However, in all fairness to him, I will say that the second go round wasn’t as bad as the first, but it still wasn’t something to write home about. However, he did last twenty minutes and thirteen seconds before he splattered his nut across my back. And then he had the audacity to ask me, “Was it good?” My answer: “You have got to be kidding me!” Needless to say, I never fucked him again.
Oh, well. While I’m at it, speaking of men and the Almighty King ding-a-ling, most women don’t realize that a man’s spirit flows through his dick. And every time he ejaculates inside of her, he’s injecting pieces of himself. His energy, his matter, his essence take root inside of her, and spread through her. Every time she allows a man to splash off in her, she invites all that he is into her space. Good, bad, and the ugly.
If a man is no good, she’s going to allow him to do no good to her, and in return, she’ll get nothing good. In my opinion, the reason why so many women can’t break away from a no-good mofo is because his negative spirit lives within them, and holds them hostage. His tainted energy will spread through a woman like cancer, if not treated swiftly. Not that I’m an expert in the matter, but, again, in my opinion, the only way to break free from his ass is by having an exorcism done. She’ll need to flush her womb, her mind, and her spirit from his; it’s the only way to rid herself of his demon seeds. His negative energy and evil spirit will block her blessings and prevent her from ever meeting a man who represents anything that is positive and balanced.
She’ll continue to allow his disrespect, his demeaning, lying, doggish-ways, and will allow him to bring her ass down, dragging it through a whole bunch of changes. So, my point is, women need to be very, very careful of whom they open their legs to, and whom they allow to nut up in them; everything that feels good ain’t always good. A woman might find herself getting more than what she bargained for. No need to turn this into a debate. It’s only something for you to think about. The only thing I’m trying to do is save some of your dumb asses from getting fucked over. So, beware. You’ve been forewarned.
Oh, please. Here some of you go, rolling your eyes again, looking at me all sideways and whatnot. Thinking, this bitch got a lot of nerve to be talking when she’s fucking and sucking almost everything moving. Well, news flash, dear: I already know that this applies to me as well. However, I’m fucking them, not claiming any of ’em as my man, or trying to trap ’em into being something more than what they are, casual fucks. A choice I recognize is full of risks. Let’s be realistic. What doesn’t come with a set of hazards? Life is full of ’em.
Every man who I am with steps into this knowing that there’s nothing but sex between us. I’m not lying or misleading anyone. And I’m not cheating on anyone. Nor am I willingly letting a man stick his dick in me without a condom. I may throw caution to the wind and fuck with reckless abandon, but I’ll be dammed if I willingly get fucked raw. And, yes, I know condoms aren’t 100% risk free, but it greatly reduces the potential risk. And since abstinence isn’t on the menu for me, I’ll go with the condoms. Good-day!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I blink.
Garrett is standing before me, leaning up against the frame of my front door. And I am shocked and annoyed, to say the least. What if I had someone else pulling up, or walking out? The fucking nerve of him to show up here unannounced and uninvited!
I take a moment to consider him before I speak. He’s wrapped in smooth, cocoa-brown skin with bright, dreamy eyes that seem to sparkle when he smiles. I drink him all in. From his neatly trimmed mustache, gym- chiseled body and slightly bowed legs to the way he pulls in his bottom lip. I can’t front, he is looking so damn delicious that I almost forget that I am pissed at him for showing up at my place. My lust for what hangs between his hairy, muscular thighs slowly creeps up on me, causing my mind to play wicked, sex-driven tricks on me.
For a brief second, I silently stare, toying with the mental images of him snatching open my robe, pinning me up against the wall, unzipping his jeans, then pulling out his hard, strong dick and shoving it up in my pussy. In a rhythm that matches the stroke of his powerful cock, I am suspended, moving my hips against his; his balls smashing against the softness of my open, wet, pulsating snatch until I feel the budding of an orgasm. I hear myself moan.
I blink again, feeling flushed.
Garrett is staring back at me. Perplexed look on his face. Un-blinking, I know he is wondering why the hell I am standing here looking at him like a deer caught in headlights.
“Are you going to let me?” he asks, slicing into my fantasy.
I inhale, deeply. Take in his freshly-showered scent.
“I told you, we need to talk—
“And I told you there’s nothing to talk about,” I say defiantly.
He squints. His jaw muscles twitch. I can tell he is thinking, pondering a way to get his point across. He pushes his way past me, bum rushes his way into my house, almost knocking me over.
Un
“Garrett,” I snap, bracing myself up against the door before I fall on my ass. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?!”
“I told you we need to talk, and I’m not going anywhere until we do.”
“I want you out of my house,
He removes his leather jacket, tossing it across the arm of the chair, then sits his ass down, totally ignoring me.
I huff, slamming the door. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You,” he snaps.
“Then get out. I didn’t invite you here, and I don’t want you here, especially if you’re trying to beat me in the head about shit I am not interested in. You can’t simply come over here anytime you want and barge up in here like you got it like that.” He continues to ignore me. “Garrett, do you hear me talking to you! I want you to leave.”
He turns and faces me. He stares, but says nothing. Leans back in his seat, interlocking his fingers behind his head. For a moment, I think this nigga is crazy. Hell, maybe we’re both fucking nuts.
I am now standing in front of him. Hands on my hips, neck rolling in ghetto fashion. “You got some muthafucking nerve! I don’t know who the fuck you think you are coming up in here like you own shit. Last time I checked, I didn’t have a man, and I don’t want one. So, why are you here, huh, Garrett?”
He continues to stare. And it is starting to piss me off even more.
“So you’re just going to sit there and stare. I thought you had so much to say.”
He rubs his hands together, then leans over and rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. I can tell he is waiting for me to finish running my mouth. And in all honesty, I don’t even know why I am standing here getting myself all riled up, having a one-sided argument with a man who isn’t even mine. A man I don’t even want.
I sit my ass down in the chair across from him, fuming.
“Are you finished?” he calmly asks.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying not to look like a pouting five-year-old. But for some reason, that’s exactly how I am feeling. Still, I feel justified in my anger. As far as I am concerned, I have the right to be mad at him. He’s here unannounced. He’s pretty much barged his way in here. And he has disrespected, and disregarded, my house rules. He knows, like everyone else does, that I like my dick by appointment. Do not come here unannounced, or uninvited.
My cell phone rings. I look at it sitting over on the coffee table in front of him, chiming away. It suddenly stops, then starts up again.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” he asks, pointing at it. “It might be one of your little boyfriends.”
He smirks.
I roll my eyes.
It rings again.
“Someone must really want to talk to you. You sure you don’t want to see who’s calling?”
