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.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
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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