169 Days

It’s been 169 days since I had sex y’all. 169 damn days! I’ve avoided sex for so long because I wanted more perhaps out of jealousy; I also felt like time was running out for me. I go back and forth between wanting something real and wanting to be a fucktoy. This internal struggle is real!

This lack of sex situation has gotten so bad that I’ve actually cried. I don’t know whether to attribute it to the hypersexuality of bipolar disorder, the neediness of the love addiction, or if a sista is just plain lonely. Perhaps it’s all of the above. The hell if I know!

I need to feel desired if only for that moment. I need to feel someone pressed against me. I want to lose myself inside of someone else. I just need a release that I simply cannot get from self-pleasure or directing this energy elsewhere. I miss the smell, sweat, dirty talk, moans, and the feeling of a stiff one inside of me filling all my voids. I need to feel someone’s mouth and hands all over me. I know I must sound deranged or like an addict right now.

I feel like if I don’t have sex I’m going to die from an unfulfilled vagina. I think about it constantly. I’m having sexy dreams about Silver Fox and others. I’m watching the filthiest of porn. I get sexually excited from reading dirty ads on Craigslist. I listen to ads posted by perverts on telephone personals. It’s gotten bad y’all. I’m surprised that I haven’t stripped butt naked and was like…


I inboxed Fire on Facebook. I did not hint that I wanted sex but he probably knew I did anyway. I really don’t keep in contact with him. I sent the following thirsty ass messages to him:


“Soon” wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Soon could be next week or next month. I haven’t responded yet. I want to have sex but I feel embarrassed about how thirsty I came across. Who sends a crying emoticon because they can’t have sex right then and there? What has become of me?

Don’t answer that question y’all.

Side Chick Approved?

Disclaimer: I may sound petty and whiny but it’ my blog. I can be petty and whiny if I want to.

For the past couple of years I have noticed that the men I was involved with sexually or otherwise are now in stable relationships with other women. At first I did not give a damn but lately, it has been doing something to my spirit y’all. The One Who Loves To Text, The One Who Was My Lawyer, The One Who Is Special, and The One Who Was Too Young are now parading their relationships for all of Facebook to see.  I find this peculiar because half of these guys claimed that they didn’t want Facebook in their business when we were involved. Things that make you go hmm.

Anywho…a particular incident had an effect on me and it came from somewhere I least expected. For the past year or so, Young and I have been constant contact. He claimed that he was single and that he wanted me to be his boo. Of course I did not take him too seriously. I won’t fake the funk; a part of me liked the attention. After our horrible sexual encounter, I did not feel the need the have sex with him again. That sure didn’t stop him from trying though! A part of me found his persistence somewhat endearing. It made me feel desired.

To make a long story short, I saw that he recently got engaged to his girlfriend on Facebook. Yep. Girlfriend. It turned out he had one the entire time.  There he was on bended knee proposing to a dainty petite woman as their closest friends look on.  Soon to follow were pics of her showing off her ring which was pretty damn gorgeous by the way.

Jealousy started to set in. Why was she the type of chick that a man wanted to marry? Furthermore, why was I the type of chick that guys wanted to fool around with secretly?  Was I not pretty enough? Was I too fat? Too mousy? Just a wet hole and nothing more? All of these self-defeating thoughts and more swam in my head. Why was this affecting me so much?! I don’t even like this dude romantically. I’m still gaga over The One Who Is a Silver Fox!

A few days later, Young had the nerve to contact me via text message.


Young: I want to take you out to breakfast.

Me: I’m pretty sure your fiancée wouldn’t like that. You’ve been acting like you didn’t have someone the whole time.



Young: Lol you can be my side boo if you like. I’ll pay you.

Me: I’ll pass. I don’t want to be someone’s dirty little secret. I don’t want to be a side boo, chick, bitch, pussy, etc. Call me silly but I’d like to think that I deserve more than that.

Young: You do tho.

Young: I’ll still buy you breakfast lol.

Me: Thanks but no thanks.

I don’t know why I even replied to his text anyway. Perhaps I was looking for a “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about my fiancee” apology.  I definitely wasn’t looking for a “You can be my side chick and I’ll pay you like a hooker” type of ish.

It is not the fact that he got engaged per se. It’s a combination of things. It seems like dudes are by passing me like I have Ebola when it comes to relationships. I’m 35, childless, and sleep alone every damn night. Am I not a fucking catch? A sista can not live on dick alone.

I’m either faced with unrequited love or attract dudes who want a side chick. Do I have “Side Chick Approved” stamped on my forehead? I can not say that I’m completely faultless though; I let men treat me this way for far too long. Perhaps I didn’t think I was worthy to receive more. Sigh. At this point, I’m just done. So done.