Woodynyou wrote a post a few months back detailing his love of morning sex. It reminded me of all the things I hate about morning sex-smelly unwashed bodies, morning breath and my undying love for cigarettes and coffee asap.
The problem with hating morning sex is that I love morning wood. Waking up to a hard cock resting in my ass cheeks always makes me smile.
Not of me though! I am very mad at Dreads right now (though it’s kinda hypocritical). I’m not going to say why right now but I’m sure that you can imagine that it’s very, very bad. (Still sitting here on my hypocritical high horse.)
(By the way, I’m just ramble here for a minute. The naked picture will be after the jump.)
I know I said before that “I wish I could throw his picture up because words cannot do him justice.” Now I can. Because I’m mad, it’s my blog and I can do whatever I want. And my friend Cat said I can. So there.
I know, I may seem kinda flippant right now but my emotions are rolling back and forth between raging, seething anger, trying to make myself see the humor in this and rationalizing everything in my head.
I’ll write a follow up post about the reason for the anger (if you can’t guess) but I may not post it until tomorrow. Or whatever. Maybe later today. Depends on how I’m feeling. (Right now, pretty crazy. Anything could happen.)
So if you always wanted to see a picture of a hot (in my opinion anyway) naked black man with Dreads, you’ve come to the right place. Now unfortunately, the only cock picture I have doesn’t include his damn face so I’ll have to post a few so you get the full feel. Okay? (By the way, I also told him that I was going to do this. His response was that he wishes that I wouldn’t but that he couldn’t stop me.)
Picture time!
Did you read Part 1? If not, you should go do it and I’ll still be waiting here when you get back…Yup, I’m still here.
So the Lionheart Guy and I met again for another round of drinks. We start making out again which was good because I kinda decided that he was a little boring and didn’t need to talk too much. So I needed to keep his mouth busy.
I posted a Craiglist ad in the beginning of January. Had a few seemingly good responses. One was cute, but bored me to tears. The other was just completely horrible .
Needless to say, I didn’t expect much when going into the third date. All I knew was that he had really nice eyes and was offering free alcohol down on Lark Street.
on yesterday’s post about dick size and insecurity. Just some general things that I wanted to blather on about. 
I don’t even know if these could be considered clarifications.
When I was younger, and (slightly) more immature than I am now, I was always amazed at the self-confidence that most men (boys) seemed to exude. They never seemed as self-conscious or ashamed of their bodies as I felt. I don’t just feel my insecurities-like most women I know, I verbalize them.
I’m still collecting data about this (ah, who am I kidding, I haven’t “collected data” in quite some time) but it is something I’ve noticed in the limited sample of foreigners that I’ve been with. And it’s been consistent.
Waiting for someone to prove me wrong. About anything really.
I feel like doing something crazily vindictive. Not really for any reason in particular.
Only because The Arab still breathes.
If I am happy with Dreads then why do I care that he still exists?
I date outside of my race/ethnicity/culture. Etc. I have dated Black Americans, Arabs, Africans, Indians, White Americans and white foreigners. Maybe I’m different. I like to mix it up a little, do something different.
Dating the same guy over and over just doesn’t do it for me. Some of my friends seem to date guys that are all very similar. Every guy they date has the same personality and interests. It didn’t work the first time, so just keep doing the same thing over and over, I guess.
“What’s wrong?” I don’t think The Arab expected me to stop him as he had had his hands down my pants on any number of occasions before this one. I don’t even know how many times we danced together out at a club, with his hand under my skirt or down the front of my jeans, one finger inside me as we moved together. It was like having sex with our clothes on.
“I didn’t shave.” I was embarrassed. I didn’t want somebody, and especially not this somebody, to see me like that. It was something that I was used to, that I hadn’t really thought about beforehand.
So how did I come to love small cock? Simple.
I fell in love with a guy before he ever touched me. When The Arab was making me laugh and smile, hugging me everyday, and helping me through my relationship problems with my husband, I didn’t realize I was falling in love with him. View full article »
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