Can you just watch?

For whatever reason I was extremely sensitive today

Physically, my body was so in-tune with my surroundings

That sometimes I would stay still and close my eyes to

Feel everything that wasn't apart of me. Like feeling

Of the fan lightly blowing on my skin, or my clothes 

Touching my skin, one hand on my stomach and the other

In my basketball shorts. During this time my mind was silent

My body was live and direct and my breathing was deep and

Steady, and sharp. Completely aware, there was no need to look

In my mind I saw everything. Then it started, and there you were.

In thinking that you were there watching, heightened my senses

The way I focused on my breathing helped a great deal

My natural reaction was to quicken my pace but I told myself no

The pause between inhales and exhales make my body shake

I felt like a cup that was full to the brim and was on the verge of 

Spilling, without a care of the outcome. During those fifteen minutes

I shook, twitched, screamed and yelled all completely out of control

It was too much, it hurt yet I didn't want it to stop. The main thing that

Hurt was that you really weren't there, I only imagined that you were

There with me, watching me, calming down, could you just watch me baby?

I'm Sorry for Taking So Long

    Thank you for attempting to spend time with me and my brothers. I now know something about how hard your life was. I can remember you telling me, "If you wanna go fishin' with me, you betta' do it soon before I pass away." I would always respond with, “Grandma please stop talking like that, we've got plenty of time.” The you passed away. We never ended up going fishing and I know that was something that you loved to do, and I knew then I should have just gone with you. I know I should have just dealt with the mosquito's that early in the morning just to spend some more time with you but I didn't, I took "OUR" time for granted, you have always been there when I was young.

    Your silence made me feel uneasy and what's odd is that silence is something that is apart of me; some people find it unsettling. At the time I didn't understand but now when I write this letter to you I can feel it, the difference is for me is it no longer feels unsettling. I know that you had a very different life than I had but I find it interesting the things that I've picked up from you through that silence. For instance the time when you showed me how to cool off on a hot day, by taking a cold face rag and sit in front of the fan. So for all the times that I do go fishing, I will think of you when I see the calm waters. I love and miss you Grand-ma'.

    She passed away back in my mid-teens this is just something that I have been carrying around with me since then, thats a long long long time for a apology. For the woman who taught me to sip the last of really good kool-aid slowly,

                           I love you - your grand son

Dudes Night, the best night for some questions

My dudes and I occasionally get together and BBQ and play corn-hole and end the night with playing some dominoes and talking shit to each other. After the BBQ is done and we are done tossing bean bags that ends up a bean-bag fight, we come into the real game. Bones/Dominoes.

There are only us three, J and T and I. I ask a question that deals with being comfortable with someone that you are trying to get to know, you know boundaries and it's sometimes funny and interesting to hear and see these reactions out of your favorite people. I think it's cool to try and learn more about these cats. You invest in relationships and the three of us have invested a lot of "us" in our relationships with each other, so this is a cool setting.

So I ask the both of them what if there was a woman that they went on three very nice dates with and for the fourth this night you suggest that she comes to the pad for a dinner and movie night. Now this isn't for the gain of trying to get into her pants, just to spend some time with her. So dinner goes very well and the both of you remove yourself from the table and go into the living room and watch a movie and then you hear it. She just left one go while laughing at the movie or you (besides knowing that MOST women that "WE" have come in contact with will NEVER do this) now how would you handle this situation? I love being able to ask these kind of questions.

Well J pretty much said what I felt, it's a natural body function, but I took it a step further, I'd rather her do it in front of me, not because she doesn't want to, but because I want her to drop those barriers with me, I want that closeness. I mean I would sacrifice my stomach to save her nose. Now I know what a lot of people are thinking, why wouldn't you just goto the bathroom when you needed to, but shit, depending on what we had, I'd be in there pretty regularly. But the point being, don't hind the fact that you are human in front of the other person.

Now T didn't agree, for a few reasons one because she's a woman, not a womanly thing to do, doesn't find it hot at all, but that wasn't the main reason, she's at his house. He said that if they were at her spot he wouldn't have thought twice about it. He saw it as she disrespected his house and would have probably ended it from that alone.

If you feel compelled please share your thoughts on this very special dudes night, for this was only one of many conversations on that night.

The Tale I told him

One afternoon before going to my nephews birthday party, I'm taking my four year old son to the store for a birthday present. We go through the usual isles with toys and after a while of reminding this cat that we are there to pick toys for his cousin and not himself, we finally nab a few and leave. Once back in the truck, he asks, “Why do the doors lock by themselves?” Now I could have simply answered his question but I thought what fun would that be, when I could give him some of my imaginary stories on the spot. So I launch into this long detailed funny, quirky explanation.

I tell him that the truck that we are in is actually a transformer, much like the ones in the movies. I tell him that this one is one of the good ones, and when he goes to bed, this auto-bot and I take out in outer-space to fight those deceptacons. I tell him that sometimes after victories we goto the moon and I roll down the window, and I'd swipe some of the moon in my hand since you know that the moon is made of cheese, and I eat it. Next I tell him that this special moon cheese gives me such awesome gas that when I fart from eating it, I make explosive rainbows, (coincidentally is our nickname for farts now, even my daughter says this) By now he has this huge smirk on his face and I hear him say, “Nuh uh Dad!” This being a goofy dad is some awesome thing. I love how my kids don't buy all of the things I just say out of the side of my mouth.

It's not chicken

 For those of you that know me, you know how picky I am with my food; not like the whole “my body is a temple” jazz but hell there is just some shit (boy doesn’t the word shit sound good in this context) that I just can’t eat. So when going to a restaurant I don’t experiment or play around with, ‘cause the last thing I want to do is order something nasty and still be hungry.

One day a couple of my dudes and I go to this Chinese spot here in town, and when I do order my favorite dish, chicken fried rice, my fault in assuming that they will prepare it the same way as the only other place I go to, fried rice, scrambled eggs, cooked peas, cooked carrots, and actual fucking chicken. Well the man comes out and brings it to my table and I reply with, “What’s this?” He says, “Chicken Fried Rice.” Next I ask, “Dude, why is my chicken in balls? Were you in the back playing with my food?” All the while thinking is this how cat meat looks when you cook it? Is this chicken? Why the hell is it in balls? “It’s not in balls”, he replies. I say, “How the hell can you explain the rolled up look? Man look at it!”


I said finally after some serious stare downs, “You know what, you eat it; I’m not paying for this!” The whole time my best friend is still trying to eat his food and said he felt like his food was going to shoot out of his nose he was laughing so hard. My voice has a tendency to go up a few octaves (you know like Mike Tyson, some of my friends even try to get under my skin just to see if my voice will go up and then laugh) when I get excited or talk fast. I don’t like to show out in restaurants because they have my food, and I don't want to take a chance at them fucking up my meal on purpose because I appear to be one of those people who think that waiters or waitresses are beneath them and I don’t believe that the customer is always right but this cat wasn’t even trying to work with me, like he’d never even seen what I was talking about.
So now I only order from one place and if it's not chicken when I think it should be, its some pretty damn good cat. 

Never Have Anal Sex after a Fish Dinner

 Most people contract some form of food poisoning at least once a year. Most of the time the symptoms are mild, and can even be mistaken for a 24 hour flu bug. Other times, the symptoms are similar to one having a very bad case of the flu, but rarely do people ever need to go to the hospital for food poisoning.
Just by its nature, the probability of contracting food poisoning from fish is always higher than most other foods. This is why, based on personal experience, I recommend that no one ever engage in anal sex after your date ate a large fish dinner.

We hadn’t been dating that long, only about a month. Even though we'd only been dating a short time, we were having sex since the second date, and it was the best, freakiest, porno-style sex of my life. Seriously, this was the kind of sex that every man, deep down, dreams about having at least once in his life. It was the kind of sex that I had wished for ever since my voice started changing. It was with this woman, and only with this woman, that I was ever addressed with the phrase, “Use your whole fist for Christ’s sake.”

On one now infamous date night, we were enjoying a romantic dinner at an upscale seafood restaurant. Through the entire meal, however, sex was all that was on our minds. In retrospect, every date we ever went on seemed to just be a temporary diversion from the best part of the night, which involved animalistic insertions, feral lickings and brazen misuse of food products. We emptied wine bottle after wine bottle over the course of the dinner, and by the time the main course arrived, fish for her and lobster for me, she slipped off her shoes and casually masturbated me under the table with her stocking covered feet. Completely plastered and horny by the end of the meal, we decided to skip dessert in the restaurant because a much sweeter dessert “was being prepared in her hot, wet crotch,” she said. I paid the bill and narrowly avoided getting a speeding ticket, not to mention a DUI, during the drive back to my place.
By the time we got into my apartment, we were tearing each other’s clothes off. Sloppy in our drunkenness, we knocked over two lamps during our horny, groping journey into the bedroom. Once in the bed, she got down on all fours, arched her back, and presented her delicious ass to me. I grunted my approval while aiming my rock-hard cock missile at her hairy silo. When the head of my cock began to penetrate her lips, she stopped me.
“No. In my ass,” she hissed at me, sounding both horny and angry at the same time.
“Are you sure,” I asked?
She giggled as she said, “If I could handle last night. . .”

Oh yeah, I thought. Last night’s adventure involved a clown mask, three packets of Pop Rocks, and a twenty-inch replica of the Eiffel Tower. What the hell was I thinking? Of course she could handle some anal-action. She reached between her legs and began lubing up her asshole with her own pussy juices. Where did I find this girl? I thought. I was in horn-dog heaven. Blessed. Not being an expert in anal intrusion, I slowly eased my way into her lovely stink-star. First the head, then a quarter of the shaft, and soon I was buried to the hilt between her ass-cheeks.
“Go slowly,” she said, half moaning, half panting in both pleasure and pain, I think. I did as she bid, and very slowly began pulling out, like a steam piston on an old locomotive beginning its first run in a century. Almost all the way out of her, but keeping the head firmly planted in her ass-iris, I slowly began inserting again.

“Yeeeeees!” she moaned and began diddling her clit. Soon she said, “Faster.” So faster I went, the tempo increasing until the train was running at full speed, the piston pumping in and out so fast my cock became a complete blur, her hand rubbing her clit like she was trying to start a friction-fire in her pussy.
“Gnnnnnnnah!” she screamed. Thinking she was close to orgasm, I pumped that ass even faster, faster than Amish meth-head churns butter.
“Gnnnnnahstoooop,” she screamed, or something like this, because the noise in my head was drowning out the reality around me, for in my head I heard a steam locomotive, chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-Woo-Woo! Barreling down the tracks, and somehow I pumped even faster.
“YES!” I screamed.

She started reaching behind her and flailing on the bed in what I thought was ecstasy―
“―Stop!” she screamed, able to finally get out the word I had mistaken for groans of ecstasy moments ago. She screamed this with such volume and guttural, primal force that it had the effect of pulling the emergency brake on a 100,000 pound locomotive running at full speed. The sex act squealed to a halt, and I pulled my cock out of her ass like the rip-cord on a parachute. Did someone order champagne? No, that popping noise was my cock coming out of her ass.
“Arrrrrrgh!” She screamed, as I yanked my cock free. And then it happened.
Immediately after my cock popped out, I was sprayed from belly to thighs with watery, fish-smelling diarrhea.

“What the―-?” I said, not able to get the word ‘fuck’ out of my mouth because of my shock at the brown funk lining my body. As she sprayed me, she seemed to be propelled forward by the force of the jet-propelled diarrhea, and she collapsed onto her stomach.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” I murmured, completely shell-shocked. Everything was still. I could hear my wind-up alarm clock ticking on my dresser. I stared at my shit-covered body. I surveyed the room to see if there was any collateral damage. The trajectory of the diarrhea spray was similar to buck-shot in a sawed-off shotgun; it was everywhere. Unfortunately, during the sex act she had been facing the feet-side of the bed, which meant that the headboard, my bedside table and lamp had poop on them as well. Even my bedside clock had a few speckles staining its face. The bed sheets: Killed in Action. A total loss.

I looked at my date, lying there motionless. I called her name. No response. I called her name while shaking her a bit. Nothing. Fear shot through me, as I thought, “Oh my god, what if she’s dead?” But this fear quickly dissipated when I heard her snoring. She was passed out from the wine. I on the other hand was no longer blasted drunk, because the blast from her ass rendered me completely sober. This night was definitely going down in the (ahem) annals as the all time worst date of my life. In fact, I had to invent a new special category, “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic,” to describe this night.
I cleaned up. I cleaned her up. I cleaned the headboard, the dresser, the lamp and the clock. With some manipulation of her passed out body, I was able to wrangle the sheets from the bed and throw them down the garbage chute. By two in the morning, I found myself lying on my couch, drinking Jack Daniels from the bottle. I don’t remember passing out myself, but I can say that unconsciousness didn’t come soon enough. “It was food poisoning,” her voice-mail message explained to me the next day. After some silence, she added, “The fish.” More silence. “Sorry.” She left this message the following day, around 2:00 p.m. I had slept until Noon, and, thank God, she was gone when I woke up. How do you face that? She never called me again. I never called her. I definitely learned two valuable lessons that night: 1) Never have anal sex after a sea food dinner. 2) Be careful what you wish for. There’s only one other experience in my life that entered into the “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic” category, and frankly I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell that story. Let’s just say that the morning after a great one-night-stand, the beautiful woman you banged the night before can certainly use your bathroom. . .but she shouldn’t be more comfortable standing up while she pees.


Best of Craigslist The Worst "Anal Sex Accident"

Looks like a foot to me

 A few years back my ex and I were at my parent’s house (a more founder memory), my pops was in the living room talking to my brother about something that was on TV. My ex and I were in the kitchen talking to my moms just carrying on a conversation. Soon I heard this loud outburst of laughter erupt from the living room and then it got quiet, this makes their conversation seem much more interesting than ours. 

 Slightly after that we started laughing about something different and as we laugh I hear my father trying muffle his voice but it was clear as day to me. I’m in the middle of a sentence and I hear, “Boy don’t you know what kind of diseases they got out there, some of them will make your penis look like a foot.” They said it sounded like someone stomped on the floor, cause I just fell. The room got dark, my knees got weak, I couldn’t breath I hadn’t laughed that hard in years. I must have sounded like a wounded puppy, lying on the floor in my own puddle of drool. All I could imagine was seeing someone in a doctors office, taking their pants down and this cat having a dick with toes at the end wiggling wildly. So envisioning that and listening to my pops try to tell my brother about sexually transmitted diseases about knocked me out!

Peanut Butter

My girl in ATL never lets me down when it comes to these stories, she’s told me so many and I know she’s not lying because somehow, someway they all intertwine into each other she just doesn’t say names. And let me say she’s got some wild ones too. So sometimes I ask, ”Hey isn’t that the same person that did…” she giggles and says yea. I have so many stories of hers in mind now because this has been my buddy for so long and we have a rule and it makes sense. If you have a story and it’s disgusting why would you keep it to yourself? Especially when you could watch, listen, or even read about someone else shuttering from image that you just brilliantly painted in their mind? Put it this way I have shared some of her stories with you all already.

A friend of hers, this dude always wanted his ass licked and she also has a girlfriend that loves having booty-breath. So she set them up for a weekend of fun. So they meet up at some spot and dude takes a shower, washes up and realizes when he’s done that he needs to take a dump. Handles his business and comes out and lies down on the bed on his stomach. She moves over top of him and lays down on him, and kisses his back as she slowly drifts towards his ass, soon she is face-to-cheeks and she spreads them and screams something about nasty ass muthafucka and peanut butter!


Anyway after this my girl tells me about how a lot of cats down there would take a woman that licks ass over a woman that gives head ANYDAY! I’m thinking this just cant be. Then one of my US Army buddies warned me, “Don’t let em lick ya ass man, that shit’ll turn ya out.” I came back with, “So does…” and he cuts me off, “Don’t… Just don’t do it man I’m trying to warning you man it’ll turn ya out.” Hell that was enough for me.

The Big Payback!

 Since its getting close to Halloween I figured this would be a pretty nice spot to put in my thoughts about dirty tricks/revenge, tis-the-season right? Well these thoughts are mostly from conversations I’ve had and my own thought process as well so enjoy.

A few times I’ve heard of women Fed-ex-ing a plate of shit to their ex’s. In no place other than Hot-Lanta a cat comes up the destination and a man comes out of the house with this puzzled look on his as to why the Fed Ex man is making such haste with this package in the thick of summer. The man signs for the package and the Fed Ex man almost looks relieved as he hops back in his truck and speeds off almost as he is the culprit.

This is part one of a brand spanking new story. There is this man that gets pissed at his girl but refuses to break up with her, who knows maybe it’s the power of the booty, well one day while in the shower he was trying to focus during his very personal moment and he sees her shampoo bottle – oh yeah – over the next three days this bottle of shampoo had become his emptying pot.

He’d finish in the bottle, shake it up and go. In the mornings when he hears the shower running he smiles thinking he’s really stinking it to her when women pay for that kind of protein treatment all the time. The second act to this little display is a friend her of this story was curious as to if her hair could be positively affected by a mans love juice. So she asks her man to comply.

Well one night the baby daddy comes over and asks to use the shower and she gleefully lets him. He comes back so fresh/so clean and thanks her for letting him shower because hes going to see his new girl and says, “I hope you don’t mind, I used your shampoo.” Yea, she about spit up her coffee but kept her poker face and said no problem.

Now I’ve spoken to several people about these stories already and it was my cousin that I’ve so far had the biggest laugh because you know we have to go detail through disgusting detail. Thinking about what happens to shampoo in the shower in the face and mouth. That conversation immediately went from giggling to if that shit ever happened to me… Right you could figure the rest.

She's Brewing a Stink Bomb

She’s brewing a stink bomb, is what I told my friend the other day. In thinking about women passing gas and how they are atrocious, yes I said it freaking atrocious! The reasoning being this, when most men pass gas (fart) they genuinely don’t care about how loud it is or if someone smells it, in fact they regularly find it hilarious. On the other hand most women are easily embarrassed by the gaseous outburst. The thing is since most women won’t just push they feel as though they can lesson the stench by letting a little seep out at a time, especially when sitting down in a situation where they can’t just get up and leave. Now everyone’s had the bubble guts! It's a human function to have gas.

To me it's just funny because of the women that I've known they don't want it being announced or known at all, and the ones that don't mind or do want it known, they were completely rare kinds of people indeed. Well the thing about letting a little seep out at a time, it's like building an army. The more that comes out and gathers the stronger it gets. Most women that I know will not pull off the classic maneuvers like “The Leg Lift” or even “The Cheek Shift”. Take time to practice some of these yourselves, man I wish I had instruction videos to go along with these.

Where I am from its just called brewing. The person in question is usually sitting down in a chair so they figure they can let out a little of it out, and little by little the stomach feels completely relieved. The mission is secrecy. You know the whole who smelt it dealt it fashion. The thing is they haven't took in account is the getaway. Ask any bank robber in jail thats final act to the magic trick. So when she does stand up and prepares to make her exit, there's this purple haze behind her, and we all know about if you walk too fast after letting that blast go, you have a tail. So basically most guys will “bust ass” whenever or wherever he feels inclined to do so, but most women will not, she will save it and let it brew and build and thus concludes my hypothesis why women’s gas is much more potent and stronger than men.