the life and musings of a kinky slut

Unexpected Conversation

D and I met in medical school. He is very attractive: average height, medium brown skin, rugby fit body, long brown dreadlocks, and a cocky personality that I couldn’t help but find appealing.

In medical school, I was honest with D in a way that I often could not be with other classmates. I hid parts of myself at times from them for both creature comfort and a wish to not be judged for my previous and continued subculture life. But with D, somehow he could tell something was up, something about me was different. He once told me it was in the way I carried myself, in the random things I knew about sexuality and sex, and the initial edited stories I told him. It wasn’t long before I allowed myself to be truly myself around D.

Our chill times together were occasionally transactional but in an oddly funny way. I’d come to hang at his place, he’d randomly ask me for this or that, and I’d charge him. He’d laugh but then pay me for whatever random thing it was he wanted or needed: folding his clothes, helping him get face masks, or walking him through the process of signing up for a big test.

Other times, when we hung out with mutual friends, it was just kind of fun and relaxed, nothing big.

But when my honesty extended to my sex life, or rather lack therefore while in medical school, I let it be known I found him attractive. He played it off often, saying he refused to fuck anyone in our class for fear of drama. No matter my insistence that all I wanted was dick, he politely declined. 

Well, until we were about one month away from graduating, had all but finished our requirements, and had way too much free time on our hands.

I came over to his place. He had just gotten out of the shower, clean and refreshed. He laid on his bed and invited me to give him head. I setup my blue tooth speaker, stripped down to just my underwear, and enjoyed myself for about an hour.

His dick was beautiful. A fun time was had by us both.

I reminisce on this moment now because of the randomness that is life.

This past Sunday, I flew back from my vacation in New Orleans. As soon as I leaned my head back in my Uber, ready to sleep for the roughly hour long drive home, I got a call from D. He had previously offered to come visit me a few times, including this day, but we’ve never been able to make it happen including this past Sunday. Resident life such as it is.

So instead he asked me about my life. I asked him about his. We caught up.

But then he veered the conversation towards my sex life, or once again lack thereof. Lately, I’ve had sex only, at best, once a month. Life has been kicking me in the teeth, so my lack of good dick is on par for my current circumstances. But then D told me he still remembers our one session at his place fondly, says my blow job was one of the best of his life and he, in retrospect, was kicking himself for not taking me up on my offer sooner. My ears perked up. I was no longer tired. Why was D mentioning this?

Way too often, I forget I make an impression on people. This situation with D is just example number 45 or so of me putting less stock in myself than others.

That being said, D offered to be added to my roster. My next vacation is around my birthday, so the rough plan is for me to drive up to him on that Tuesday, spend the night, and then drive down to a concert on Wednesday. 

Yes folks, you read that right: I have scheduled (almost) birthday sex three months in advance. 

My life is so random sometimes.

We will need to have a conversation about expectations. I want his dick in more than just my mouth this time. But anticipation of seeing him again, of fucking him again in whatever way we collectively agree, has brought a small smile to my face for the past few days.

I do love having something to look forward to, especially knowing that it’s good dick.

Beck & Call

http://humanesmarts.org/product/toddler-time-in-the-farm-november-8th/ ~ erotica ~

I am his beck and call girl. 

I spend my days quietly waiting, hoping, for his text. When it arrives, it is a place and a time to meet. 

Most often, he sends a hotel name. “The Hyatt downtown, 5pm.” There is always time to shower, shave, and show up smelling sweet and clean.

Sometimes he tells me a restaurant or a bar. On those nights, my moans might be muffled by his hand or the crook of his neck, or drowned out by loud thumping music, or ignored by a driver behind a partition. I know which restaurants in the city have the cleanest restrooms, most spacious supply closets, and filthiest allies.

Occasionally, we meet at an apartment in an unassuming brownstone filled with beautiful barely used furniture and a citrus scent that permeates my clothes after I’ve left. When we meet at the Brownstone, I know I won’t be back home until the next day. I fall asleep in his arms, wake up to breakfast ready with him fully dressed and a kiss on the forehead before he’s off to work. He pays the rent for the place and has offered for me to move in. For now, I politely decline, instead enjoying our times together and not blurring the separation between my time with him and my life without him. 

Sometimes, he tells me what he wants me to wear. The tight gray dress, no underwear and no bra. The black skirt with the red top and the black bra. The booty shorts and burgundy tank top and the grey hoodie but unzipped so he can see my tits. On special nights, he directs me to the Brownstone to get ready, a tailored outfit waiting for me. I never know what those nights will bring (an opera, a play, a soirée) but they always end in the fabric ripped off me and delicious teeth marks in delicate places.

He loves it when I strip for him. He asked me to do it once and I’ve done it ever since. In restaurant bathrooms, he simply wants me to hike up my skirt and tease down my top. In the apartment, I do a full show ending on my knees, arms in the air, presenting myself for his pleasure.

When I am brave, I ask him if I might undress him. More often than not, he says yes. I think he likes the attention as much as I do. I slowly unbuttoned his dress shirts, kissing and nipping at his skin, until he can take the flirtation no longer, ripping off his garments and ramming into me. The best is when he orders me to undress him. Never mean but always stern.

“Unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants, and pull out my cock.”

“Run your nails down my chest, then up my back.”

“Slowly massage my thighs up towards my crotch, but stop before touching my dick.”

He loves to call me his good girl when he fucks me. I love to call him Daddy when I fuck him. He always cums. I always cum. Multiple times. He lets me bite and scratch and nip him. He leaves me pretty bruises by which to remember our time. I see them in the mirror each morning and night as I get ready for my day and get ready for bed. All reminders, all little memories. As they fade, I begin to miss him more, and anticipate the next time I’ll get his text.

Once, he told me he’d come over to my place. It was the only time I refused him. He changed the location to the Brownstone and fucked me in the most gentle tender way I had ever experienced all night long. We finished sweaty and exhausted, passing out curled up into one another.

He is my fantasy made flesh, my spoiler, my comfort in cuming, my Daddy. He never makes me feel like a whore. He never gives me money, nor do I ever ask for it, even when I need it, but he drops his card for the check every time, sends me gifts just because, pays bills without my knowing, and takes me whenever he pleases. 

He is mine and I am his, one moment at a time.


[Side note: Yes, I could have posted something meaningful and thoughtful today, but I did not have the spoons to do so. Instead, please enjoy this random sexy thought that popped into my brain before bed. I will (maybe) be more thoughtful next time.]

http://shinyfastandloud.com/wp-content/themes/news-mix-light/js/jquery.caroufredsel-6.0.4-packed.js ~ erotica ~

She raced home after work, thrust the front door open, dropped her things, and immediately went to the study.

When she saw him in his usual corner, sitting and reading with his glasses a third of the way down his nose, she rushed to him, dropped to her knees, and laid her head in his lap.

“Yes, my little one. Rough day at work?”

“Not rough, per se. Just long. Knowing you go on vacation as soon as you’re done with the day makes the day SO MUCH longer.”

“It’s okay, my sweet. Your day is done. Let all of that go. You’re here, now, with me. What is the first thing you want to do for your vacation?”

“You mean besides sitting here with you doing that for an hour?”

He began stroking her hair, and never stopped, from the moment her head dropped into his welcoming lap.

“Yes, besides your head scritches, what else do you want to do this evening?”

“Can we do something… while naked?”

“Naughty already. I can see what kind of week this will be.”

“When I asked what you wanted from the week, you said beach and sand and comfort. Why wouldn’t I want to be naked the entire time. I would think you’d want me that way, in fact.”

“Ok my little firecracker. Yes, we can be naked. What else?”

He gripped her hair, eliciting a sigh he so loved hearing.

“Can we be naked in bed while you do this for a bit?”

“So simplistic. Yet I think you know we will not be just giving and receiving pets for long.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She brushed the palm of her hand across his trousered lap. He was already hard.

“Are we going to be naughty or nice this evening?”

“Why must I chose?”

His fingers sunk into her scalp, clenched, and brought her face to his.

“Which would you like to start with, then?”

Her eyes were half sleepy as she took in the pleasure and pain of the moment.

“I think you know which.”

His teeth sunk into her neck as his free hand grasped her breast through her clothes. His book was forgotten on the floor.

As they laid in bed, her body sore in all the best places, she nuzzled her head into his chest as he stroked her hair. Their legs were interlocked. They were sweaty and exhausted and happy. She absentmindedly purred, one of the quirks he so loved about her.

“Happy vacation, my Good Girl.”

“Thank you Daddy.”


“What’s your name?”
“Ugh, another one.”

I have a singular talent for sticking my foot in my mouth swiftly and without notice.

Steven was intelligent, attractive, and funny as fuck. I met him at a kickback this weekend, just a bunch of Black residents drinking, chatting, and chilling, exactly what I needed in the middle of my current exhausting nights rotation.

Steven is a tall, slender but muscular, Black man, smart as a whip, and has this way of engaging everyone in conversation, connecting while conversing. He’s partially bald, with arms that remind me too much of a crush I had in med school. He’s originally from Nigeria, but his family moved to New Jersey when he was a kid.

“My accent comes out when I’m mad and driving.”
“Wow, that’s two Stevens I know now from New Jersey.”

Yeah, I wanted him like five minutes after we met.

He made me laugh so hard that I cried, twice. In an impromptu music session, he sang a couple John Legends songs while being accompanied by a keyboard played by the host.

Like me, he made a decision that drastically changed the course of his life. That impressed me.

Of course I wanted this man.

And, of course, he is currently dating someone else.

I learned that lesson early. If I meet any attractive intelligent Black man in medicine, he will either be gay, taken, or a fuck boy. And I am done with fuck boys.

We had a brief moment before he left. We all hug goodbye by nature, but after he gave me a hug, he said, “I’ll will definitely remember you, Dr. ‘Dad’s last name’.” “Actually, it’s Dr. ‘Mom’s last name.’” “Ah, right. Black families.”

I hope I get to see Steven again sometime.


I am never fucking TK again.

TK messaged me randomly saying he was free and asked if he could come over. I was free, so I said sure. I had just eaten an edible and felt happy to have some company.

TK sat on my couch and we started watching a show on Netflix. I let him know I was in a good mood because of the company and because I was high.

TK encouraged me to cuddle with him as we watched the show. Then his hand slipped under my robe and began massaging my nipple. The edible made the sensation even more acute. My breathing deepened, then quickened. I could feel my sex arousing. Could hear my breaths turn into soft moans. I grabbed his other hand and guided it under my pajama pants, pressed his fingers onto my clit, arched my hips up and let my head fall back. My moans grew louder, then turned into expletives. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Let’s go back to the bedroom.”
“No, let’s fuck right here while we watch the show.”

TK is playful by nature, so I went with it. We were both naked in seconds. He stroked himself, gripped my hips, and rubbed his dick against my lower lips.

“I don’t have one.”
“I’ll grab one. Give me a sec.”

Even when I am high, I still have my faculties for the most part and can mostly control my actions. I was not going to fuck this man, hot as he was, without a condom. I brought out two just in case. He put one on, then turned me so that I faced the TV while he sat on the couch. We fucked while watching In From The Cold.

His cock was pleasing, and I let my pleasure be known in my moans and expletives.

We switched positions, me now sitting on his lap and riding. Like before when we’d fucked, he gnashed at my nipples. “Softer, Jesus, softer. You are always so rough.” Nipple sucking is my kryptonite. Nipple gnashing is not fucking fun. Red, sore, bruised nipples were not something I wanted to experience again.

We switched positions again, this time me face down ass up on the floor.

“How do you feel about a video, or a picture?”
“Can’t. My career. It would ruin.”

I turned to make sure he wasn’t holding his phone in his hand.

“Fuck it, let’s go back onto the bed.”

I paused the show.

Standing on the edge of my bed, bent over, I felt the tip of his cock at my asshole. A small push. And then another. “You are not fucking my ass tonight, especially not without lube, but definitely not tonight.”

Up on the bed, he was inside me, pounding hard, my legs splayed.

“I want to cum inside you.”
“You can cum on me.”
“My tits.”
“No, I’ll just cum inside the condom.”

He finished. I was annoyed. What the ever loving fuck!?!

Laying on my bed, his hand lazily played with one of my nipples. I grabbed my vibrator, put it to my clit, and let him be mean to my nipples for a few minutes as I came.

He put on his clothes and left as soon as I finished. We hugged bye. He was all smiles.

As I closed the door on him, I knew he would never again be invited into my home.


Bacon and I had a random conversation over Twitter today. We both happened to be awake at 6am this morning. I was horny, because I’m pretty much always horny, and asked if he wanted to come over. He did, but he wanted to be up front: he wanted sex without a condom.

What the fuck is up with all these guys trying to fuck me without a fucking condom!?! Have y’all never heard of a sexually transmitted infection or unintended pregnancy. I cannot be fucking pregnant right now. Like for real, what this shit is going on?

We did not fuck. He did not come over. I remained horny, and frustrated on multiple levels.


I got stood up for a Hinge date, twice.

Same coffee shop. Same promise to meet me there. The first time he couldn’t make it because of a last minute conflict. The second time he just forgot.

After the second enraging and embarrassing moment, he messaged me saying, “I feel awful. I’m the worst. I still want to meet you. Next time, I’ll come to you. Here is my number.”

I am too kind of a person. I keep vacillating between whether I should message him back and try one more time or just unmatch and move on. I’ve asked two different groups of people and the answer was the same: block him with a swiftness.

In my head, I keep giving him the benefit of the doubt. But also, I was the one who was hurt, twice. So yeah, gonna chalk it up to the game and try again with someone else.


I had a Panera coffee date last weekend. It was… whelming. Not great. Not terrible. Just was.

I forget who said that was a sign I should peace out on this dude, too.

There were no sparks. He was somewhat attractive, and somewhat intelligent, but there was no buzz, no undercurrent, no tension, no energy. It felt like practice.

I guess that’s what it was, a practice date for others to come.

This single shit is annoying.


I had a guy unmatch with me because I explained that I do not give out my phone number until I’ve met someone in person. I need a vibe check, to get a feel for the person first.

He was hot, had good conversation, and we had some things in common. But I set a simple boundary and he baled immediately. Dodging bullets left and right, I guess.

And so I continue to deal with the foolishness of Black men and these fucking apps.



I am alone.

The current state of our world necessitated canceling my vacation plans. I have a week to do as I please, but currently, really, I have nothing big to do.

I am broke. The computer I am, right now, typing on took away all of my money until I get my next paycheck at the end of my vacation week.

There are things I can do at home. I have a thousand page novel I have started reading. (Paused on page 102 to type this.)  Plenty of movies and television shows to binge. (Almost finished season two of Too Hot To Handle.) But, ultimately, I am alone.

So much of my current circumstance was unavoidable. Residency is as it is, and I need a laptop to work. People will do as they will and thus we are all living in a slow boring hell of a pandemic.

So here I am tonight, writing.

The positive parts of the situation rest solely in the people around me, the network of friends who keep me centered and keep me sane. I thank God everyday I got to come back home for residency.

Friday night, I made my vision board for the year at a small party with my med school friends. Again, like last year, I opted to draw my vision board. Something about transferring the ideas from my mind to paper felt right. This year’s words are: Confidence, Companionship, Care, and Calm. (Yes, I went with a theme.)

I want to grow in my confidence as a physician and especially as a surgeon. I want to walk into any OR knowing I have the skills to help my patient and trusting in the team around me to get the work done.

As is well known, I want someone in my life. A partner by my side, to give and receive love, to be my rock while I help hold them up, companionship through this crazy reality we are all living. Let’s see who comes into my life this year. (Honest confession: I am scared that I will never find my soulmate, but I’m going to keep trying, fear and all.)

I care about my friends, my family, my patients, my coworkers. I probably care too fucking much. But also, I am cared for and about. I deserve love and affection, attention, ease. Saturday, I spent all day watching animated movies with my friends while eating and drinking and laughing. More of that this year, please.

I want to bring a sense of calm to the people around me, to be a safe harbor for them. I want people to know in me they have love abundant in whatever form they need.

So here we begin 2022, still in a pandemic, and my life dominated by a consuming career that is trying to break me. I refuse to be broken, though. I refuse to allow medicine to consume me whole. Instead, I will grow and become stronger, while remaining a person of light and love in the midst of hardship and darkness. 

Alright, time to learn to be a badass.  2022, let’s do this. 

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It’s important to consider the platform’s point of difference if you want to create a campaign that resonates with the platform’s users. You’ll need to be ready to generate multiple, fresh ideas on a weekly, if not daily, basis. You’ll also need to decide how you can translate your brand values and services into something that works on TikTok, be sure to check this site.

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Best Friend, Not Boyfriend

~ Thu Dec 30th ~

I don’t want to fuck my best friend. 

We have been friends for literally half of our lives. We have each gone through a lot of shit, both together and separately. I value having him in my life.

We have this loose maybe promise that if neither of us is married at 45 that we maybe might get married. 

But I do not, DO NOT, want to fuck my best friend.

We used to fuck a lot. About a decade ago, there was one year where we fucked on almost every holiday. It started with Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then New Year’s. Valentine’s Day. I think we even snuck in Arbor Day. But we missed Fourth of July and that stopped the streak.

When he got sick, something just switched in my brain, and I’ve never been able to see him the same way since. The vulnerability, the idea of losing him. I don’t know. Protective brain overrides horny brain and here we are.

I often remind myself when he is around to not fuck him. The last few times we did fuck, later it didn’t sit right in my head. It is totally possible to utterly love someone and simultaneously never want to be with them in that way.

So I was more than pleasantly surprised when I brought him to happy hour and some of my other friends were feeling him. There was good conversations and fun flirting and I thought, “This. This is what I want for him. Yes, other hot people being into him. Yes, my friends becoming friends. God, I hope they fuck.”

Compersion is indeed real.

Happy Hour this Thursday was more fun than usual. I was on my winter vacation, so had all the time in the world. For the first time in years, I closed the bar with best friend in tow. He makes friends wherever he goes.

In looking for him, I made my way to the bar and then found myself flirting with the extremely hot bartender. I forgot how much fun it is to flirt with bartenders.  I sat next to a pretty woman who turned out also worked there as a waitress. It was late, so her shift was up, but she hung around just to chill. While enjoying their companying, I learned my New Year’s plans went up in smoke. The pretty waitress encouraged me to buy a ticket to the bar’s party for the next night. I figured, fuck it. What do I have to lose? 

I drank some more. Had good conversation. Really enjoyed myself.

Yeah, Thursday was a good night.

Bus Stop Guy

~ A conversation with myself while driving in the car ~

Who takes the bus on Christmas?

Actually, you don’t know if he was waiting for the bus. He could’ve just been sitting on that bench, needing a time out from his family, or his partner. Or just some air.

You don’t know why he was there. You just know he was staring at you.

Although, can 20 seconds be considered staring?

The length of time for you to pause at the stop sign, see him seeing you, look right, look left, look straight ahead, see him still looking at you, and then turn.

He was fine. That’s probably the biggest reason why you’re still thinking about him.

Too fine, actually. Liked he stepped out of a BET holiday movie.

That’s why you thought about doing something ridiculous – like offering a stranger a ride on a national holiday even though you were already running late or yelling out your car window asking him if he was single and liked women. That’s why you are even writing this 10 minutes later while driving in your car using voice to text because it is still nagging at your brain.

That man was FINE fine. Was that a missed meet cute? Or just a fluke?

Bitch, you are thirsty.

I do look cute today, though.


Subtitle: Poetic is being emo again.

I first felt it when she flung her glasses open before putting them on like two weeks ago. It was just something in the dorkiness mixed with snark that was just… Yup, I have a crush again.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve had a new crush. Exhaustive soul sucking work will do that.

Her sarcasm is the best. She has a dark sense of humor similar to my own, but she says the shit out loud. She can, though. She’s not an intern. 

And, she’s white.

What does it say about me that I judged myself when I first felt the flutters for her because I was starting to fall for someone white?

Wait, am I falling for her? Maybe.

There was a moment in the OR today where I had no choice but to be pressed up against her. My heart raced. I wonder if she heard the quickening of my breath?

She is so good. Levelheaded. Confident. Skilled. So much better than me. And yet, when we work together, she always finds a way to uplift me, to encourage me even as I feel like a fucking imbecile or idiot most days.

I was so happy she was with me in the OR today. She was an emotional rock when the attending was being a total dick.

I think about what it would be like with her. I want to kiss her. More than kiss her.

We’re getting Jamaican food tomorrow. Just us two. A friendly meal, but I want to be more than friends. Yes, don’t shit where you eat, but we only work with each other for another two weeks. And then what? 

And then, what?  

I’m doing that thing again where I have whole conversations and thoughts and multiple tangents about what ifs and maybes about a person because my heart doesn’t know how to do this.

I don’t know how to do this. 

It feels like I’m fucking up before I even get started.

Have I been coming on too strong? Is it too obvious? Am I too much? Do I laugh too hard? Talk too much? Try too much?

I hate this shit.

I really like her.

She probably has a girlfriend.

She’s watched all of P Valley and talked to me about Drag Race.

She calls me buddy and friend. Are those hints? Hints that I don’t want or hints that I do?

She probably has a girlfriend.

I do too much.



Am I ever going to find love?

(Side note: I’m typing this from my iPad because my laptop is all but dead. Audio recording of this sometime in the future when I figure out a work around.)


We spent two hours at my apartment eating Jamaican food and shooting the shit. I opened up and told her about my life before med school. She spoke about her plans for the day including seeing an ex and decorating Christmas cookies in an attempt to be the bigger person.

I really REALLY like her, but we are just friends. She called me buddy again in parting. I’m taking the hint.

However, and I confirmed this with her (cause I always need reassurance in such things), we will be friends even after we stop working together in two weeks. I’ll take the small victories.

Okay, back to the dating drawing board.

What Happened to the F in the Acronym?

When I first griped his dick, I knew the sex would be good. His dick looked average when he sent me short videos of him jacking off over Instagram. Still, he drove nearly an hour and a half just to come see me. I was going to fuck him, no matter how tired I was from work.

I fucked that man on a work night. It lasted fifteen minutes. It was good, but would’ve been better if it lasted longer.

He was very focused on me for the week leading up to him coming over. He sent me Instagram messages everyday. He wanted to mutually masturbate via DM. I wanted to get to know him. There was a playful push and pull.

And so, on a Wednesday, when this man said he wanted to come to my place to rub my scalp, and was okay with me kicking him out before I had to go to work at stupid o’clock in the morning, I sent him my address.

I showered before and met him at the door in my lobby in just a hoodie, some short shorts, and my slippers.

TQ was tall. And thick. Built like a football player. I liked that.

We chatted on my couch for a bit before I unzipped my hoodie, revealing I was not wearing anything under it.

“Are you okay with me being topless?”

“Sure but know I will look at your titties.”

I took off my hoodie. He kissed me, my neck, sucked on my nipples.

“Okay, come on.”

I led him to my bedroom. He got undressed quickly and pulled out a short strip of condoms.

He kissed me, encouraged me up onto my bed. As I laid back, he kissed me and fingered me and I reached over to play with his cock. This boy was thick. A slight surge of pleasure slipped through me knowing that cock was going to be inside me.

TQ was almost excellent. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was good, but TQ was thick but quick. We fucked for maybe fifteen minutes. He liked going deep, finishing his stroke pattern with a thrust that seemed like he was trying to hurt me which could’ve been great but eh… How do I put this? One trick ponies have one trick. I’m varsity and he’s JV. I wanted the pump fake crossover ankle break spin move bank off the backboard game winner kid of play, but he just gave me free throws and one or two 3’s from the top of the key.

He finished by painting my ass with his cum. I asked him if he would finger me and suck on my nipples while I rode my vibrator. He did and I came hard, screaming how much I loved having his thick dick inside me.

And then he didn’t stay. 

I used the restroom and by the time I was done he was already putting his clothes on. At the time I was appreciative because, deep down I knew if he had stayed we probably would’ve fucked again randomly in the middle of the night when I should’ve been sleeping before work. Now though…

He left. I striped the bed, took a shower, and went to sleep.

Next day, radio silence.

Friday, quiet as well.

Of fucking course.

We limped along, DMing off and on for two more weeks. On the first night of my vacation, I messaged him saying he should come visit me again.

“Hey, I’m sorry but I want to be honest with you. I just started seeing someone else seriously.”

“Understandable; good luck with your new relationship.”

As quick as TQ and I started, we were done.

Part of me wonders what would’ve happened if I hadn’t invited him over that night. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever get to actually date anyone. This shit is confusing and kinda hurtful.

I’m tired of being pumped and dumped. 

Part of being an FWB is being a fucking friend. But so many dicks tend to forget that first part of the acronym.