I Don’t Wanna Be A Playa No More

A dapper white butch licks a burlesque white femme.

I wrote this in January. Shortly before the new year. It’s taken me this long to publish it but I stand by it. Have been working at standing by it.

What goes on in the mind of a playa?
Well, she’s always talking to at least a couple of women, with two or three more “prospects.” Every outing & event is an opportunity to get more digits.

Each “relationship” is a delicate balance of sexual intrigue and studied indifference. The party who cares or communicates more looses.

Life becomes a dance of texts and dates and quick replacements. A date cancels or is on her period? Quick, pick up the phone and you can be in another’s arms.

Hot sexual encounters are brief pinnacles of pleasure against stark valleys of emotional distance, the feeling that the women you are dealing with really just don’t give a fuck.

Casually broken dates, text messages not returned, lovers turned cold, each rebuff is a cue to go back into your contacts for the next conquest.

Lust and a deep, unquenchable loneliness coupled with hurt and anger that these women–the ones you won’t let close to you–also treat you with casual indifference.

That and a deep uneasiness that you will never find “the one.” That the acts you go through to keep these women as placeholders in your bed while you search for “the one” are changing you to make you someone “the one” wouldn’t want.

All this is in the mind of a playa. All this has been in my mind.

No more. I’ve let my contacts lapse. Every day I fight the urge to text women who have expressed an interest in me.

Like a fiend in withdrawal my lips long for clit and kisses, my breasts for caresses, my pussy for tongue and penetration…

My fingers remind me that women are out there…that with the right combination of words and circumstances we could be climbing that mountain of ecstasy…

But then my head reminds me of all the hurt and loneliness that surely will  follow.

I know that I’m weak, that one DM, one text, one “extra” smile, and I might just jump foolishly back on that wheel. But I’m trying not to.

I didn’t set out to be a playa. I didn’t become one over night, but I can stop the cycle.

I will.

My apologies, dear readers, if my blog dries up but…

I don’t wanna be a playa no more.

(Time to invest in sex toys…)

Just Because: (Dirty Version)

1 Comment

  1. […] away from my brain that it was what I wanted too. Angry at my lack of control in the face of my New Years Resolution, I drove from my white suburban hide-away to back to one of Boston’s “black” […]


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