the life and musings of a kinky slut


I am tired of seeking validation from men only to end up disappointed and in pain, physically and emotionally and mentally.

I want a life full of happiness and love, children and dogs, friends who make me smile and who get me.

I must live a life that makes me happy and feels purposeful; I can’t do that when my thoughts always go back to trying to “find a man” or “trap a man”, though my “trapping” was more on the lines of fucking him so well he’d want to stick around.  (See how well that worked out.)

My physical and emotional health are more important than any false hope of marriage, especially because of the fucked-up way people view marriage in this country and in society writ large. 

I am no one’s maid.  I’m not your cook, your assistant, or your housekeeper.

I am not your therapist.

I am me.  And I love me some me.  So fuck all the rest of y’all.  Im’ma go study and then listen to The Read.

7.13.19 36

(Almost) Birthday Sex

I’m tired and sticky and still in his bed.
It’s 11:40am.
I arrived at his place twelve hours ago.
My pussy is so sore, and yes a bitch still wants more.

Multiple squirting orgasms.
The wave of six damn near continuous orgasms.
It is damn near unlawful how long, how thick his cock is
and how good this man is at fucking.

And. AND. He a geek too.
We talked about Avatar: The Last Airbender
(cartoon, not that move abomination)
The Boondocks, Game of Thrones, The Wire, Invader Zim,
we’re both Slytherins,
I’m contemplating life choices cause THE DICK WAS THAT GOOD.

He frat, he fine as fuck, and I’m like
pulling myself back into reality that
I’ve only known this man for twelve hours,
but we fucked for five of them, so…

Bitch, his dirty talk.
His stamina.
A bitch is in trouble.
I know, I know, but I got Outkast lyrics going through my head.

Bitch… his playlist was FIRE.
He pulled out Keith Sweat. Jon B.
I just, for why Lord?
How can you make such a man?

Like, can I have him?
Can I actually have him???
Cause a bitch just might.

Starts by saying, “Lie back and let me.”
And then, “You taste so good.”
And, “Fuck, you feel so good. You are so wet.”
“Yeah, it’s one of my superpowers,” I said.

Bitch, his lips.
His Mother Fucking LIPS.
Full and soft and this man CAN KISS.
Like, I didn’t want to stop kissing him.
And kissing all over my body.
And then biting when I asked him to.
And pulling my hair.
And a hand on my neck.
Nigga, did you read my erotica before I walked in the got damn door?


… Okay, back home.

Y’all, my pussy was throbbing all the way on the drive back.
We fucked again after I started this post (on my phone).
We fucked in this position.
We fucked in that position.
He was an encyclopedia of sex positions.
I experienced innumerable orgasms.
I literally could not count them all cause they
just… kept… coming.

This morning, he let me worship his cock,
and, may I just say, it is fucking beautiful.
Like an artist could not sculpt a cock more perfect than this man’s.
In my mouth.
Slapping my face.
(He really liked when I did that.)
The gag at the back of my throat.

Fuck, having someone on your level like that is just transcendent.
At one point, I sent a prayer of thankfulness up to God,
cause only he could bless me with this ultimate experience.
And so close to my birthday, too.

His sweat smelled good.
He didn’t give two shits about the wet spots.

His sucked on my titties like that were breakfast.
Those fucking lips.

“You like that?  Right there?  Cum for me.”

I am shooketh.
So fucking shooketh.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

7.6.2019 Almost Birthday Sex

Overcoming Inadequacy

Little dicks are not inherently a problem.  They are simply genetics.  Those who have penises have no control over how short or long, small or large they are.  However, knowing what you are working with should motivate your actions in bed.

Thus I ended up having an okay time with a guy who had a small dick.  Maybe five inches.  Girth was okay.

It was long enough that when he did put it inside of me, it hit my G-spot just so.  The width was enough to feel it (yup, I’ve had ones I could just barely notice).  And he knew what positions maximized his efforts.

But the thing that made the evening most worthwhile was his openness to toys.  I brought my masturbation bag with me just in case.  And thank God I did.  It had two dildos, more condoms, gloves, lube, and other fun accoutrement that we didn’t get to but possibly in the future could try.

When I showed him all the fun things I’d brought, he immediately picked up the larger of the two dildos and was more than happy to use it on me.

There was oral, 69, pounding of the dildo into my hole, dirty talk, biting, and the best rim job I’ve ever had.  Note: I didn’t know I liked my asshole licked, but FUCK YES I love that shit.

He was sweet, constantly saying how beautiful I am and loving to cuddle in between fucking and sucking sessions.

He let me sleep over, though the thrashing of his body throughout the night made rest hard to grasp.

He’s a smoker, so my throat is not so happy.  Clothes were immediately placed in the hamper once I got home, and hair will be washed as soon as I’m finished this blog.

All-in-all, though, an enjoyable evening.

Grade: B-

6.20.2019 Overcoming Inadequacy

Wicked Game

I played; you fought.
I teased; you taunted.
We burned, and then crashed.
Karma?  No, condescension.
Was is worth it? Always.
Will it happen again?
Maybe.  That’s up to you now.

6.19.2019 Wicked Game

The Rules

So, what’s allowed?
Is anything allowed?

Us, this close?
The smell of your colon
And the sound of your breath
Clouding my senses. 

Your legs brushing against mine
Too many times for it to be accidental.
Is that allowed?

Can you caress my hair?
Grip it at the root, 
Pull me in close.

What about head?
Am I allowed to taste you again
My lips gliding down your shaft
The soft cry when your cock goes too far
Will we never have that again?

What if my hand slides over your thigh
Between your legs
And begins to massage your cock.
Are you going to stop me?

What if I lift my skirt
Showing you I’m not wearing any underwear.
Can you, will you resist?

How about anal?
Pounding into me
As I whimper my pleasure.

Is anything allowed?
Is nothing allowed?

What are the rules now?
Because you want me.
And I want you.

And us lying about this moment
Making any kind of difference for our futures
Is Puritanical, short sighted,
And a waste of amazing fucking.

5.26.2019 The Rules


~ a poem ~

Everything about him sparked something
in me.

One summer, on a warm weekend (almost) night,
with the smoke from the grill scenting the air,
and the boom box busting lyrics
I’ve known but heart since middle school,
raising everyone up on their feet.

The sway of my family,
a gaggle of my cousins,
only a few by blood,
and folks with more grey in their hair
than years in their age,
swelled my heart to bursting.

And then he walked in,
just as the cookout
came to its crescendo.
Somehow, as if on cue.

His hips were like water.
I, like an acolyte,
joined the line of girls
those hips found in their sway.

The smell of burnt herb and his body musk
lingered after our five second dance.
The droplets on his back
caught the falling rays
of the overdue evening.
I licked my lips,
holding back my urge
to drink them up.

And then the beat dropped,
and we all got in our lines
ready for the ritual
of every joyful gathering
before or since.
Babies who couldn’t yet walk
were held up by their mother or grandmother.
This was our community, our communion.

He lined up beside me.
I popped my hips a little more,
shimmied a little deeper,
smiled the whole time.

“Go on, girl,” he hooted.
Oh, I will.

After the electric slide,
he hands slid to my sides.
I popped my hips left, right.
I swung my hair side to side,
the way over.


And then jumped up
and ran to my mother,
hoping my whopping
would at least wait
until after everyone had gone home.

I didn’t care.
I sat beside her,
looked back at him,
and grinned.
It was well worth it.

Grasping Onto Friendship

I’ve been feeling introspective as of late. We are in the phase of studying for our big test where we are on our own. Decide your own schedule, completely free.

With this freedom comes the same old emotional demons I’ve been wrestling with since practically conception. Am I good enough? Will I succeed? Discounting my accomplishments. Downplaying my awesomeness. Pretty much on brand usual Green Eyes bullshit.

Enter Brain Twin.

Brain Twin has been a bright spot in my current academic marathon. Brain Twin is smart and kind and funny. And, of course, Brain Twin has a girlfriend.

I accept and ignore this fact each time we interact because I both respect their relationship but also like not caring how I act around Brain Twin.

Flash forward to today. Another helpful prep session. Discussions about third and fourth year and planning out career moves. Practice questions reviewed. All the normal highlights.

But then we got off on a tangent about queer healthcare. And Brain Twin’s pansexual friends. And Brain Twin’s girlfriend, who is also pansexual. And in this conversation I am both elated and flattened, because it was yet more confirmation.

Brain Twin checks all my boxes. This is a literal statement. I found a file I named “Ideal Man” which, I shit you not, is basically a description of Brain Twin before I ever met Brain Twin.

So yeah, that.

As our session ended, I made my usual awkward exit, and, somehow, I fumbled out a “we should be friends beyond you helping me for this test” type deal.

Still awkward duckling. Still so painfully lonely. Still wanting what I can’t have.

But distractions are nice. And friends are nice, too.

Grasping onto friendship, cause otherwise I’d scream. Or cry. Or probably both.

4.28.2019 Grasping Onto Friendship

Two Poems, Same Boy

Brain Twin was on my mind tonight.
He randomly called me for some advice.
I guess this means we are friends.
But any interaction with him has me all
twitterpated as of late.

So, poetry.

[NOTE: They are in picture form because
WordPress doesn’t respect my tabs.]


4.26.2019 Two Poems, Same Boy

Another one bites the dust

He said he’s thinking about getting back with his old girlfriend.

His playful middle school banter, as of late, wasn’t flirting.

Once again, I feel like shit for hoping for something that’s not gonna happen.

I’m glad I set up a counseling session before today. I was already feeling stress from school. Add on the mountain of loneliness I’m currently carrying around, and yeah, I need to talk to someone about it.

Every day I battle back that voice inside me that says I’ll always be alone, I’ll never be loved, have never been worthy of love.

On days like today, that voice is louder, and it hurts more.

We’re in Psych right now. It’s crazy (poor choice of words) how much I can see of myself in the immature ego defenses (passive aggression, acting out, undoing).

Also how accurate Doc’s diagnosis was of mild Borderline Personality Disorder (fear of abandonment, shifting self image, occasional mood swings, splitting, feelings of emptiness). 

Talking to Doc helped a lot. I hope this new counselor can help too.

Shit, it’s so fucking frustrating. I keep meeting these intelligent attractive men, all of them are cool being friends, but no one wants to be with me. Not fuck me, but be with me. It makes me wanna fucking scream all the time.

I want a partner. I want afternoon snuggles on chilly days and stupid jokes only we get and silly conversations about nothing that matters but it matters to us. I want back rubs as I go to sleep and encouragement to go to the gym and someone to cry with when shit gets hard.

I want my partner.

Where the fuck are you?

Brain Twin

I met my brain twin.
I really really like him.
He’s cute, funny, fun,
                and with someone

I met my brain twin.
We got to laughing,
                and being nerdy and cute.
He is my tu-tor.

I met my brain twin.
I really like him.
But this keeps happening.
                They never like me

I met my brain twin.
And I don’t want to hate him,
                but I want him.

So where do I put
                all these feels
                                with no place to go?

2.18.2019_2 Brain Twin