Power Switch

     Just beneath the surface, there is an underground business that is booming in the dark.  The wealthy and powerful attend regularly to get their fix.  Unlike the typical vices, (i.e. sex, drugs, mayhem) this scene is much darker and the exchange is much more meaningful.  There will be little gratification, but each member will walk away satisfied.  I am speaking of the dark chamber of a professional dominatrix.
     It's funny, how those in power long to become powerless as the disenfranchised can only dream of a life under control.  Authoritative figures like police officers, politicians and executive CEOs come in to be gagged, bound and denied.  Alternatively, your local librarian may be the bitch dressed in latex and leather screaming commands.  It is indeed a twisted world we live in.  Or is it?
     I earnestly believe that we all want to feel small and vulnerable.  (Unless you already are, then you would want to be superior and dominant)  We all want to be cradled in the palms of a giant(ess) and trust that (s)he doesn't squeeze too hard.  Doesn't that epitomizes 'love'?  Edge play, bondage and other BDSM symbolizes the relationships we already experience.  The only difference is: the chains are tangible, you are aware of your restrictions and you're consenting.  Love doesn't offer such luxuries! 
     There is an arousing energy within the movement from being fearless to scared shitless!  There is an intoxication that comes from being persistently denied before feeling the first touch of tenderness.  A kiss becomes a blessing, a kind word becomes worship and sexual contact is converted into an opening emotional-spiritual floodgate.  In the realm of darkness and brutality, a mere embrace becomes your mother's womb.  When you think of it that way, her chamber isn't much different than the real world outside.
     This is why linebackers long to be delicate bottoms.  This is why kings envy jesters in secret.  This is why Whitney Houston fell in love with Bobby.  Those in control of their domain wants to be dominated once in a while.  This is why I find sexuality and fetish so beautiful, it is our way of reciprocating our stress and confusion to find balance.

The Tonex Effect

     I remember very vividly my first experience with Tonex as a live, gospel performer. It was the summer of 2003 and I had just taken on the presidency of the Gospel Choir at my university. As a summer trip, me and the few members taking summer school, went to a "Gospel Fest" where Tonex was joined by Mary Mary. I had all of his albums, but at the time I wasn't too impressed. However, I did love the statement he was making: a black man can be radical and spiritual.
     His music, for some reason, made the front rows volitile, as if they was a violent upheaval of the spirit. I literally saw demons snapping at his feet as he performed; men and women were carried away by security as he sang "God has not 4got". In the very back, I watched in awe as he sang every song as if he was on the verge of death. His vocals were very skillful and versatile, ranging from elegant to rough to brazen.
     Near the end of the concert, he began to minister to the audience. He began to prophecy, pray and preach with great fervor. I'll never forget it, he said, "Yeah! You may be the president of the gospel choir! But you're still watching gay pornography and masterbating! Stand upright!" I felt like I was kicked in the gut. On the exterior, I clapped and smiled, but on the inside, I was in agony! How did he know? I felt like my budding homosexuality was blooming for the world to see! I felt blessed and betrayed at the same fucking time!
     Fast forwarding to this year, Tonex has publicly came out of the closet. Knowing his music thoroughly, I heard him singing, "Johnny come lately, I need you...so bad" back in 2006; but I guess the Christian world is shocked that he would outwardly admit to not only having an attraction to men, but having gay sex. Futhermore, they are outraged about how he went on to not see it as a 'struggle' but a quality. Again, I can see the demons swiping at his ankles.
     If you were to study his body of work, you'd pick on a sense of duality. There are songs like "Eye Call" and "Fail U" that are tailor made for the gay clubs, but has the name of Jesus strategically placed throughout. I hope that he'll be able to accomplish a sound that is conducive to both freedom and holiness. A sound that epresses his carnality and spiritualty; finding the intersecting point between. I am looking forward to his first musical outing.
     I realize now that his piercing prophecy wasn't aimed towards me, but a revelation to himself. Likewise, I, myself, will have to follow his direction and loosen the shackles of my creativity. I, too, can be a part of his radical movement...

Intellectual Chronophilia

     I've been there.  I've felt the rush of having my every word hung on.  So pristine and fresh, young lips gobble up every last pearl of wisdom; never wasting a drop.  I'm excited by the undivided attention.  The new found relevance of my perspective makes me erect.  I wonder what else I can introduce to this youth?  The clean slate...the ripening cherry...the eagerness to be penetrated by the truth makes me fall in love.  There's so much I want to expose.  There's so much I want to express.  I'm going to explode...

     I've been there.  I stared into the eyes of the mature and saw my future reflection.  Hand in hand, I was guided through this minefield called "life".  The experience...the definition only time can craft...the opportunity to be fed and nurtured into manhood.  I hunger for knowledge.  I thirst for attention.  I'm yearning for the touch of my mentor's hand.

      Assuming the role of teacher or student, there is an intellectual stimulation that broadens into the erotic. Whenever I see May/December relationship, I can't help but see the appeal in the age differential.  The older party facilitates and fosters the younger party; alternatively, the cub allows himself to feasted upon. 

The most beautiful thing is alternating between the teacher and the pet 


Choose Your Porn Wisely...

From a very young age, porn and I has been best friends.  From my first glance at Hustler magazine, I have been hooked on viewing other people’s private moments for pleasure.  Before the age of the internet and DVDs, I was collecting magazines, pornographic advertisements and VCR cassettes.  By twelve, I had the scrapbook to die for! 
            Pornography has fueled many of my fantasies and obsessions.  By regularly viewing it, my mind began to push the envelope of my own sexuality.  I went from collecting calendar girls and centerfolds to dirty books of couples getting down.  Before I knew it, I began to be more and more interested in the male performers and I wanted to see more of them.  Now look at me!
            There was a darker period in my life, during college, where I felt the downside to porn.  I began to obsess with the beautiful men on the internet, collecting every frame of each model’s portfolios and categorized them by race and geography.  Men from Brazil, The Middle East and Asia were the center of my dreams; I would have many fantasies starring my favorite porn stars.  I would masturbate to thoughts of these ‘exotic’ men, but I didn’t want to ruin my stroke by seeing myself in the mix of things.  I had no place in my own fantasy world.
            Looking in the mirror became more and more difficult.  “If only I had lighter skin, it’ll catch the light better.  If only I have straighter hair, I’d pass for something more exotic than ‘just black’.”  I was using bleaching creams and texturizers trying to emulate my forbidden idols.  My hair was fried.  My skin was breaking out.  My body’s response to my self-destructive ways was a bad confirmation of how ugly I felt.  Thus, I would dig myself even deeper into the world of gods fucking gods.
            Thank God for clarity.  A light bulb went off above my head as I thought “Where are the black models?”  I collected a great deal of Enrique Cruz’ work, but it featured mainly Latino men.  If there were black men involved, they were mainly thugged-out top men that worshipped the Latino pretty boys.  But, I noticed that I’ve never seen the praise reciprocated.  The light skinned men were the recipients of toe sucking and thorough rim jobs, just to lay back and be plowed like pillow princesses.  The black men got a little head before fucking for the gold medal.
            The dark skinned men almost always perpetuated this gangsta persona.  The brothas were reduced to shit-talking, bandana-wearing cock slingers, “Yeah, take that dick…Yeah.”  Not that there’s anything wrong with wearing your blue blockers and Timberlands in bed, I just failed to find any other incarnation of the black man.  I failed to see black men in intelligence.  I failed to see black men in elegance.  I failed to see black men parting with their platinum jewelry and tube socks!  I couldn’t relate to what was happening.
            Thankfully, a lot have changed nowadays.  With pornography being much more available, there are many wonderful choices to choose from.  The purpose of this article is to urge my brothers and sisters to watch your pornography consciously.  Find those actors that somewhat bear your image and get off to the sight of yourself being pleasured, praised and lusted after.  It’s very important you find yourself within the scope of beauty and demand.  Sites like ‘Papithugz’, ‘Black on Boys’ and ‘Dawgtaggaz’ has done wonders for my self esteem.  Seeing ‘regular’ black men being the center of attention and affection reunites me with the truth that there is a place for me and my kind.

Wouldn't you like to know where I've travelled

Lo and behold the map of human sexuality!  I had a great fun marking where I've been and looking up the places I ain't know shit about.  My wikipedia search bar looks mighty nasty! 

There's a ton of places I pray I'll never end up...but there's quite a few I'm buying round-trip ticket to today!

Let's Share...

Find out where I've journeyed
on the Map of Human Sexuality!
Or get your own here!

Fire Breath

Intermingled in our accounts to beauty, erotica and politics, I often catch whiffs of shame and inadequacies.  From one side of our mouths, we profess acceptance, meanwhile, our left hands covers our privates in modesty.  A 'survivor' of sexual abuse, I found it crucial to become unashamed of sex, unapologetic of my nudity and downright frank about all of the places the sun don't shine.  There is healing in the light.  Wholeness is found in the open.  It all started with the sun shining between my legs...

     Cupping my hand on my forehead, I cast a much needed shade over my eyes.  For some reason, we thought it was a good idea to do this beneath the scorching sun.  On his rooftop terrace, I swipe some of the sweat off my naked torso.  His face comes up for air from between my legs to say, "Hot enough for ya?"  Quickly patting my asshole with the flat of his tongue, he uses his hands to spread me out further, "This is just a warm up, don't forget what we're hear to do."
     Warm up?  I'm laying here burning up (and not with passion), I've passed warm when I got out of my car.  Reading my mind, his tenor resonates from inside me, "Stop thinking," after a loud popping noise he says clearer, "You're supposed to be mediating."
     Half moaning, half bitching, I exhale, "You're right...thank you."  I am here to get some internal work done.  For once, the sexual contact is secondary in purpose.  Focusing on my breathing, I close my eyes and visualize my body filling with sexual energy.  As he slowly laps his tongue, I deeply inhale through my nostrils.  As his hand makes a fist at the tip of my erection, I exhale completely.  His rhythm is impeccable, his movements are smooth and methodical.  My mind is distracted.
      My toes are probably getting sun burned as his strong hands runs across my slippery hamstrings.  Somewhere during my meditation, my bottom half became my top end as his arms wrap around my waist.  Between tongues lashes, he reminds me, "Focus on your breathing."  Pulling my body on top of his, his erection slips along my lower back as he drags my ass closer towards his face.
     "Now that you're warm enough, we're going to get into the fire breath.  Remember to squeeze my fingers on the inhale and release on the exhale."  The sweat make it easier for him to plunge his ring and middle finger inside of me, "Repeat after me: I am whole..."
     "I am whole..."
     "I am perfect..."
     "I am perfect..."
     "I am complete..."
     "I am complete..."
     Coaching me, "Inhale and squeeze: I am whole..."
     "I am whole..."
     "Hold in the energy, continue to squeeze: I am perfect..."
     "I am perfect..."
     "Exhale and release: I am complete..."
     Audibly exhaling and moaning, something happens, "I am..."  At this moment of intense honesty, I couldn't complete this mantra, I attempt again, "I am..."
     Chiming in while pressing his fingers upward inside of me, "You are complete, Robert"
     "I am complete," a single drop of sweat rolls from my eyes, real men don't cry.
     His tone is very relaxed, "Everything you need is within you right now, Robert.  You are lacking nothing," he's ministering to me as I fight for dear life to keep squeezing and breathing.  "Here you are, naked and exposed before God: a perfect creation." 
     Swirling his hand up and down my dick, "Everything you feel you are missing is actually deep inside waiting to be awakened.  You were created whole."  His erection swells from beneath me, "At this moment, imagine yourself reaching inside of yourself, what would you withdraw? Money? Jewels? Or is there something poisonous inside of you, you'd like to remove? Visualize within yourself, remember to breath."
     Under the bright, hot sun, my consciousness turned black as I visualized myself digging into my own abdomen and retrieving blood soaked diamonds, emeralds and rubies.  Items I wanted to purchase filled my mind as gold and platinum filled my fist.  Reaching in to remove certain memories, painful memories, that has haunted me for so long, I realized that I couldn't...I wouldn't.  Without those thorns in my side, my posture wouldn't be my signature.  Without the venom coursing through my veins, I wouldn't be immune.  Those curses are indeed blessings.
      "Ohhh!" I awakened myself with load moans, "Oh! Oh!"  As I open my eyes, I see my chest and belly coated in pearls.  He smiles at me with some of my wealth dripping from his cheek.  I am trembling.  I am exhausted.  What did I give birth to? 
     Laughing, he asks, "May I have my fingers back?"

Two Persepctives: The Craig's List Chronicles

     I have a bad habit of collecting desperate men off of Craig's List.  Older, unattractive men that want nothing more than to be in my presence.  They sit by the phone until I text them on Thursday night for a midnight rendezvous of NSA rim jobs, blow jobs and toe sucking.  They have access to a full bar, prepared to cater to my every desires.  I sip brandy straight up as they marvel at my body dressed in nothing but briefs.  
I'm in their possession for only a hot moment, they better make the best of it... 
     I inhale another swallow of Hennessy as he begins to massage my feet on the ottoman.  Sacred oils for the special occassion, he reminds me, "Thank you for coming," I nod my head with another sip.  Fully dressed, he proceeds to massage my feet and run his tongue across the sole.  He inhales each toe as he laps in between.  My moaning is music to his ears as he praises my pristine body.  
     Scaling up my calves...around my knees...across my thighs to my lap; I am thoroughly worshiped.  He savors, "You have beautiful ankles, so smooth," as his hands quickly trails from the aforementioned to my ass to my peach pit.  I relish in his undeserving nature as he licks my perineum and asshole in perfect passion and rhythm.  In perfect harmony with my body language, he sucks and rims so hard, my moans are heard by his neighbors and roommate.  I can't wait until his hands get a grip my big, black dick as he drools over the purple head.  
Our eyes lock as he ask for permission to continue...
     "Do you have another drink? Crown Royal and coke?"
     "Sure," still clothed, he massages the last of his saliva onto my eight inch erection before playing bartender.  I'm a sweet, tender youngster in possession of his forbidden wonder.  I sit with my leg kicked up on the arm rest as he returns with my drink.  It isn't long before he sinks back into my lap, face first, he's deep throating until his chin meets with my sack.  His hands slide up and down my naked legs as his head bobs in between; waiting to swallow my young seed.  My abdomen tightens, he pinches my nipples; I wrap my thighs around his head as the orgasm starts to ripple through my body, "OHHH!"
      I grip the last remaining patch of hair atop of his head, he grips and massaged my arm pits.  My legs rattle as he milks my loins, harvesting every last inch of this nut.  Groping every muscle, sinking his teeth into my chest, he masturbates and climaxes before I realize what's happening...
I've been there before... 

     I've been looking forward to this all day; I couldn't focus at work.  Soon I will have a beautiful, young man beneath my fingertips, beneath my influence.  I will milk him for every last drop, every last inch of his sweet skin.  His pictures are gorgeous: flawless face, muscular young body.  In a few hours, I will devour every morsel from his golden bones.
    Before you know it, he's stripped down to his silk skivvies in my den, the light bounces of him delicately.  I serve him wine and spirits to render him sedated; I want to explore every nook and cranny, so my roommate can heat it.  Starting at his feet, I knead him and please him, flicking my tongue until he surrenders his will.  Drunk off liquor and pleasure, he open his defined thighs revealing his throbbing treasure.  Lo, I bite at his calves, taste his thighs and peel his pretty legs apart.  Pushing until his ankles meets his forhead, I dart my tongue around his ass, lapping around his rim until he cries.  My roommate has his ears open with his cock in hand, I make him weep and call my name.  I'm introducing this young man to his own body, making him wail with his feet dangling in the air.
     A couple of drinks later, I have his sensitive dick at my disposal.  He lays back in the recliner, offering a beautiful, smooth member towering from his lap.  Indulging, I wrap my tongue around the plum shaped head and slide up and down.  I love the way he points his toes in mid-air.  I love the way he cries when I pinch his nipples.  I love the way he screams when he explodes.  He breaks into a frenzy as he empties his thick, milky load.  I spit it back onto his erection and stroke until he begs for me to stop...my grip strengthens as I shoot to sound of his sweet agony...

Thought of the Day: The Blind Rave (Part III)

           Hungrily fidgeting with my belt buckle, we somehow incorporate my assistance into a dance move.  Swaying from side to side, his erection presses even harder into my backside as his fingertips dig into the elastic band of my briefs.  Judging by the way he clung to my hips; I could tell dancing wasn’t his forte.  Forfeiting any sense of rhythm, he starts to grope and disrobe my hardening nature.  Rocking to the beat, I savor the feeling of being wanted.  Throwing my arms above my head, I savor his touch sliding up and down my exposed abdomen.  Expanding up towards my chest and traveling further down until his grip wraps around the base of newly nude dick.  A couple bumps into me; I’m caught off guard as my dick goes from his warm hands into the cold air.
            Looking around, I see nothing but black shadows against darkness.  Turning to find him, my erection flaps out in the open; without his hot grip I realize I’m naked.  Struggling to cram eight inches of steel into these tiny black briefs, I’m suddenly pulled forward by jeans.  “Oh, shhh,” I gasp aloud as I take a dip in the warmth of a stranger’s mouth.  My spine stiffens, my head tilts back and my knees are on the verge of collapsing as he seamlessly slides back and forth.  Panting uncontrollably, I can’t recoup; I start to grab at the people dancing next to me.  I needed someone, something, anything for balance at this point, “Oh,” I moan over the loud, deafening techno music.  My left hand is swatted away as my right is welcomed; a woman’s touch tenderly presses my palm onto her shoulder.  On the course to orgasm she keeps my hand in place as she dances with her back towards me.  She is oblivious to the dirty thing taking place behind her.  Or was she?
            He’s rubbing it against his face, bouncing it on his tongue, the purpose of his night shines through the darkness.  On his knees before me, I feel myself being coated in his saliva.  Swirling his palms up and down, he tightens his grip at the head of my dick like a pro.  Saving my seed, I retrieve my erection from his hand and mouth.  Striking him in the face with it, I’m being a tease to keep myself from cumming.  If I bust, I would go home early.  Regaining my balance, I plunge myself one last time, hitting the back of his throat, before withdrawing completely and escaping into the shadows.
            For the rest of the night, I traveled from person to person, caressing…stroking…groping.  I can’t really explain it, but some people felt more welcoming than others.  Even in near blindness, I could detect a slight note of availability.  Occasionally, I would hear the familiar moaning and I would just stand next to them and absorb their energies.  Some were generous enough to let me participate.  One time in particular, I embrace him from behind as he was being served from the front.  His scent is what drew me to him, I spent a great while sucking on his neck while holding his dick in place.  Whoever was in front, slowly dropped and lifted an open, wet mouth over his thick, rock hard cock.  I could feel the ridges from the veins.  Deeply inhaling, I memorize his aroma just in case I bumped into him again.  Picking his pheromones apart, I smelled a citrusy woodsy cologne and oil sheen from his hair, the musk from his crotch travelled upward filling my nostrils.  I fell in love with a stranger that night; I pray that I’ll catch his scent again…
            Worn out by the fast tempo, I decided to wait by my car until my friend came out.  He’s the high strung, randy type, so he’ll probably stay until two.  Following the little reflectors, I make my way back to the corridor, of course, after bumping into several people.  Getting out of the warehouse, I’m surprised to see my friend waiting for me, “Dude, I thought I was gonna have to go back and find you.”
            I ask, “How long were you out here?”
            “I came right back out, I kept bumping into niggas and tripping over bitches!  I would’ve left but you have all of my shit locked up in your trunk!”
            “Damn, my bad, I lost you as soon as I got in.”
            My friend, pissed off, asks, “So what the hell did you do in there?  You spent about three hours in there.”
            Laughing, “The same old two step, a little bit of the tootsie roll…I had a ball!”
            Frowning at me, “At least somebody did, that was the dumbest idea ever!”

Thought of the Day: The Blind Rave (Part II)

            Recently, I had a very candid discussion with a fellow contributor (wouldn’t you like to know) comparing the surface with the deep.  We discussed how the light brings attention to the surface of a person based solely on the physical, tallying their appeal based off his face, shape and attire; however, when darkness falls, the very spirit of a person becomes evident. 
            We took our conversation to the bedroom and talked about how appearances fade.  In such a closed space, personality qualities becomes the main attraction.  At the moment, you'd trade the six pack for unselfishness.  You'd trade the muscularity for intuitiveness.  I'd even go as far to say that you'd trade the dick size for someone who's truly in sync with you and your needs. 
            Living in a visually led society, we are all restrained in many ways.  We are all forced to play the hands that we’re dealt to us by our genes, class and culture.  This is especially true for those that are considered misfits.  Being black, overweight or ‘unattractive’ comes with an even smaller preselected box to live within.  But what if that box disappeared for a moment?  How does the disenfranchised respond to sudden liberty?  Follow me and find out…

Here’s my personal account of my experience at a ‘Blind Rave’

            Labor Day, 10:30 pm, I am heading to Oakland to attend what is called a ‘blind rave’.  Accompanied with a good friend, we are both a little nervous about going to a dimly lit party where everyone’s masked.  Going over the possibilities, he asks, “Would you let a dude suck you off?”
            Playing devil’s advocate, “How would you know if it’s a dude?”
            “The absence of lip stick, I guess.”
            “Well, we wouldn’t know until after the party’s over.”
            He jokes, “I guess we should compare dicks afterwards!”
            “That’s probably gayer than getting head from a dude.”  We’re laughing it off, but I could feel the tension swelling in my car.  I didn’t know what to expect, but I was preparing to place a great deal of trust in a warehouse full of invisible strangers.  If anything were to happen, I wouldn’t have any justification.
            Dressed in a black wife beater, black jeans and my ass-kicking boots; my spike collar and leather mask sat in my lap.  My friend was similarly dressed, except he wore a leather jacket.  Parked near the location, we put our wallets and house keys in the trunk of my car and I tucked my car keys, IDs and some cash in my right boot.  Walking closer to the building, the thumping grew louder and I could make out the industrial sound of the music, “Here goes nothing.”
            After showing our IDs and paying the cover, we walked down a narrow corridor; I was getting more and more excited to see the scene.  The further down the hallway we walked, the darker it got.  Fastening my collar and sliding on my mask (think Zorro) I got mentally prepared to get an eyeful.  I started to anticipate see naked bodies writhing and slithering across each other.  I imagine depraved, masked action.
            Pulling the door open, I could barely see anything.  It seemed as though the blaring music made me even blinder, looking back to my friend, I lost track of him.  Starting to get scared, I was bumping into people and tripping over random items on the ground.  My pulse starts to accelerate.  I stretch my arms out to feel around only to run into someone.  I just need a safe place to two-step until this party blows over.  Walking forward, I occasionally ran directly into someone from behind.  I was starting to understand the appeal.  Moving slower, I began to embrace the person I was bumping into…for balance, of course. 
            Closer to the music, I decided to plant my roots and dance.  I thought I would be doing the ‘Kid n’ Play’ in the dark, but I surprise myself by rocking my hips and snaking my arms.  The darkness made me more fluid in my movements.  My personal jam, ‘Ghost IV’ by Nine Inch Nails comes on and I start to gyrate and tug at myself, stripper style.  In very close proximity to the people around me, I began to feel free to make Braille of their bodies, using my hands to see.  The song’s throbbing synth had everyone rocking back and forth.  A hand gropes my pectorals.  Still dancing, I feel pair of hips pressing against the backside of mine.  A calloused caress traces across my naked shoulders confirms that he’s a man; a shorter man.
            No words are exchanged.  I could feel his mustache brush across my back as he hand digs under my shirt.  He’s scavenging for naked flesh with one hand as the other squeezes my denim coated bulge.  Somehow, I could tell by his scent, he was white.  White guys just smell different!  From behind, he’s reaching around and pressing his palms heavily against my growing erection; the next song changes our slow rhythm.  Something that sounds like the Apex Twins picks up the pace.  Getting brash, his hands begin to undo my belt buckle…

Thought of the Day: A Blind Rave w/ Strangers

     I have recently received an invite to a warehouse party with a twist: it was called as a 'blind rave' and apparently the lights are very low and you're encouraged to wear masks to conceal your identity.  The invites are exclusive and everyone subscribes to an "alternative lifestyle".  Coming from Detroit, all of my street logic kicked in and threw up many red flags.  What if I'm robbed?  Beaten up?  What if someone has their way with me?  Overall, I am frightened by the idea of partying in the dark surrounded by strangers and possibilities.
     After a few days of sleeping on it, curiosity rears it's beautiful head.  I am now thinking about the difference that were occur within myself if given the opportunity to be invisible.  Submerged in the unknown, where I will never be recognized afterward, I wonder what I would be capable of.  What would I do with perfect anonymity?  What would I wear?  Would I touch anyone 'unappropriately'?  Would I do 'The Running Man' or 'The Cabbage Patch'?  I haven't been about to stop thinking about my persona dipped in darkness.
     I realize that I do a lot based off of appearances and reputation.  I have an identity that I fight hard to maintain, thus I judge myself harshly before anyone has the chance.  What if I had a moment to let it all go and dance? 

I would really like to hear what you would do:

     If given the opportunity to party where you wouldn't be recognized the next day and there were absolutely NO CONSEQUENCES to your actions.  How would you take advantage of the shadows?  What would you reveal about yourself around people you'll never see again?  This is gonna be fun...

The world has made you the man of my dreams

     She could have her way with me...whatever that would mean.  Her super smooth delivery and her spiritual erotica has me twisted.  I am speaking of Ms. Meshell Ndegeocello.  I have never been so confused by anyone in my life, she has managed to use my bisexuality to turn me straight...I think...well, you know, technically...forget it.
     I have been chasing a phantom, inspired by the (wo)man of my dreams, but I've had very little success.  You see, I am very curious to see what it would be like to sleep with a sexy butch woman.  I wonder what it would be like to have the tables turned.  Unfortunately, every time I make a connection, she resorts to the 'woman' role and I have to be twice the 'man' to handle her. (LOL) I want to be mounted and conquered and domesticated by a beautiful stud woman.  I'm expecting some creative positions.  I'm expecting to be humbled and exalted at once.  I'm expecting to be making cheese omelets in the morning.

Am I The Only One Curious?

     If you have ever listened to this woman's body of work, you will definitely understand where I'm coming from.  Slow jams like "Trust", "Elliptical", "Earth" has me deeply in love.  Look out for her new album, "Devil's Halo" coming later this year...



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