the life and musings of a kinky slut


“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.

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