When you go through a breakup there are so many things that you go over in your mind that you may regret. Sometimes it’s the things we may say, sometimes it’s the things we may do and sometimes it’s the touches we miss. The touches that were not only sexual but also reassuring in the darkest of times. I’m not always able to say exactly how I feel but when he’d put his hands on my thigh or my waist, everything was always clear. I loved him, I loved him more than I thought I could love someone that wasn’t fully mine. Our relationship was never defined, nor was it in a box that could be picked off of a relationship shelf. When things got hard our excuse was that we are ‘us’ and that was the only explanation that was needed. I think as my love grew for him I began to see that ‘us’ wasn’t enough and I think I wanted to hear more things like we. We was moving forward, we wanted to plan a future, we wanted more kids, we wanted to have a plan for all the tomorrow’s. He blamed it on the fact that he grew up in the streets and was never able to learn how to just be with a woman, how to just be with me. So I went along with it, I went along with everything he said because he made it sound so good. He made us sound good even though it was far from. Even though I know that we shouldn’t be together I still sit here just missing him. Missing his touch. His hands would let me know how he feels and I miss the feelings, I miss knowing what was on his mind. Whether it was pinning me down while we would play fight or when he’d slip his hands up my skirt to find my sweet spot. The way he would wipe away my tears or the way he’d wrap his arms around me for reassurance. A break up can be a terrible thing but there is never an end for things that are meant to be. We needed to end, we needed to end because we wasn’t right but that doesn’t stop me from missing his touch, from missing his hands.
Five months without sex and I thought I was doing well, but I can’t get rid of all my past experiences. Everything reminds me of something sexual and I yearn for that beautiful feeling of wetness in-between my thighs. My thighs that use to be kissed, bitten, licked and caressed by men who are now no longer in my life. Just thinking about this makes my nipples swell with excitement, but once again I don’t have an eager mouth to tend to them. To suck and nibble them and push me to want more of my body explored. I need exploring, I need a warm tongue parting my pussy lips and circling my clit. I want to feel the growth of a soft penis get hard just by my touch or even the thought of going into my body. Getting a back massage while the hard wood laid on my ass cheeks just hoping that it gets slipped in. I’d settle for a finger, a masculine finger being pushed into my mouth so I’d suck, and then pushed in my ass for me to bounce back on. I need to scream someones name because of the pleasure I’m receiving, I need to beg for more. What good are thoughts of the ones that did it before?
Rip off my clothes
Rip off yours
I don’t want to do anything at all
Just bend me over
Spread my legs and get inside
Start off slow
Build up fast
Rub my clit
Slap my ass
Say my name in that breathy tone
Mmm it’s so sexy
I start to moan
We have to be quick
Get to my G-spot
Dip that dick
OMG I’M GOING TO CUM
That’s when I hear that disappointing groan
Did you cum? His eyes were wide
I just rolled back over to my side
Yet again my mind hasn’t been swayed
Battery sex is really the only way
Am I wrong for wanting a piece of him, him, her and her.
Society says it’s wrong.
My friends say I’m greedy.
Is it wrong for me to have many lovers?
Is it wrong that each of them have a special part that equates to my perfect being?
Why must I just have one mate?
Why does it have to be a man?
My auntie says “Cuz we nuh inna di batty gyal biznes”
She doesn’t understand that our culture doesn’t have to affect who I am.
He fucks me so good I lose control of my body, it surrenders to him and never puts up a fight.
She provides me with her sensual flair, making me believe in my sexiness and know that it’s ok to want the best that’s out there.
He makes me laugh and never wants to see me cry. When I’m around him I never know whether it’s day or if it’s night.
She is my provider, she makes me feel safe and warm. She never lets me have to deal with rainy days or them horrible storms.
Together they make the perfect one. The person I see myself falling and falling and falling over and over and over again in love.
Why must that be wrong?
Why is it socially acceptable for a man to gift his dick to what ever woman may blink but if a woman does the same she isn’t worth shit.
She is called a HOE, SLUT, WHORE and could never be a wife. Just because she’s living unapologetically in this crazy thing we call life.
A sexual being, yes. Also, looking for the right attributes to make the best.
Is it wrong?
Is it really wrong?
When you think about it are you truly with the one?
Or are you just with someone that was better than the rest but still missing something hun?
Live your best life and be who you want to be.
I’m only my best when I’m being me.
It’s absolutely beautiful in Shoreditch. Inspiration just drips off of everything and I always feel right at home. This is the first time I have come here and it has been sunny and I love it. I thought to myself that I should make the most of it and wear one of those sun dresses that ripples off your bum when you walk. Sexy dress for the sexy weather, or so I thought. I wanted to go somewhere to write and I recently fell in love with the lounge at the CitizenM hotel. The beautiful decor and the way the place is laid out could literally inspire you to write a book.
I arrived at about 11am and the sun was absolutely popping on the balcony so I set myself up there. I was thankful to Rihanna for her new Fenty product, body lava, my shoulders and arms were glistening. I was also thankful to Shea moistures Jamaican black castor oil leave in conditioner because my hair was full of it’s multi textual curls and I felt like a natural hair goddess. I literally felt like I could take over the world and just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I saw him.
Staring up at me from the side walk was a tall glass of Guinness punch. I’m not talking about the slap dash Guinness punch that you only use the basic ingredients (Guinness, nourishment and condensed milk). No honey, he had nutmeg, bailey’s and a cinnamon stick in his mix. Beautiful, muscly, swaggy, warrior looking, straight from the motherland ready to pick me up, put me on his shoulder and walk our asses into the sunset looking man. His eyes looked like they were looking through me into my soul and this was the first time today that I felt a little insecure. He never dropped his gaze and although I started to feel a little awkward I refused to drop mine either. After what seemed like five million, six trillion, seven bajillion minutes he decided to smile and then he walked off. I felt quite confused and then a rush of disappointment came over me because I thought he would’ve tried to speak to me.I didn’t waste anymore time on thinking about him and started to write.
I felt so hungry at about two and my stomach began to growl. I couldn’t actually remember if I had breakfast or not which was weird but my mind was too into what I was writing to dwell on that. I decided to ask the hotel if they knew of any cute little cafes or places they recommend to go for lunch. They named a few places but as they were talking I smelt this amazing aroma. It spelt like a stew or something along those lines and I think one of the staff noticed me drifting from the conversation because he told me that they had a cafe in the hotel. As if I needed another reason not to leave here. I walked into the cafe and there it was, beef boujistew, I can’t remember the actual name but it was along them lines. I asked for a big bowl and some bread to go with it and tuck in. Half way through my meal I heard a low and alluring tone talking and I had to look up to see who it was. To my surprise it was Mr. Guinness punch, he was talking to one of the staff and it looked like they were looking for someone. I continued to watch them as they scanned the room and just when I put another spoonful of food in my mouth they turned towards me and he smiled and waved. I’m extremely confused at this point so I literally just stared at him. I wasn’t even chewing my damn food, just sat there and watched him walk over to me with the most amount of confidence.
“You look like your enjoying that, can I have some?” he said as he sat down at my table. I was still in a state of shock and he picked up the spare spoon that I always get just incase ones dirty and took some of the stew.
“Very nice but you better start chewing yours because I don’t think it was made this nice to be stored in your cheeks” he spoke with a humorous tone.
After I finished chewing I spoke with a little annoyance in my voice, “umm first of all, you don’t know where my mouth has been and I’ve been dipping my spoon in and out of MY stew. Since you walked over here with such confidence, you should’ve grabbed YOURSELF some food because I do not like to share!” He was clearly entertained and a little shocked in my response. I could tell by the expression on his face.
He picked up his spoon dramatically and dived it back into my food and took another spoonful. I just rolled my eyes and continued to eat as well. I didn’t want to make it obvious but I tried to get little looks in here and there. His mouth looked so nice, with his full lips and white teeth. His eyebrows were so perfect but I didn’t get the vibe that he got them waxed which of course would’ve been a complete turn off. He was bald and it suited him so damn perfectly, especially with that full beard that just got my juices flowing.
“So are you going to tell me your name or should I just call you miss?”
“If you wanted to know my name you should’ve asked before you started eating my food. Clearly you don’t actually need to know it so miss will be just fine, sir.”
He smiled again, “you didn’t stop me and you continued eating yourself so clearly you were comfortable with me doing so, miss.”
“I’d be a fool if I gave up the opportunity in having dinner with a man that almost looks as good as I do on this beautiful sunny day, sir.” I was warming to him and didn’t want to scare him away.
“If you think I look half as good as you do then you’re very mistaken miss……”
“Ebony, that’s my name and yours would be?” I tried my hardest not to get too excited at the compliment.
“Your name is Ebony? Or is that a pseudonym?”
“That’s my actually name sir….”
“Deon. My name is Deon Matthews.”
“Nice to meet you Mr. Deon Matthews.”
“Are you going to let me know what your last name is?”
“Depends on what you want from me Deon.”
“I want to take you upstairs to my room and with your permission of course I’d like to see if your body looks as good under that sundress as what I had imagined.”
I just sat there shocked and slightly turned on by how brazen he was. I was trying to think of the most calm way to respond to him but I just felt like this was all too random to be true. I also didn’t really know if this actually a good thing or if it may be slightly scary. He must’ve caught onto my hesitation and stood up, pushed his chair in and placed a room key on to the table.
“If you believe that this would be as good as I think it will be join me. I’m in number 212 and hopefully I will see you soon.” He walked off but I noticed he left a box behind. It looked like a jewellery box and before my ass runs after him to give it back I opened it and there was the most beautiful black pearl necklace. It had a little note in the lid of the box and when I unraveled it, it said:
You looked beautiful and when I saw you I wanted to add
to that beauty. Please don’t take this gift in a rude way.
Damn, he actually bought this for me. He said not to take it rudely but the thought did cross my mind like I hope he don’t think I’m a prostitute. I immediately dismissed that idea and tried to decide what to do. Around ten minutes went past and I took out my pocket mirror, checked my face, redid my Fenty lipgloss and I proceeded to the elevator. I mean who knows we could just end up talking.
Mmmm Deon, deon, deon, deon.
His face showed signs of anger but it still made me want to try and seduce him. He kept his tight gaze as I walked across the room slowly dropping the dressing gown off my shoulders. His stubbornness kept his eyes on mine but I knew he wanted to look at my body. I moved slowly towards him which seemed to make his hands fidget, but his eyes still looked mad. I ignored his face and decided to watch his body language as I got closer and closer. He seemed to relax more and his hands dropped down to his sides. I got in between his legs and still hadn’t looked up at his face again. His body was giving me all that I needed in that moment. I went to undo his belt and he grabbed my wrist, but when I touched his hand with my other he let go. I undid his belt and zipped down his trousers and his most important muscle sprang to attention. I bent down and placed my petroleum covered lips onto him and I heard a gasp. That gave me all the permission I needed to take him deep into my throat, start working my hands at the base of him and start squeezing his scrotum; which I knew he loved. I caught myself in a rhythm and he put a hand behind my head and whispered “Don’t move let me fuck your mouth” in a breathy tone. I did as I was told and when I managed to look up I saw his face and I knew he had succumbed fully to my advances.
Make me cum without touch, use your words to seduce me.
Make love to my mind, use your intelligence to entice me.
No day to day small talk, let your goals be used as foreplay.
Your drive and ambition will put me under a spell.
Love me with your mind don’t just fuck me with your dick.
Give me something different, not just something average or I’ll regret it.
Challenge my knowledge with information I’ve never heard before.
Hours and hours of stimulation until I close my eyes.
I want my mind blown baby, not just in between my thighs.
Honeymoon periods give you this overwhelming sense of pure happiness and your partner seems to do no wrong if he is getting the bare minimum right.
I use to think that love was only based on the good things that happened. Whether it was laughter, deep conversations or just the late night cuddles and bum rubs. I use to be content with just this because these are all temporary highs. Honeymoon periods give you this overwhelming sense of pure happiness and your partner seems to do no wrong if he is getting the bare minimum right. It took me a while before I was able to see the signs.
Cuddles made me happy but how often was I actually getting them? I really loved the laughter but did I actually find what was being said hilarious? Deep conversations suddenly become filled with different point of views and disgust. Is it because sex came too quickly? Lust is a hell of a drug and can really get you caught up in a way you never knew you could. None of the bullshit matters when he’s kissing my neck, none of the bullshit matters when he’s sucking my breast and nothing EVER mattered if he was in between my legs.
Love to me now is prevention. My ideal partner will prevent me from feeling alone or unwanted. My ideal partner will not have me looking or feeling stupid. My ideal partner will be honest and truthful and prevent me from feeling regret with hidden lies that come to light. My ideal partner will understand that relationships are hard work but prevent me from feeling like I’m the only one in the ring willing to fight.