As I continue to wage war with the forces of evil which lie within I have developed a strategy which aims to keep me free from absolute damnation, at least for the time being. I have determined that sex is a big sin...my hunger for same and the ungodly thoughts which are a part will continue to engulf me for the time so I will, in order to not have sex, punish those who read me here instead of putting my thoughts into action.
That said, an issue occupied my mind on Saturday - Do Society Men Know how to Lay Pipe?
I mean the 21 families of Jamaica types and their darker complexion though equally hoity CEO types. Don't get me wrong, every girl likes the perk of being with a man with means- the status , the lifestyle, the honey gold complexion children. They provide whatever the image of wealth is from time to time, whether Range Rovers in the driveway, the Norbrook residence, Tea at Terra Nova to show off the boob job done in Cuba to the girls, a snapshot of you and him on Page 2 of the Jamaica Observer, whatever the status symbol at the time. But can they satisfy that raging hunger in your core...Can they touch the root of you...Can they FUCK?
I know they can rock your body like the ebb and flow of the waves with a touch of the lips and tongue...I know they can play a good game and intrigue the mind, sweeping you away in a whirlwind of seeming interest (sometimes to your delight)...but can they use the windowsill, wall, settee arm, stove handle, anything handy to get the leverage necessary to dumb the dick so deep inside you, you scuffle visibly and in your mind with the feeling to run from the pain or stay for the pleasure...Can they FUCK?
Can they throw one leg over their shoulder and balance with their hand at the back of the other knee and slide in inch after glorious inch of pulsating flesh into your core, urging your volcanic response...Can they Stand up to a Hot Pussy?
Can they give your ass a couple slaps before almost breaking your back to position you and riveting his 8 inches into your six, touching the womb and then tell you to wine on it? Can he make you wet enough to even attempt?
Laying pipe is an art that it seems a man has to either be born in poverty, or the lower middle class to inculcate. A certain coarseness of spirit and hands is required that the middle and upper classes would never expose themselves enough to hone.
Can he rub his dick across your face as he watches you suck his balls?
Can he get that scowl on his face when he knows he's doing a good job and has you on the brink of a breakthrough, knowing that he himself is about to break, can he stop himself from letting you win by thrusting even harder in?
Can he tief a piece pon the road side on the way to country or, if you're really lucky, pond di roadside inna town with all the external threats to his and your person? (Exciting). Can he handle the police if they happen along?
Can he touch that spot while you're flat on your stomach and jab until you scream fuuuck, and then, can he sen'-on one or two more inches just to prove his point, while commanding you not to run ...can he fuck out your surrender?
Can they? Can they really?
I was tempted to put a poll at the bottom of the page to get a real idea on this one, but I doubt I have very many none male readers, and every Jamaican man thinks he's a cocksman (despite class borders) so the picture would definitely be distorted.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Not Business as Usual:(
My commitment is waning, but I go on.... it didn't help the other night to go out to a late dinner in Port Royal. Call it the moon, beautiful star filled sky, the sound of waves lapping the sea shore, but I was intoxicated, and it proved almost disastrous for my faith.
A bredren, who my stubbornness and his had placed at odds as far as the East from the West, bit the bullet and sent me a text "I miss you...". A weak girl can't withstand that kinda pressure, and knowing him to not be the type to 'give in', he melted my barrier.
I left work at 7..ish and we met at 8:30..ish....damn he looked good. Golden brown skin, arms bulging, cigarette separating long skillful fingers, his locks of hair beneath a simple black cap...he was naturally sexy. I like to drink him in mostly, he is so striking to me....jeans hugging, accentuating worthy package:) and a shirt that testifies to the hard work done in the gym....he was all man, and for the rest of the night, he could be all mine...the prospect was....exhilarating.
I like this bredren cause we always seem able to talk....quite naturally....there is no emotional issues between us....he's not my man, I'm not his girl, we rarely see eye to eye on issues but, we can always meet in the middle...surrender to 'done di argument' in the interest of bredrendom....he's my arm candy, and I love the attention he gets when we're out.
Over steam fish and steam bammy we chatted about the month past, what we were up to, a possible Reggae Sumfest date and the follies of the West Indies Cricket Board and the Players Association (WIPA)....a little celebration of the Australia loss to England crept in as well, Usian's 7.89 in pouring rain....Church and current affairs too, though I lack the constitution for meaningful discussion of these issues, its depressing especially the imminent return to the IMF.
In general, it was pleasant. A wholesome and irie vibe, until we went for a walk on the beach..... I've always been fascinated by the sea at night, moon glistening in the water, the odd fish or two leaping out to catch a glimpse of dry land....oh how I wish I could paint. The tantalizing allure of the darkness, a blanket to your actions and the wind and waves a mussle for your moans...its a good place to be. We talked about the ill-fated call which led to our taking a step back, he accused me of being too feisty (with a smile) and I decided to show him how rude a girl who had'nt been touched by a man in almost two months could really get.
The cool summer night breeze on my face, his firm tongue in my mouth..my cold hands seeking warmth in his pants, his hands groping my ass and breasts.....nipples set free against his hard chest, our temperatures rising....his fixed gaze as he fell to his knees and unbuttoned my jeans, it came down with surprising ease (thought I 'd chosen the right gear to avoid a situation like that:) Now, mostly I like to serve, but with that kinda treatment I relaxed in my role as receiver....with focused eyes he seemingly stripped the remaining fabric cover from my V and tasted the lust drenched flesh through the thin cotton. Hot red blood raged through my veins and goose pimples created a blanket on my skin......I wanted him.
In the back of my mind I heard the Holy Spirit whisper.."Stop my Child"...but I was unable to comply...how easy it would be to lay back and just watch him feed...I've been a good girl thus far, why couldn't I be his treat....my thoughts rambled wildly as warm juicy liquid flowed willingly from my core. My knees went weak when in response to me he covered my clit with his tongue and lips...teeth brushing the tender mound ever so lightly.....Could I really just give in? Another thought tiptoed across my mind as if not to disturb the moment....Could I just lay back on the sand and let him lick me under the moonlight...despite my doubts, despite reason, could I just succumb to the dark side...again?
Before I could decide he held back....." I just wanted to taste you"...and I was convinced that the Spirit had saved me from myself, through him. How great a God we serve.
A bredren, who my stubbornness and his had placed at odds as far as the East from the West, bit the bullet and sent me a text "I miss you...". A weak girl can't withstand that kinda pressure, and knowing him to not be the type to 'give in', he melted my barrier.
I left work at 7..ish and we met at 8:30..ish....damn he looked good. Golden brown skin, arms bulging, cigarette separating long skillful fingers, his locks of hair beneath a simple black cap...he was naturally sexy. I like to drink him in mostly, he is so striking to me....jeans hugging, accentuating worthy package:) and a shirt that testifies to the hard work done in the gym....he was all man, and for the rest of the night, he could be all mine...the prospect was....exhilarating.
I like this bredren cause we always seem able to talk....quite naturally....there is no emotional issues between us....he's not my man, I'm not his girl, we rarely see eye to eye on issues but, we can always meet in the middle...surrender to 'done di argument' in the interest of bredrendom....he's my arm candy, and I love the attention he gets when we're out.
Over steam fish and steam bammy we chatted about the month past, what we were up to, a possible Reggae Sumfest date and the follies of the West Indies Cricket Board and the Players Association (WIPA)....a little celebration of the Australia loss to England crept in as well, Usian's 7.89 in pouring rain....Church and current affairs too, though I lack the constitution for meaningful discussion of these issues, its depressing especially the imminent return to the IMF.
In general, it was pleasant. A wholesome and irie vibe, until we went for a walk on the beach..... I've always been fascinated by the sea at night, moon glistening in the water, the odd fish or two leaping out to catch a glimpse of dry land....oh how I wish I could paint. The tantalizing allure of the darkness, a blanket to your actions and the wind and waves a mussle for your moans...its a good place to be. We talked about the ill-fated call which led to our taking a step back, he accused me of being too feisty (with a smile) and I decided to show him how rude a girl who had'nt been touched by a man in almost two months could really get.
The cool summer night breeze on my face, his firm tongue in my mouth..my cold hands seeking warmth in his pants, his hands groping my ass and breasts.....nipples set free against his hard chest, our temperatures rising....his fixed gaze as he fell to his knees and unbuttoned my jeans, it came down with surprising ease (thought I 'd chosen the right gear to avoid a situation like that:) Now, mostly I like to serve, but with that kinda treatment I relaxed in my role as receiver....with focused eyes he seemingly stripped the remaining fabric cover from my V and tasted the lust drenched flesh through the thin cotton. Hot red blood raged through my veins and goose pimples created a blanket on my skin......I wanted him.
In the back of my mind I heard the Holy Spirit whisper.."Stop my Child"...but I was unable to comply...how easy it would be to lay back and just watch him feed...I've been a good girl thus far, why couldn't I be his treat....my thoughts rambled wildly as warm juicy liquid flowed willingly from my core. My knees went weak when in response to me he covered my clit with his tongue and lips...teeth brushing the tender mound ever so lightly.....Could I really just give in? Another thought tiptoed across my mind as if not to disturb the moment....Could I just lay back on the sand and let him lick me under the moonlight...despite my doubts, despite reason, could I just succumb to the dark side...again?
Before I could decide he held back....." I just wanted to taste you"...and I was convinced that the Spirit had saved me from myself, through him. How great a God we serve.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Good Morning
I paused this morning to give thanks and praises to the most High, Jah.... King of Kings, Lord of Lords... and its not Selassi I Rastafari...its the God of Moses, Daniel, David and Solomon.
In a rare moment I greeted the morning at 5:30 a.m. and headed to the great outdoors. Birds introduced and welcomed my presence with song, the bows of the coconut tree swayed ever so slightly in the light morning breeze and I was blessed with an ash blue sky, peacefully washing the land with hope. Aaahhh, such beauty...and because I have delusions of grandeur, I believe it was all done for me...to show me the mighty power of a Creator in whom I should repose absolute trust.
I spent an hour basking in the glory of it all, and watched as the light rose over the hill tops. With a whisper of good morning to God I headed inside to sate my need for fried dumplings, and callaloo and saltfish.
I encourage you all to give thanks to the father today...there must be one thing that you can give thanks for. Have a blessed day.
In a rare moment I greeted the morning at 5:30 a.m. and headed to the great outdoors. Birds introduced and welcomed my presence with song, the bows of the coconut tree swayed ever so slightly in the light morning breeze and I was blessed with an ash blue sky, peacefully washing the land with hope. Aaahhh, such beauty...and because I have delusions of grandeur, I believe it was all done for me...to show me the mighty power of a Creator in whom I should repose absolute trust.
I spent an hour basking in the glory of it all, and watched as the light rose over the hill tops. With a whisper of good morning to God I headed inside to sate my need for fried dumplings, and callaloo and saltfish.
I encourage you all to give thanks to the father today...there must be one thing that you can give thanks for. Have a blessed day.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Weekend and more....update
West Indies lost the Test:(
On Saturday I awoke with a very lazy spirit and the remnants of the headache the day before...it wasn't a good day. I twiddled my thumbs at home for as long as I could, but set about hitting the road to avoid yielding to my impure thoughts and temptation of the flesh....where was I going, who knows, I just needed air. On the 'driveout' I decided to hit Portmore to see if my God-daughter would oblige me with a smile and a hug...she didn't hug me but she smiled and it warmed my heart:)
Remembering my longing for fish and bammy on Thursday, we decided at 4ish to head to Hellshire for a dip....it was one of the most refreshing trips I had ever had. The white sand, salt water and energy of J'cans at leisure was just what my mind and soul needed to replenish itself.
There was little temptation on the beach, not too many hard bodies around (Thank God). We dipped and chatted and played with little miss until our bodies were saturated and then we played some more. The beach was much too populated so we opted to stay in the water until we were signalled for our meal. The fish, as usual, was fried just right, the bammy too and the pickle sauce, hot, spicy and ...mmm...mmm...good.
Sunday was spent fighting the usual demons but I was fortified by my church service in the morning...one of these days I hope to be as happy as the people in church, you know, those really grounded and rooted in God's word and love...its a happiness that I envy, but I know one day it will be mine.
On Monday I decided to be the early worm, cause the phone simply rings too much when work is in full swing for you to really get significant work done. I got in at 7 a.m. and completed a task I started late Friday, e-mailed it, and decided it was time for a little tea break (balance is critical in life). I settled into checking e-mails and the perfect opportunity for my hug and kiss on the forehead walked in....Thankfully work intervened but the thought danced whimsically through my mind.... I didn't want to send the wrong signals, cause I think we're back to a good enough working relationship, but he was right there, well sahven and looking pretty tasty....I weighed the options and figured I was mature enough to leave beg the hug and peck, without complicating issues....I'm a lover at heart, a sexula, sensual being and these weeks without a tender touch from a man were wreaking havoc on my sensitive spirit. I gave in to the vibe, and spent last night repenting cause I liked it... Sigh.
I'm still horny and dreaming of sweaty bodies moving to an innate pulsating rhythm, a man's tongue tasting, licking, lashing every contour of my body, breaking only to hear me beg for more..... but not as much anymore. One of these days I'll learn control.
On Saturday I awoke with a very lazy spirit and the remnants of the headache the day before...it wasn't a good day. I twiddled my thumbs at home for as long as I could, but set about hitting the road to avoid yielding to my impure thoughts and temptation of the flesh....where was I going, who knows, I just needed air. On the 'driveout' I decided to hit Portmore to see if my God-daughter would oblige me with a smile and a hug...she didn't hug me but she smiled and it warmed my heart:)
Remembering my longing for fish and bammy on Thursday, we decided at 4ish to head to Hellshire for a dip....it was one of the most refreshing trips I had ever had. The white sand, salt water and energy of J'cans at leisure was just what my mind and soul needed to replenish itself.
There was little temptation on the beach, not too many hard bodies around (Thank God). We dipped and chatted and played with little miss until our bodies were saturated and then we played some more. The beach was much too populated so we opted to stay in the water until we were signalled for our meal. The fish, as usual, was fried just right, the bammy too and the pickle sauce, hot, spicy and ...mmm...mmm...good.
Sunday was spent fighting the usual demons but I was fortified by my church service in the morning...one of these days I hope to be as happy as the people in church, you know, those really grounded and rooted in God's word and love...its a happiness that I envy, but I know one day it will be mine.
On Monday I decided to be the early worm, cause the phone simply rings too much when work is in full swing for you to really get significant work done. I got in at 7 a.m. and completed a task I started late Friday, e-mailed it, and decided it was time for a little tea break (balance is critical in life). I settled into checking e-mails and the perfect opportunity for my hug and kiss on the forehead walked in....Thankfully work intervened but the thought danced whimsically through my mind.... I didn't want to send the wrong signals, cause I think we're back to a good enough working relationship, but he was right there, well sahven and looking pretty tasty....I weighed the options and figured I was mature enough to leave beg the hug and peck, without complicating issues....I'm a lover at heart, a sexula, sensual being and these weeks without a tender touch from a man were wreaking havoc on my sensitive spirit. I gave in to the vibe, and spent last night repenting cause I liked it... Sigh.
I'm still horny and dreaming of sweaty bodies moving to an innate pulsating rhythm, a man's tongue tasting, licking, lashing every contour of my body, breaking only to hear me beg for more..... but not as much anymore. One of these days I'll learn control.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Blah feeling
My head is still splitting in two....I think I would be open to a hug and squeeze and a kiss on the forehead right now.....I promise not to rape the man who delivers it....really I do.
Reflection
I woke this morning with a headache and the usual longing below to be ravaged by Mr. feel Good (whoever he may be). I have sent up prayers to the Lord for a good, well built husband, who worships God and me only, cause mi nuh tink mi a guh mek it pon dis journey without one.
I've been wound up of late so yesterday, though seeds of a trip to Hellshire to have some fried fish and bammy, were planted in my mind, I opted for an early evening at home....alone. I took an hour to chillax from the day and listened to some inspirational tunes on Love 101 while sending up some praises to the father for my safe journey through Mountain View on the way home and in general, requesting a blessing on the life of each of my family members. Afterwards I was still a little tight physically, and chanced that my body would survive an intense workout to remove the excess energy and the other kinks, while battling hwat I hoped was not H1N1.
Stretching and straining, building muscle and thinking too much, I powered through an hour and was exhausted enough I thought for sleep. I was wrong. I couldn't seem to depart from my thoughts unholy.... I want sex...I know I can't have it, but damn, I want me some.
As I stared up at the beautiful sky, draped in the remaining soft yellow glow of the sunset, the irony was not lost on me as I took spoon after spoon of couch soup under the ackee tree (for what purpose would I use the added energy????). My dilemma notwithstanding, I settled my mind through prayer and nature and all was quasi right with the world.
I've been wound up of late so yesterday, though seeds of a trip to Hellshire to have some fried fish and bammy, were planted in my mind, I opted for an early evening at home....alone. I took an hour to chillax from the day and listened to some inspirational tunes on Love 101 while sending up some praises to the father for my safe journey through Mountain View on the way home and in general, requesting a blessing on the life of each of my family members. Afterwards I was still a little tight physically, and chanced that my body would survive an intense workout to remove the excess energy and the other kinks, while battling hwat I hoped was not H1N1.
Stretching and straining, building muscle and thinking too much, I powered through an hour and was exhausted enough I thought for sleep. I was wrong. I couldn't seem to depart from my thoughts unholy.... I want sex...I know I can't have it, but damn, I want me some.
As I stared up at the beautiful sky, draped in the remaining soft yellow glow of the sunset, the irony was not lost on me as I took spoon after spoon of couch soup under the ackee tree (for what purpose would I use the added energy????). My dilemma notwithstanding, I settled my mind through prayer and nature and all was quasi right with the world.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Serious T'ing
An issue has been on my mind of late, and I feel its about time I deal with the matter frontally.
Chris Gayle, Ramnaresh Sarwan and Chanderpaul can kiss my West Indian fluffy ass. What the heck. They barely scraped through the England and Indian series mounting scores that sunlight cup school boys could surpass and now they have the nerve to be complaining about lack of payment...for what????
Like every Caribbean being, the sport of cricket is not just a game, its life blood. Nothing compares to the roar of the crowd when a strong batsman at the top of his game takes his crease, the stand off between bowler and batsman, the threatening gazes when he is hit for four or six, these images, this sport, is the glue that binds us together as a Region.
Cricket when played well can be the only thing that matters on a Saturday or Sunday. In fact I remember missing some of sixth form because Cricket was on. The Mighty Viv Richards was at the helm at the time and a rich pool of talent in Richie Richardson, Courtney Walsh, Brian Lara, Curtly Ambrose, Keith Atherton, Kenny Benjamin, Malcolm Marshall , Jeffrey DuJon, Carl Hooper, the icons of Desmond Hanes and Gordon Greenidge (the list is endless) played backup to his mastery. I have led many a friend to the pleasures of Cricket, and as I grew I looked forward to chilling at home with friends, a bottle of red wine, cold beer in the fridge and a pot of curry chicken with dumpling and bananas bubbling on the stove top. Endless analysis was offered but nothing compared to the togetherness we felt.
No doubt then, I have been a fan of West Indies Cricket for many moons. To see my team held to ransom by players who on a given day could not guarantee even a run before getting out, unceasingly inconsistent top dogs, because of money, I am angered and disappointed. Particularly Chris Gayle continues to be a mercenary player who seemingly only performs if the price is right, and even then he fails more often than not. Who are they to demand money from the WICB, they have not earned their pay for many a match now...how about instituting a dollar per run system, maybe then we could get a decent total out of the lot.
Frig the stars, lets pull some youths from the regional cup tournament or our local curry goat cricket squad, they surely would do no worse than these demi-gods we pander to at every step. I'm cheering for Bangladesh next series...Frig them all.........Now them mek mi sin, mi haffi guh pray 'bout it, but I had to get it out.
Chris Gayle, Ramnaresh Sarwan and Chanderpaul can kiss my West Indian fluffy ass. What the heck. They barely scraped through the England and Indian series mounting scores that sunlight cup school boys could surpass and now they have the nerve to be complaining about lack of payment...for what????
Like every Caribbean being, the sport of cricket is not just a game, its life blood. Nothing compares to the roar of the crowd when a strong batsman at the top of his game takes his crease, the stand off between bowler and batsman, the threatening gazes when he is hit for four or six, these images, this sport, is the glue that binds us together as a Region.
Cricket when played well can be the only thing that matters on a Saturday or Sunday. In fact I remember missing some of sixth form because Cricket was on. The Mighty Viv Richards was at the helm at the time and a rich pool of talent in Richie Richardson, Courtney Walsh, Brian Lara, Curtly Ambrose, Keith Atherton, Kenny Benjamin, Malcolm Marshall , Jeffrey DuJon, Carl Hooper, the icons of Desmond Hanes and Gordon Greenidge (the list is endless) played backup to his mastery. I have led many a friend to the pleasures of Cricket, and as I grew I looked forward to chilling at home with friends, a bottle of red wine, cold beer in the fridge and a pot of curry chicken with dumpling and bananas bubbling on the stove top. Endless analysis was offered but nothing compared to the togetherness we felt.
No doubt then, I have been a fan of West Indies Cricket for many moons. To see my team held to ransom by players who on a given day could not guarantee even a run before getting out, unceasingly inconsistent top dogs, because of money, I am angered and disappointed. Particularly Chris Gayle continues to be a mercenary player who seemingly only performs if the price is right, and even then he fails more often than not. Who are they to demand money from the WICB, they have not earned their pay for many a match now...how about instituting a dollar per run system, maybe then we could get a decent total out of the lot.
Frig the stars, lets pull some youths from the regional cup tournament or our local curry goat cricket squad, they surely would do no worse than these demi-gods we pander to at every step. I'm cheering for Bangladesh next series...Frig them all.........Now them mek mi sin, mi haffi guh pray 'bout it, but I had to get it out.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Appreciation
Though I love the contrast of dark chocolate skin against my cocoa brown, there's something about some Brownings that really get me hot.
The built dark skinned male represents that primitive interpretation of a man. Him standing 6ft 2", naked, his rigid big dick in his hand, the works of art his curving biceps are, bald headed, lips invitingly thick, pink tongue, a goat-T beard...raw sexual magnetism.....damn he's sweet. Combine all that with confidence in self and his abilities and he's quite a treat.
Every so often though, my eyes and the erectile tissue of my nipples are stimulated by the sight of a honey gold Browning. Every so often I take a moment to admire his....perks. Cherry lips, smooth quiet confidence and sometimes light brown eyes is enough to make me wonder the inches that lies beneath, the hug of his jeans. Let's also not forget the fact that with the right words, you can make his cheeks red...how powerful a feeling that is, and the allure of placing a hicky brand on his chest.....its nice sometimes to mark your territory.
In my experience I've found Brownings to be very sweet inside, though capable of great anger....the single most endearing quality though, is the inability to respond quietly to my probing, teasing tongue. Yeah, a Browning will make you put on some ole school soul music and bump and grind the night away...then in the morning you get to see the remnant of your session on his chest, his shoulders, his back.....
With the rain pouring outside today, my fight for control last week as I observed toned, muscular, tanned shirtless bodies, lie on the beach and poolside at the granbahiaprincipejamaica.com Hotel...trunks hanging low on the taunt waists, torso begging and screaming for a taste, dark brown or pink nipples, picturing your tongue teasing the outline of his tattoos, nipping and tugging at the spot where his moan seems to get louder.....aaaahh the male body in brown sugar motion is truly tantalizing.....a girl almost couldn't keep her righteous order.
The built dark skinned male represents that primitive interpretation of a man. Him standing 6ft 2", naked, his rigid big dick in his hand, the works of art his curving biceps are, bald headed, lips invitingly thick, pink tongue, a goat-T beard...raw sexual magnetism.....damn he's sweet. Combine all that with confidence in self and his abilities and he's quite a treat.
Every so often though, my eyes and the erectile tissue of my nipples are stimulated by the sight of a honey gold Browning. Every so often I take a moment to admire his....perks. Cherry lips, smooth quiet confidence and sometimes light brown eyes is enough to make me wonder the inches that lies beneath, the hug of his jeans. Let's also not forget the fact that with the right words, you can make his cheeks red...how powerful a feeling that is, and the allure of placing a hicky brand on his chest.....its nice sometimes to mark your territory.
In my experience I've found Brownings to be very sweet inside, though capable of great anger....the single most endearing quality though, is the inability to respond quietly to my probing, teasing tongue. Yeah, a Browning will make you put on some ole school soul music and bump and grind the night away...then in the morning you get to see the remnant of your session on his chest, his shoulders, his back.....
With the rain pouring outside today, my fight for control last week as I observed toned, muscular, tanned shirtless bodies, lie on the beach and poolside at the granbahiaprincipejamaica.com Hotel...trunks hanging low on the taunt waists, torso begging and screaming for a taste, dark brown or pink nipples, picturing your tongue teasing the outline of his tattoos, nipping and tugging at the spot where his moan seems to get louder.....aaaahh the male body in brown sugar motion is truly tantalizing.....a girl almost couldn't keep her righteous order.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Down but not Out
As much as I tried the other day to stick to the staright an narrow, I yielded to temptation...in a way. I weighed the evils in my mind and engaged in the lesser...I called Mr. ATL. He was a deacon at a point in his life so he was no stranger to my confused ramblings....he was a bredren, he let me vent, he understood that he was chosen because he could not reach across water to touch. He dusted off the usual words of comfort he would offer in counsel to Church sisters in times gone and was a comfort to me.
We had extensive dialogue on subjects pure (that was my only stipulation) and I felt heartened that he was not upset with me for watching his number light up my phone repeatedly without answering 2 months prior. He understood that I was no longer available. As time dragged on and we updated each other on each other's lives, I asked if he had replaced me yet.... My ears were not prepared for the "almost" which was the answer. My ego was shot initially but I understood in the end.
I was a little guilty for my thoughts and whispered a word of prayer for forgiveness. How sweet bredrens can be when they remain just that.
We had extensive dialogue on subjects pure (that was my only stipulation) and I felt heartened that he was not upset with me for watching his number light up my phone repeatedly without answering 2 months prior. He understood that I was no longer available. As time dragged on and we updated each other on each other's lives, I asked if he had replaced me yet.... My ears were not prepared for the "almost" which was the answer. My ego was shot initially but I understood in the end.
I was a little guilty for my thoughts and whispered a word of prayer for forgiveness. How sweet bredrens can be when they remain just that.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Down on my Knees
On the verge of a break through, skipping stones in my mind asking myself if I really want to shine, want to be lifted up above my circumstances and into a realm of consciousness which surpasses the physical, the material…the livity part of life.
Notions of subterfuge ramble in my head. Oh how I wish I hadn’t said come in, cause then I could stick to my usual plan and fill the loneliness in my heart with the tender lips of a another man. But I did, I did say yes and now I am bound by the tenets of generations past, tenets which forces me to remember Gethsemane.
And though I try to fill my psyche with pure love for my neighbour, coveting, sating that raw need in me with someone else’s someone still finds space in my heart….Am I beyond help then? Never that, I know, for he promised he would make me white as snow, he promised to help if only I should call upon him,. And I do but at what point does repetitive falter become presumptuous sin? At what point will he harden his heart and ears against my pleas? Surely the prospect of losing him as a friend is much greater than any worldly need I could have to test his faith in me.
Oh though I wish I were the old me, cause then even the words I type now wouldn’t appear to be blasphemy. I am disappointed because I have shamed him already in my heart with these thoughts. I have lusted after the flesh, I have sinned in my words if not my deeds, I am ashamed for I judge, when he has taught me not to judge, I have not kept his temple holy.
Even as I stir from my bed at night begging, pleading with him to give me full insight into his plan for my life, I cannot shut down the thoughts of a kiss the morning after, a hug, an intimate touch, a suck…I cannot beat these images of well built men, willing and able to please me, into the recesses of my new mind…
Oh hear my cry oh Lord and let me stand firm in this time when the wicked rise up against the I....when my flesh is weak, when all that I think about is feeling the electric pulse of body heat... Order my steps Oh Jah, order my heart, order my mind..lead me.
Notions of subterfuge ramble in my head. Oh how I wish I hadn’t said come in, cause then I could stick to my usual plan and fill the loneliness in my heart with the tender lips of a another man. But I did, I did say yes and now I am bound by the tenets of generations past, tenets which forces me to remember Gethsemane.
And though I try to fill my psyche with pure love for my neighbour, coveting, sating that raw need in me with someone else’s someone still finds space in my heart….Am I beyond help then? Never that, I know, for he promised he would make me white as snow, he promised to help if only I should call upon him,. And I do but at what point does repetitive falter become presumptuous sin? At what point will he harden his heart and ears against my pleas? Surely the prospect of losing him as a friend is much greater than any worldly need I could have to test his faith in me.
Oh though I wish I were the old me, cause then even the words I type now wouldn’t appear to be blasphemy. I am disappointed because I have shamed him already in my heart with these thoughts. I have lusted after the flesh, I have sinned in my words if not my deeds, I am ashamed for I judge, when he has taught me not to judge, I have not kept his temple holy.
Even as I stir from my bed at night begging, pleading with him to give me full insight into his plan for my life, I cannot shut down the thoughts of a kiss the morning after, a hug, an intimate touch, a suck…I cannot beat these images of well built men, willing and able to please me, into the recesses of my new mind…
Oh hear my cry oh Lord and let me stand firm in this time when the wicked rise up against the I....when my flesh is weak, when all that I think about is feeling the electric pulse of body heat... Order my steps Oh Jah, order my heart, order my mind..lead me.
A Retreat to avoid Surrender
Sultry, seductive does he know his effect.
His proximity spirals me into thoughts ungodly…forbidden fruit is soooo tasty. Successful attempts to ignore his presence are whittled away by his words….simple words, said with such cocksure authority that it .... stimulates me.
Further test comes in the form of forced close interaction, a mandated action,…..I lay the foundation that nothing will happen…I convince myself thereof even as the words trickle weakly from my mouth into his ear….resolve diminishing. My statement evokes disdain and is summarily dismissed…damn he plays well. A battle of wills, and while he has no qualms whispering gentlemanly nothings in the open observance of the crowd, I sit rigidly, fixed in my mind that I will not reward his attempts with a flinch. I survive, just barely, as he notes the warmth emanating from my body, through my trousers and his, against his thigh.
Machinations of him writhing under me, my tongue charting a map across his chest, down his stomach, over the head of his dick, seep deep into my consciousness….I am uncomfortable. Thankfully, the session begins and we are plunged into thoughts of nation building….saving me from the demolition of my worthy feather barricade.
In the end, amidst the ill fate of an edict handed down to finish the job in time outside of the current forum, I am once again thrown to the wolf….so yet again I try to establish perimeter defenses and launch a mighty coup...an offense, I thought. I paint a picture for him, one which underscores my lack of faith in his ability to satisfy me, wholly, completely….I hadn’t expected that he would see it as a challenge…..damn it . As usual I am successful at not achieving victory against this very worthy opponent.
I am saved soon after though, he disappears and I hang back and strike up conversation with an easy target….men like to talk about themselves, and I have found it useful at times to let them wow me with their accomplishments…does it impress me? Sometimes….but ofttimes not. On my way to the car, my folders in his hands, we talk of his past and present work fires…..Across the car park I see him and he sees me, an acknowledgement occurs…though very chilly???
I pray to my God that I will survive this unfortunate week ahead. My derricks will be set, ready for a victory against the temptation of his flesh.
His proximity spirals me into thoughts ungodly…forbidden fruit is soooo tasty. Successful attempts to ignore his presence are whittled away by his words….simple words, said with such cocksure authority that it .... stimulates me.
Further test comes in the form of forced close interaction, a mandated action,…..I lay the foundation that nothing will happen…I convince myself thereof even as the words trickle weakly from my mouth into his ear….resolve diminishing. My statement evokes disdain and is summarily dismissed…damn he plays well. A battle of wills, and while he has no qualms whispering gentlemanly nothings in the open observance of the crowd, I sit rigidly, fixed in my mind that I will not reward his attempts with a flinch. I survive, just barely, as he notes the warmth emanating from my body, through my trousers and his, against his thigh.
Machinations of him writhing under me, my tongue charting a map across his chest, down his stomach, over the head of his dick, seep deep into my consciousness….I am uncomfortable. Thankfully, the session begins and we are plunged into thoughts of nation building….saving me from the demolition of my worthy feather barricade.
In the end, amidst the ill fate of an edict handed down to finish the job in time outside of the current forum, I am once again thrown to the wolf….so yet again I try to establish perimeter defenses and launch a mighty coup...an offense, I thought. I paint a picture for him, one which underscores my lack of faith in his ability to satisfy me, wholly, completely….I hadn’t expected that he would see it as a challenge…..damn it . As usual I am successful at not achieving victory against this very worthy opponent.
I am saved soon after though, he disappears and I hang back and strike up conversation with an easy target….men like to talk about themselves, and I have found it useful at times to let them wow me with their accomplishments…does it impress me? Sometimes….but ofttimes not. On my way to the car, my folders in his hands, we talk of his past and present work fires…..Across the car park I see him and he sees me, an acknowledgement occurs…though very chilly???
I pray to my God that I will survive this unfortunate week ahead. My derricks will be set, ready for a victory against the temptation of his flesh.
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