions, he readily admitted, which was surprising to me, that she had been saying slick shit to get at him, but he would brush it off. I asked him why he never mentioned it, and he said because it wasn’t a big deal. Yeah, okay. I know better. As far as I am concerned, he should have checked her ass, then told me what the hell she was up to. But since he wanted to keep shit on the low, obviously needing and wanting her to feed his already super-sized ego, I dumped his ass. I had to wonder what else he was keeping from me. Call it extreme if you want. But if some chick I’m supposedly cool with is stepping to my man, I expect to know about it, right then. There’s no damn way I want a man in my life who keeps secrets. Sorry, boo- boo, you ain’t the one for me!
And since then, I haven’t allowed another bitch into my personal space. The only bitch I need in my life is me. At least I know what I’m capable of. But another bitch, humph…now, that’s a whole ’nother story. I don’t trust ’em as far as I can throw ’em. And trust me, there’s too many of them slimy hoes for me to be trying to spend my life tossing around, so I choose to not fuck with ’em, period. Hell, as advanced as technology is, you would think someone would have developed a Ho-scanner by now. Some type of device a chick can either carry in her purse to wand a bitch down, or install around her front door, so that when she allows a chick to enter her home or personal space, bells and whistles start going off, alerting her that the company she is keeping has the potential to fuck her man, if given the right opportunity. And then the bitch would have to wear some type of identifying marker, like a damn metal wristband or something so every woman with a man would know who the hell was amongst her. Now, if you ask me, that would cut down on a lot of damn heartache, disappointment and confusion.
Humph. I haven’t given Vaughn or that tramp Karen a second thought in almost four years until today. And in all honesty, I need to probably thank her ass because if it hadn’t been for that situation, I would probably be still thinking that bitch was my friend.
Anyway, even if Vaughn would have told me what she was up to, I would have still eventually ended it with him. There were some things about our relationship that weren’t sitting well with me. Sexually speaking, he often left me unfulfilled. He had a nice nine-inch dick, but the mofo was stingy as hell with it. He couldn’t deal with how I liked to fuck all the time. While I wanted it two to three times a day, he was okay with fucking once or twice a week. What kind of shit is that? That’s some mess you do when you’re in your sixties.
I practically had to beg him for the dick, or wait until he was asleep, then take it. Trust me. That started getting real played. Please tell me. How many men you know who have access to a steady supply of wet, hot pussy turn it down, unless they getting it somewhere else? But he swore up and down there wasn’t another woman. Hmmm, okay. Then maybe…ugh! I don’t even want to entertain the possibility of him being one of those down-low brothers as an option. But, nowadays, who the hell knows?
Bottom line, there was no regular fucking going on in my own bed. And when he did hit this pussy, he didn’t like for me to talk dirty, or make a lot of noise. I felt so damn constricted with him. Couldn’t do this, couldn’t do that. Hell, he only wanted me to lie there, and listen to him grunt and pant for forty minutes. God forbid if I did let loose, and go into freak mode, he’d cum within ten minutes, and would barely be able to get it up again for another round, or he’d fall into a deep, bear-growling snore.
And through it all, not once in the three years I was with him, did I go out and get some side dick. I thought about it. And as bad as I wanted to, I refused to cheat on him. But, trust and believe, after I broke it off with him, I made myself a promise that I’d never be involved with another man who couldn’t keep me satisfied in the sack. I refuse to be deprived (or stifled) sexually ever again. I will never again be with a man who feels the need to ration out the dick. And I mean that!
Ugh! All this “strolling down memory lane” got me thinking about my worst sexual experience. I was in my sophomore year in college and there was this junior, Jonathan, in my human development class that every chick on the campus wanted. If there were two hundred chicks sweating him, best believe he’d already fucked at least sixty of ’em. And on the surface, I could understand why. Besides being the star point guard for our basketball team, he was capital F-I-N-E. six, three, 210 pounds of smooth, honey-coated skin with the prettiest almond-shaped, light brown eyes I have ever seen (to this day) on a man.
Well, long story short, spring semester I gave him some pussy. And it was absolutely horrible! His dick game was so busted it was almost depressing. First, he had a hard time finding my hole, then he finally gets it in and it keeps slipping out because he’s too busy trying to long stroke it when he was only working with a short stick, if you know what I mean. And when I say short, I mean measuring in at four-and-a-half very thick inches. I couldn’t believe it! Now, I know I basically said a while back that dick size was strictly a matter of preference. And like I said, a big dick can be a nice treat from time to time. But, as I already mentioned, I’d rather have a man with a thick six to eight inches plunging in and out of my pussy on a regular, than nine inches or more. Because the truth is, I don’t want my shit stretched open so wide that a man needs an express train to get to the other side, or a damn escalator in order to hit the bottom. That is not cute. But, fucking a man with only four inches of hard dick, now that is a damn travesty! Hell, as far as I’m concerned, that isn’t a dick on a grown-ass man, it’s a damn butt plug. Ugh, poor thing!
Anyway, back to Jonathan. I had to wrap my legs around him, then dig the heels of my feet into his ass to keep him in me. Ugh!! I laid underneath him, watching his face twist while his eyes were shut, thinking about the calculus exam I had in the morning, that’s how boring he was. He had no rhythm and no damn stamina at all, and his only saving grace was the fact that he could kiss and suck a titty like he was nursing. Other than that, forget it! He came in exactly nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds (I know this because I timed it) and then went to sleep with me lying next to him frustrated, agitated, and disgusted with a very wet and very disgruntled pussy.
