Rags To Riches; Stitches of Passion

There's nothing like the feeling of feeling good. There's the feeling of ecstasy.. Longing.. Fulfillment. Then there's this feeling I have uncovered. Happiness.

Let me start by saying that it took me a long time to get where I am emotionally. I fell in love with me just recently; it had to be within the last few years or so because for so long, I was trying to be who I thought people would love.

I will get to the point shortly, I swear. Just bear with me..

I've been dealing with someone (on an exclusive basis, mind you) and I, for the most part, am a homebody. I prefer slippers and Chucks over stilettos and pumps; pajamas and granny panties over lacy things that are scanty. That's just me.

My guy, *Stretch, is always decked out in finesse. His six-foot-six, athletically-sculpted frame is always accentuated in style. Bottom line is: I'm a diamond in the rough and it's time for me to shine.

I went shopping today, yesterday, and last week. The majority of my purchases were small pieces, tight-fisted buys, but I decided to renew my passion for me.

Now, *Stretch did have a hand in this. Inadvertently, he showed me what his tastes are; classy and unmatched. I refuse to be looked at as a homely female walking with him. I look like his sister and not the woman he has chosen.

Keep in mind that he has never spoken ill of my style or lack there of. The "lack there of" only comes from lack of funds. Now that the funds are in order, it's time for me to let me shit on these bitches!

I started off subtlety. A nice pair of shorts here.. A pair of walking shoes there.. Today, I went hog-wild! I got three pairs of shoes, two of which were Chucks (old habits die hard), plenty of shirts and tanks, and they weren't my usual blue and black (except an important pair of royal-blue, low-top Chucks).

I got a few nigga-esque pieces.. Again, that's just me. I needed a new hoodie and some Polo-like shirts.

Although I consumed all of these things for me, I am guilty with a motive that cannot be proven (yet I confess). When *Stretch sees me, he will be more turned on and attracted to me than he already is. This, in turn, will increase my admiration for myself and solidify the fact that I do have a great sense of style.

I am partial to comfort, so I have leaned towards it as if it were a crutch. No more! My hispanic/West Indian ambiance is actually a series of curves that are admired even in my tomboyish attire. Why not live a little and step out of the drab?!

I suppose the thought of spending hard-earned money on clothes always scared me. I find that I am actually exited by it, enthralled by that euphoric feeling.

I conclude that maybe in some odd but honest way, my *Stretch is the one to thank. I love being the one he holds close, confides in, cherishes. What better way to do it than in style?

The thrills of passion have led me to this, I refuse to take blame. As I sit in my grandmama nightgown and fuzzy slippers, I am content. Once I get hooked on lingerie though, there will be no turning back.

I am hooked on feeling good and looking like it.

Watch what I do!

* Actual name has been substituted by a nickname

Ponder This

I sit here tipsy and think: she would love to feel my lips on hers. I want to hear her purr while I dive down deep in a face full of fur.

Sure, that's the old me, but I still get excited by a physique like hers. Everyone thinks I'm straight, but the irony is that my spine is curved.

I can only dream of it. Biting on her nipples, squeezing on her tits. I really want it for one night, what the fuck does love have to do with it?

Spread hips, lemme kiss, no one has to know about this. Mums the word, you ever heard (?), as far as we're concerned I'm deeply in love with dick.

I see you, passerby. You walk hand-in-hand with your guy. That's fine, you're sly. Hit me when he's out for the night.

Fornication, anticipation.. I can give you everything without commitment. Flicking the clit, you bite your lip, and reminisce every waking minute.

Stay real with me, we both get our bliss.. As sinful as it is.

I love short shorts..

I got dressed in my newest clothes; they fit better than my skin. No one could tell me shit! I couldn't wait for the party to begin.

I put on my most comfortable shoes; I was in the mood to dance. Not even my man could handle all the ass in these pants.

I walked in and the bass vibrated in my chest. I started to sway my baby-makers while keeping my eye out for the best. I dutty wine a few songs. Now I need a drink and to rest my barking dogs.

I took a sip of a punch. My vision isn't all that clear. I guess I had too damn much; I'm grinning from ear to ear.

Now shit's getting crazy. Hands all over me. Grabbing my ass, feeling on my pussy.. Why does it feel so good to me? In the mirror, I'm all I can see.

Oh, shit! I can't stop. I'm literally feeling myself. Straight up, off top, I please myself better than anybody else.

Always Love, Especially Xceptionally

Deep thrusts..
No trust..
I guess that's the way of the world

Love's lust..
Change with wind gusts..
Kinda how you run through girls

Never expected
To be disrespected
Give back what you receive

Times are hectic
Emotions redirected
Now you realize you want me

I needed you
To console me through
All of the great and the retched

You replaced old with new
Got trapped, I see you
Wish you could rewind and perfect it

I still feel more
Love and adore
Never fault you for your mistakes

It's no chore
Who you care for
I'll support you morally no matter how long it takes

Late Night Yearning

I just wanted what I've been waiting for. I wanted my folds to be invaded by your callused, hard-working hands. Admire my genes naked of my jeans.

Tease my "on" button, baby. Talk that taboo shit that we silently think in public. I want to hear it. It makes me wet. And encourage my fervor. My skin is damp with sweat.

Feel every curve of me; you can thank my mama later. Right now, my sense of touch is magnified. All cells awakened and exposed. My moans escape having a notion of their own. I couldn't contain it if I tried. The calm before the storm is so intoxicating that I just might cry.

I want you to fill me, feel me. My lower mouth salivating, yet my mouth is dry. My breath comes out in shudders. We say "fuck the covers" because all we want on this bed is each other.

"Fuck me!"

You heard right. No, I didn't stutter. But you tease. I'm pleased, but I want more. Let my cries be symphonic in this score. Your fingers invade the space your dick should be. My G-spot warns me. My clit throbs uncontrollably. I feel like I've got to pee.

My eyes shoot open and I realize it's all me. Yeah, you've fucked me in my dreams.

Back To The Basis..

My passion, the way I thrive, has been eluding me. It seems that those around me regard my art highly; I ask why, internally. I have dozens of notebooks scattered and long ago begotten. Half of what I've collectively scribed has long since been forgotten.

I realized my interest when my sister would write. It wasn't until a rewritten sex poem I did in middle school that I discovered the limelight. The rhythm, the rhyme, the dopamine was sublime. I cherished the feeling of making the boys congratulate me and hide their hard-ons at the same.. damn.. time.

I knew then that it was my calling, my talent, my niche. So, why do I get upset at fellow writers and secretly scorn said "bitch?" They do what I do, but sustain their confidence while I sit back and waste time reading other people's shit!

Fuck this, let's get rich!

Actually, I would rather be noted as a well-versed chick. Be amongst Eric Jerome, Sistah Souljah, Zane, and the "Flyy Girl" writ.. I don't envy, I appreciate, because many were bred for this. So, please, drop a line and let me know you read it.

Bitter Kisses of Success

I caught him staring at my prized pout. God, he loved my mouth! My luscious lips. Each time my pearly's bit down on them he grew at least another inch. Every smirk was a tantalizing effort to stiffen his emotions.. And dick.

I finally placed it in my palm. The exposed skin was smooth, feverish, (on my mind) NOM! He couldn't stand the anticipation of the first kiss. So, I puckered, a dewy bit, and rested these negotiators on his tip.

"Ooh, shit!"

Yeah, I smiled. I was definitely going to enjoy this.

With a tongue three inches wide I slid. It was slow down the shaft with extra pressure poised to his lid.

"Yessss," he hissed.

He watched from his spot in the sky. Wanting to get a much better view, he placed his hands firmly on both my decadent thighs. His frame more than towered over mine, but I knew I was in charge when I gazed in his eyes.

Thicker, throbbing, and more penetrating he became with my added motions. Dripping, quipping, and slick he panted from my throat-box ocean.

His swinging pair felt neglected, so I took them all in. I let my hand glide up his length and stopped at the tip to spin.

"Black Beauty goin' in!"

I juggled three things at once; his praise was my encouragement. I consumed and tasted, devoured and provoked until he came and was beyond spent.

Caused my grip to relent. He shook and spasmed as if he had nothing left. I spat and rinsed, alcohol and kids don't mix. He cleaned, pissed, zipped, but didn't leave without another kiss.

"Damn, I love your lips!"

Another. And another.

"Tonight, I want the ones between those thick ass hips!"