Tag Archives: Fuck

Guys Are Never My Friends


This is a fact in my life.

Regardless of the information I do my best to create a benefit of doubt because maybe I believe in that lotto line awfully much:  Hey you never know.  Still I learn the error within a benefit.  My hunches are typically correct especially when I went with this so-called friend of mine out to the village where he put me on the spot with my sexual issues to a complete lesbian stranger and decided to purchase a vibrator along with silicone liquid for me to take home while he bought himself a cock ring.

The episode he pulled in the Pink Pussycat Boutique had me extremely upset because this is a person who thought it was fine like a friendly sport pat-on-the-ass by his own discernment of me to bring up some of my personal problems (that aren’t really problems actually) to the kind stranger who helped him get toys.

It’s unfair and there’s absolutely no reason (unless there are hidden motives) on any account for a person to set you (or anyone) up for a high level of awkwardness and a clear disregard for not only your privacy but established boundaries that are supposed to be known between so-called friends despite your everyday boldness in life.  It is not like I met him yesterday.  I know him for years.

It doesn’t give anyone the right under any circumstance to involve YOUR issues because it’s fucking YOURS.  Why is he not laying his subjects as a matter of anxiety on the table for the comforting kind stranger?  Because things are never what they seem at first.  This isn’t about him trying to figure out for my benefit.  But for his.

I am quite happy with my mind state and how it’s evolving and I’m still discovering my petite issues pertaining to sex and intimacy.  But my sex concerns aren’t for anyone, friend or foe, relative or stranger to judge, pick apart or have an open discussion in public because HE, not I, wants an objective view of why I do not masturbate or choose to have promiscuous sex.

This guy doesn’t want an objective view and he’s not looking into understanding because he already has locked into his prejudiced scrutiny. The better approach would have been to ask me privately if I find him sexually appealing.  If my not masturbating means he has zero shot at my precious vagina?  My views have good purpose and if I don’t want to masturbate, one should automatically assume I have an excellent reason as to WHY I DON’T masturbate in the first place.  (It’s not like I never done it.) Self-control and discipline since you asked. 😉

What’s upsetting as shit to me has everything to do with the boundaries he has the audacity to push.  Like on one occasion he wanted to know the color of my nipples and pussy.  Now, would he ask his male friend what color is his penis or nipples?  I highly doubt it.  So why treat me different from your male friend if I’m a friend?  (I take this friendship shit seriously.)  And this is the thing about people, they are going to try and take advantage based on what your personality is like since I’m the kind of person who talks about sex as casual as the common cold conversation in the office.  Clearly it becomes a question of:  Why not drive the extra mile and see if she’ll tell me the color of her nipples?

It’s about people who see you in a personal light and believe they know you more than most rather than think the opposite which is they don’t know who the fuck you are in spite of their own delusions.  They shove and shove and shove their own perceptions of you down your fucking throat until you vomit all those impressions they collectively collected with a bang of FUCK YOU! Than they take about thirty steps the fuck back.

I couldn’t help but wait a few days to calm my furious ass down at the gift he bought me.  I made it a note to send him text messages questioning his motives until he confirmed that he’s my friend with the potential to be a lover.  And when I asked him if the sexual tension only comes from his part alone?  He feels the sexual tension comes from both me and him, cementing the delusion further.  I told him loud and clear I only want to be friends and he could take it or leave it.

He said he wants to be my friend and didn’t hit me up for a few days.  Than of course we haven’t hung out ever since that night.  He has cancelled on me probably as many times as his other lady friend (he thought he was going to have an ongoing casual-sex relationship) did to him.  I told him simply as a friend that he has no chance with her.

But you know how things go, life, it’s a thing you have to learn yourself and even though you go through shit, you just have to laugh at it.  From my hateful heart I say fuck those benefits of doubts.  I’m going to stay with my gut as it doesn’t stray me wrong.

Plus who needs so-called friends like that?


Ah, when you see the face that makes your blood race…

Firstly:  Forgive the paragraphs.  For some strange reason the space bar, html, wordpress, something isn’t giving in to me.  Secondly:  Enjoy the story here.  Please fuck these paragraphs.  They make me so frustrated that I also wouldn’t want it to get to you too. 😀

The title is exactly how I felt when I saw Mr. Stifler come into the gym Friday night in say a month.  I know I re-opened the possibility by sending him an email to come on over despite the short-circuit dates that took place between us.

I know I crushed his ego until I could see his blue eyes shriveled in murky awkwardness under my copious influence.  But the truth is:  I do like him and his feverish enthusiasm for life.  So why fuck up his flow?  Ah, because he didn’t eat my pussy on the third date.

He waltzed coolly through the gym doors and I didn’t realize it was him at first as I was distracted by other admirers by the welcome desk.  And then it sunk in like Michael Jackson’s ~ Remember The Time.  My mental Rolodex, that, yes, this, was, the guy, who I, was…His face.

Memories came flooding back at the moment of my hypersexual drama and just around the corner:  Ovulation weakness a.k.a when bad decisions take place.  If I could have fallen to my knees from the buckle of my every feeling between my lusty-thirsty body while calling out to him (or anyone for that matter)…I would, ya know, in my head.  Mostly.  😉

I told him numerous times on our dates,
“You know why I keep seeing you?”
“Because I like your face.”
“I like your face too.”
“I even like your face when I can see how evil you are when you smile.”
“You’re just as cold-hearted as me.”
“I am.  But it’s under different terms.”

So I’m thinking about starting things back up with him, even though on one end the mystery is gone.  (Yes, I mean this sexually.)  But not all, first being I still don’t know how he eats pussy.  Maybe he has quite a few more sexual tricks I’ve yet to experience because he does have some Moves Like Jagger especially with his fingers and skilled twisting motion.

He did almost make me cum (though I deny it).  But I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.  (The usual.)  Still I know he believes deep down inside he’s a passionate lover.  But he isn’t.  He’s cold like his heart.  However I see the vast potential already.  We are sexual titans and with this, it seems silly not to give it another go.  After all I always do anything twice to make sure I’ve reached my final conclusion.

Besides, he has quite a few other traits that appeal to me like his specialty of countering everything a person says with some form of logic, fact, positivity or by revealing natures higher than fortune card.

And I never did mention how he memorizes poetry such as E. E. Cummings and Edgar Allan Poe and recites an entire poem over dinner.  I mean, what if there were..and can be more?.. Not a relationship.  Just companionship, benefits while getting to know one another angels and demons while creating more demons and angel memories?

I pulled the trigger tonight.



Are you dirty like
the balls of a turkey?
If so, how much?
Are you like me:
Clutch your cunt
to get in touch?
Did it stem from childhood
and wishing on all THAT good?
Or did it bloom
from the state of
reaching perfection
forever dysfunctional
and misunderstood?

I smell my earwax.  If you give me a choice between urinating in a toilet bowl in the middle of the night or an empty bucket with a funnel on the side.  I’m taking the second!  I blow intense snot rockets, not only in the raging streets of New York.  But on my breasts in the shower.  And when I’m feeling super creative and dedicated I finger paint a massacre in my tub with my period.  Now that I think about it?..

If my boyfriend during the age of 12 never told me, “You don’t stop eating your boogers you can’t be my girlfriend anymore”, I wouldn’t be able to truly pinpoint to myself or anyone else when I would have stopped eating my salty, soggy, brittle, chewy boogers?

I don’t like clean gyms.  The fuck is sup with that?   Can’t we get housekeepers to do something else?  Perhaps powder my face down after I’m done with my sloppy cardio session?  I like those precious and going instinct basement dungeon, scary dark, who-the-fuck-wants-to-workout-there meathead gym.

I never understood people who believe a gym is supposed to be spotless.  And though I can appreciate a mega clean, bright doctors office, glamorous Gym and Spa like Equinox..it just doesn’t suit my carefree grungy personality.  Or give me the edge I need mentally to get a heavy-duty workout in.

I mean, am I the only one who has seen the asshole with gallons of sweat coming off onto the gym floor while he performs a marathon on the Stairmaster?  Am I the only one who has the nerve to leave glute sweat on spic and span benches?  How about my snot tissues in the treadmill bottle holder?  Have any of you come across them? 


Are you aware the people who are the cleanest are the dirtiest behind closed doors?  It’s why I don’t trust men with super clean faces or woman with perfect bounce in their tresses.  The least I could do is show you the build up of lint on my sweatpants and the smudge porn mascara streaking my face like black comets because I medicate myself with raunchy workouts.

I’m not sure where this dirtiness arose from?  But back from the age of 7 I could tell you my mother and aunts had to force me to get in the bathtub.  They would check the bar of soap, see if it was dry.  From there on out I had to wet the bar of soap before I came out the bathroom.  Eventually my aunt won.  I couldn’t turn away big boats along with those green little army men with guns and soap war.  Clever bitch?

I never enjoyed washing my hair or detangling it.  I kept it hidden under a hat.  (Still do!)  When I came back from hanging with the mob of boys from what I call our car-house at an empty lot I was content with the dirt on my face and greasy oil under my disgusting fingernails.

I remembered a few times I got hit on the head Puertorican style with a hairbrush because I somehow had bits of chocolate, ladybugs, leaves and branches falling out while the bitch of my mother tried to comb through.  I was that kid who would bring lice to school.  Probably the kid your own parents warned you about?  During these times, I made sure to take advantage and visit my asshole cousins often to give them a taste of lice when I could.

So tonight in the gym I felt extremely dirty and I must say:  I get off on it mentally.  Mostly because nobody knows it.  And although I sneer at any man who decides to get close to me with a dumbbell in hand, I smile silently to my hearts delight.  During the first set of Incline Dumbbell Chest Press I could feel the unity forming between my perspiration and heavy menstrual flow bubbling into what I call Wet Farts.  These suckers slide from down below where my vagina hole is and works it’s way up to the starting line of my outer lips.

I could sense and visualize the air balls in full detail and in my head they make little pop, pop, pop noises.  Nothing loud.  Just undercover.  This evening, (not the first time around) I wondered if the herd of men in the weight-room heard them too.  You know, in the exact way they sounded in my head.  FUCK YES!  I wanted them to hear it.  But I refused to take off the music blasting happy in my ears to see if the noise came through.  Still, did they? 😉

On every failing rep for the evening I felt the push of blood sprouting out and about right on the mess of my napkin.  Surely, it’s annoying at times.  But my devotion to the work and effort I’m putting in literally outweighs every con within the high of moment.  Yet the topper of the night was practicing some jogging (fake) skills and psyching myself entirely by saying:  Just 5 more minutes and just 5 more minutes until 40 was completed.  (Because I hate cardio!)

But fuck me man!  I wanted to run the hell away from the treadmill as I felt the world of mangled people in my panty from a kotex-wreck.  And through the sweat, front, back, shirt, breasts, neck, pausing to tie shoelace, side stitch and excessive menstrual flow.. I had to put up a gigantic fight through the disturbing mental waves while seeing red.


I Can Be A Bitch @ The Gym!

And frankly, I don’t give a fuck!

Surely, I feel bad for the females and males that want to come up to me and ask me a million training tips.  I feel their aura.  I saw that young lady watching me down to when I wrote every exercise, reps and notes I jotted.  I sense their puppiness.  And I certainly want to reach out towards them (and there are times when I do), but I can’t afford to let my guard down when I have  already built my shield of steel, ready to zero in focus and gearing to get the GAME FACE up to PLAY!

See, when you step into the Weight Room area, it’s not for the faint of heart.  You have to step right up and steal the limelight like a rapper to a mic.  The Weight Room Area shouldn’t be for Beginners.  It would make them a bit insecure and by all means intimidated.  And if you’re saying, everyone has to start somewhere?  Well, that’s where the Nautilus machines come in.  I, completely understand their fears and concerned questions..and as much as I would love to care for most of the beginners and take them under my wing, there’s always somebody to fill in that spot.

The Weight Room Area isn’t intended for those women who are too busy picking up light weights hoping to God it’s going to do  something like get better Tricep shape or lose fat.  I can tell they suck because there’s no proper form, no feeling, no fucking meaning like having sex with your homely husband!  It’s simply a flail of lazy arms “going through the motions” so to speak.  However, my favorites are those folks who fail to write a program out from the get go.  So they’re immobile like a deer in headlights looking at the dumbbells like it’s their first pair of boobs…*scratches head* ..”where do I start?”.. “what do I do with it?”

They could get out my way as I take Center Stage! 😉

Being that men are assholes, especially in the weight room… I’m a fucking bitch!  And if someone asks me to jump in when I’m already on a machine and I allow their presence in my steel aura…then.. I must be in a great fucking mood, or the guy came off nice and asked in a pleasant way or that guy is good-looking/has a big butt or I’m not going in for that day’s circuit training regimen.  So, again, since men are destined to be assholes, I can certainly be a bitch.  Which reminds me, just the other day…

There was a bench open.  I quickly analyzed and saw that someone had called “dibs” on it from the looks of their 115lb dumbbells, keys and cellphone.  Of course, no one was physically there to claim it, right!  And well, I knew a big guy was going to be coming around as soon as I’m about to call it mine.  And what do you know?

A giant Caucasian man comes by says:
“I’m using that.”
I said:
“Are you now?  You weren’t here just a minute ago.”
He says:
“I was drinking water.”
*I roll my eyes.*
Then he says:
“You can jump on and use the bench with me.”
And a third guy behind the back of me, obviously wants no trouble of any kind says:
“You can take my bench.  No worries.”
I said:
“No.  No worries.  I won’t take none, but this one”…
*pointing to the one right to the left of me*


Because truth was I wanted to start shit for the hell of it.  I blame it on the Testosterone.  But, I didn’t need to pick that bench.

Many men find me annoying in the gym.  Many men try and put me down when they get the chance and tell me stupid shit like:  “You’re going to be bigger than a man” and “Females don’t look right with lots of muscle.” (Mind you, Is till have loads of fat on my body!)  Many men do their best to intimidate me with their solid grill football masks and indomitable aura.  I shake them off with my eyes, with a head nod, with a shrug, with my own Pennington Hall’s manic eyes and clench fists in combination of a workout that’s intense by 10, going harder in their FACE!  I’m not some pussy ass broad.  I have bigger Outer Lips, then men have balls!

So, does their intimidation factor work?   HELL NO!  I have Pride.  I have Ego.  I know how to play and Don being an Asshole.  I know how to make shit work for me.  I know how to outsmart the players in the field.  I know how to get my way.  And because of all this, by far, it’s the best to KNOW how to WIN.

I’m in it always..and this bitch ain’t going anywhere.


Life Seems Pretty Boring

When I don’t workout!!

I, honestly, don’t know how people go through their lives numb off denial, drugs and alcohol, how people go on auto-pilot, living like zombies for their mediocre job and silly titles.  I don’t know how people can come back home and mindlessly eat right in front of the television and call it relaxation.

When I’m immobile, when I’m resting, when I have a day off, when my brain doesn’t have a window open processing information, surely it’s suppose to be relaxing.  But I don’t believe in relaxing because it’s the closest thing to death there is.

I would find my life SO boring!!

I’ve been doing my best to not hit the gym since my body has endured so much stress in the last few days.  It’s officially now 5 whole fucking days!!!!!  And I feel like I’m dying for Christ Sake’s!  I have fever blisters on my lips, letting me know how fabulous it is to fucking have the body stress under critical conditions.  The lymph nodes are the only things truly stopping me from doing a short and rather intense workout at home.  I seem to know better when anything is swollen in my body.  *rolls eyes*

Just last night I have these Fear Dreams where I guess deep down inside my subconscious is letting me know just how I’m truly feeling about all these days of not being physically active.  It was quite interesting how in my dreams I started my Ipod and went to work.  But it seemed the 35lbs weight were too heavy for me to pick up.

I was frowning in seclusion so no one would see the frustration building up within me.  Tears were being held back.  And it seemed like every time I was going to get ready to pick up the set of dumbbells and get a set in, someone I knew came my way to interrupt me.  It felt like everything was brand new all over again.  And I was lost just like a beginner.  And the next thing I know, I wasn’t able to complete any workout.  So I went to school.

This will never happen!  But this is a reflection.  Thanks dream!


This is Oh So Boring!

I scratch my head and wonder how the hell people don’t find the heart and the adrenaline to fill their bodies up for what they were designed to do: MOVE!