Tag Archive: sex


Day 17


So it’s Monday and I know how we all love Mondays. Oh you didn’t get the memo? LOL. -_-
Yes, we love Mondays and I decided to write about something i tweeted last evening.

Disclaimer: Blame this shit on Caffeine.

So saw a Retweet about a Sex playlist and this shit struck me as funny. Apparently, some of you have songs you want to have sex to?
Really?
How does that work?
When do you put on the music or when is the right time to put on the music? I’m asking girls because guys don’t do that shit. (If you do, you’re gay, in which case, you’re a chic.)
Let me get this straight:
You and a dude all giggly and messing around, soon the play kisses get intense. You undress. Dude is ready to charge and you say “Hold on let me put on some music.”
Really??????
You now put on some gay ass song with a gay-ass singer (Hey Trey) singing about sex and that shit supposed to be romantic?
If I were a guy, my erection would die instantly. I mean why the hell would I want to listen to some guy telling me he wants me to touch his body?
Or is it R-Kelly? What if the song you put is the guy’s fave song and dude FUCKING STARTS TO SING AND TWERK INSTEAD OF GIVING YOU SOME!!!!? WTF IS THIS?!!
AN INDIAN PORN MOVIE?
Niggas be thrusting and shii and all of a sudden, a couple of other naked niggas appear and y’all break into a fucking dance. That’s what I think of when I hear ‘SEX PLAYLIST’.

How does that even work with quickies? Say he’s driving and suddenly feels the need to offload (It happens!). He parks the car and leads you into a bush.(It happens!) He’s tryna raise your skirt quickly because you’re wearing no underwear (IT BLOODY HAPPENS!) And all of a fucked-up sudden you say something like “Hold on, let me get my phone”
Mans would think you wanna put it off or something and you scroll to the Sex Playlist on your phone and click play?
If I was yo man, I’d leave your music-loving ass in that bush, walk to my car and drive off! I hope your music attracts some wild-ass animals to taste your MUSIC. LOVING. ASS! LET’S SEE HOW YOU’D LIKE THAT!
CRAP!

If I were to make up a sex playlist, I’d make it an Igbo traditional music. Have you heard the drums on them things? FAST!
I would expect the guy to pump in time or faster to that. Now THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.
But let’s be real, no sane guy would agree to shag to that cause his faggoty-ass don’t gat no rhythm!
That’s some hip-shaking music! That’s the way to conceive FUCKING CHAMPIONS! Hercules wasn’t conceived to bloody Akon singing ‘I just Had sex’ in the background!
If you ain’t gonna do some Igbo Heavy Metal, TURN THAT SHIT OFF!!!
Let us both scream and make our own music; well in my case, you scream in pain and I scream in laughter.

The only reasonable reason I see why you’d want to play music is so no one knows what you doing. In which case, I suggest you to just put on a bloody Christian song. But you wouldn’t would you? You can’t get your groove on with Akanchawa playing in the background can you? Because it would feel like Jesus is watching yo wide, naked ass, calling some next guy yo daddy. You dirry, dirry girl!
If you wanna mask the sound so bad, listen to Celine Dion. But is that possible? I mean one minute he’s pulling your hair the next y’all are hugging and crying, singing “Every night in my dream, I see you, I feel you…”
CRAP!

As I said in my tweet, If you have the time to put on music, the you really aren’t horny to be frank with your thirsty-ass self. I mean it’s  a NEED! Your body is SHAKING! LIKE GRRRRRRRR AMMA GRIND THIS GUY TO THE GROUND! AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR MUSIC AT THIS POINT!
YOU THROW THAT NIGGA ON A WALL, YOU RIP THOSE CLOTHES OFF AND YOU BLOODY. GET.  IT!!!!!
Maybe after the 15th or 16th round when his weak-ass is near death, then you can play some music to revive him, Nahwhamsaying??

If you REALLY insist on a song, I’ll recommend one. Ladies, this song would tell your man exactly what you want. I recommend this STRONGLY.

Tie me Down by Concentus.

Tie Me Down and Fuck Me (Hard)
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – and fuck me hard

come tie me down – bring the cuffs (At this point his sorry-ass better be working!)

come strap me in – and make me sin
come suck me dry – until i cry
come fuck me hard – until i’m sore (AHMEAN!!!!! PREACH!)

make me scream
make me bleed
make me scream
make me bleed 

tie me tighter
ride me harder
ride me till i can’t speak or scream

tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – and fuck me hard

come strap me down – bring the whip

come strap me in – and make me sin
come suck me dry – until i die (Ok. Pause. Dafuq…?)
come fuck me hard – until i bleed

tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – fuck me hard
tie me down – and fuck me hard

never foreplay
come on and tie me down – never foreplay (This right here is the bridge. THIS IS WHERE YOU GO FOR GOLD LIKE YOU IN DA OLYMPICS!)
come on and fuck me hard – never foreplay
come on and suck me dry – never foreplay

tie me tighter
ride me harder
ride me till i can’t speak or scream (HE BETTER OBEY DAFUGGING INSTRUCTION SISTAH!!!)

Wanna know the beauty of this song? IT’S FRIGGIN’ EIGHT MINUTES LONG! It’s long enough for a round! AND YOU CAN BLOODY PUT IT ON REPEAT!

If yo man runs outta the house clothes in hands once it starts playing, HE AIN’T MAN ENOUGH!
If he breaks up with you cos he thinks your preedy ass is psycho, HE. AIN’T. MAN. ENOUGH!

It’s that simple.

I am done.

Have a lovely Monday. I know I will…

Disclaimer: Blame this shit on Caffeine.
In case you didn’t see it the first time, bloody bat-eyes.

S.L.U.T


Hey guys!
Today’s post was written as a gift to me by someone I’ll call M.
Yes, I’m keeping his/her identity safe.
Loved it a lot and decided to share.

———————-

They’ve got it all wrong.
Trust me, I know.
They say the lady in red, but nothing says “SLUT” like a strapless little black dress.
I’ve got to dress the part, you know; live up to my reputation. Black platforms heels, black fishnet tights, black dress well above the knee, raven hair.
The only concession I give to your misguided assumptions is blood red lips. I walk into a room, this time a friend’s father’s 70th birthday and they turn. All of them, men, and women, even the ones who have one type of genital but covet another. They can sense what I am; I ooze it, like a pungent odor. No, not sex, or even sexuality. It’s something far more nauseating yet just as glamorous. A lack of moral is what they sense in me. They know I’d spread my legs for every single one of them, not necessarily one after the other. They can sense that I wouldn’t mind choking on a penis or two or ten, lapping up a vagina, probably won’t even swat away a mobile phone used as an amateur video camera. As I walk around the room, champagne flute wedged between my fore and middle finger, the responses I get from you all is priceless. The opportunists are drawing closer to me, finding ways to intersect my path, a quick and easy ice breaker. I avoid them, deftly turning at a tangent just before they can approach. The thrill of the hunt is everything to someone like me.
Some of you shrink away as I approach, the disgust on your faces intoxicates me, and I stray a little closer than I should, close enough for my perfume to make you swoon in spite of yourself. Pitiful, even with your hate, you can’t help how your body betrays you and lusts after the abomination that I am. I pick the most disgusted out of all of you, the slightly older woman, probably 40 in the dress that sweeps the floor as she walks. She’s been clucking all evening, whispering and pointing at my ass. I’ve seen her fingers tighten around the ugly square glass tumbler that holds her alcohol free cranberry juice as her eyes linger on the swell of my barely clad breasts. I could seduce her, she’s halfway there already, but where’s the fun in that? I scan the room for her teenage son and make my way towards him. He can’t be older than seventeen. I catch his eye; my lips spread in a suggestive smile. He smiles back and walks towards me as his mother’s face, the template for half of the room contorts into a mask of disgust. Good thing you rich people teach your children assertiveness really early. As you all suspect, I’ll be spreading my legs open for him tonight, if I want it bad enough, in the backseat of his mother’s car just outside this house. I don’t really care what you think, but if it makes you feel any better, “It’s not his fault, it’s all on me.”
Does it really matter how many men and women I fuck? Not unless they’re your husband, or boyfriend or best friend or girlfriend or wife. Oh, in that case, it does matter to you. Perhaps I should apologize, but what good would that do? I have already slept with them, and if the opportunity presents itself again now that I know, I’m not exactly sure I would refuse. So I’ll oblige you and do the next best thing. I’ll rescind my ‘Fuck You’ policy and explain myself.
I LOVE TO FUCK.

Trust me, it’s really that simple. I like the thrill of sex, and the chase before it. I love the way you watch me walk, and I exaggerate the roll of my hips just for you. My skin only tingles when you touch it, but never much as when you peel my slutty dress off me. My only pleasures are the anticipation of a new lover and no strings attached sex and no I’m not giving either up, for anything. In your world where religion and ‘morality’ and everything else scream love and monogamy, I have become vilified for taking what I want and not being a hypocrite about it. What I’m not really sure of is this, is it because I fuck or because I am a woman? I could travel the gender equality route, but I’m a simpler girl. I just want to fuck undisturbed. No, I wasn’t molested by father as a little girl, I just love to fuck. No, my first boyfriend didn’t break my heart by sleeping with my best friend, I shattered his by sleeping with his brother, and I still love to fuck. I don’t have an Electra complex, no hormonal imbalance or disassociative disorders or need to reconnect with my inner child. Are you even listening to me? I just love to fuck. It honestly is that simple.
I know I haven’t really been that helpful, and my explanation doesn’t really give you anything you can use to understand and help me. I apologize for that. It’s hard to get through to you too, you never listen.

There is one way you can help me. A way so ridiculously simple, that you’ll probably smack yourself for not thinking of it first.
Here it is:
STAY OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY!
See, I said it was ridiculously simple. If you see me coming, turn away, distract yourself with something else. Cross the road if you have to; just stay out of my way. I could have said leave me alone, but that is passive. Staying out of my way is something you have to consciously do every day. Leaving me alone is not enough; you have to actively keep what you cherish out of my way. Your son, your husband, that girl you’re secretly admiring? Keep them out of my way, and if you can’t do that, teach them to leave me alone. Because if he/she so much as smiles suggestively at me, I’m going to end up in their bed and we will be back where we started. I know you don’t want that, so you know what you have to do. One more thing, when you lie in your bed alone at night and finally let yourself fantasize about that person around whom you had to suppress your animalistic urges to tear your clothes off and fuck shamelessly; remember me, I’m living your hidden ‘ugly’ fantasies. 
I am without remorse, what you call a slut.

————–

Smokin’…

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