Let’s Be Friends

Hot mostly naked softballer

No Actual Nudity Was Involved in the Making of This Post

I had the brilliant idea that now that Noma and I were no longer “going out,” it would be a good idea to introduce her to my kids. Actually, it was a pretty fucking brilliant idea. You see, my daughter’s softball season was ending, and she seemed to back-and-forth on whether she liked it or not. I thought that introducing her to a grown-up woman who plays softball would be a good idea, and Noma agreed to come and practice with the kids.

I had been reluctant to introduce her previously, because I am very hesitant to introduce anyone who I am dating to my kids unless things are starting to get serious. After putting my son through hell after I left his father for my daughter’s father, I was determined not to do that again. Also, I figure my kids don’t need to see me with an endless parade of women. When I find someone who I really think I can settle down with–then I’ll introduce her to my kids. But friends? Really, my kids don’t see enough of my friends!

So, anyways, it went great! Noma was fantastic pitching to, and coaching my kids, I had fun fielding the ball–a good time was had by all! By the end of two hours, my son–more of a computer nerd than a sports geek–was so enthused that he declared a desire to join little leaugue.

Well, so far so good! Operation prove-to-Noma-that-ex’s-can-actually-be-friends-while-giving-my-kids-sports-inspiration off to a brilliant start!

“Thanks again!” I said, giving Noma a goodbye hug. “I’ll see you on Wednesday!”

“Wednesday?” She looked taken aback.

“Yeah, at that event..?”

“Oh yeah, Wednesday!

My P-Town Adventures Part 5: Omens Fullfilled

Start the adventure here

A heart painted over cracked pavement.
The closer we got on Commercial street to the event, the more brown faces mingled with the older, middle class white lesbians and gays that I took for regulars. It occurred to me that there were probably more black women there that weekend then P-Town sees the whole rest of the year!

As we approached the entrance to the pool party Noma suddenly looked shaken. She pulled me aside.
“My ex is there!”
“Where?”
“Don’t look!”
Now, I could have sworn up and down that Noma told me that her ex–the one she was still not over–was white, so I’m all scanning the crowd for a white face an not seeing one.

She brought me around the corner, where four women (three studs and a beautiful femme–the femme clearly “with” the eldest of the butches) greeted her warmly. Noma responded awkwardly and did not introduce me.

“That was my ex.” Noma told me as we proceeded to registration.
“The femme? Damn she’s gorgeous!” How was I supposed to compete with that? She was classy: slender, but well endowed–perfect hair and nails and a pretty sundress. I’m–well, me: round face, no discernible waist, greasy hair–pretty much my only assets are my smile, titts and ass.

We went into the pool party, where I was greeted by cold glances from the women, who were all sitting around in the sun  barely talking to each-other.

Now, I generally like going to WOC events, but sometimes black women can just go out and sit there doing nothing–like they’ll all be sitting around the edges of the dance floor, but no one wants to be the first to dance. This was like that. Everyone sitting around, keeping to themselves–watching each other–not what I call a party!

After saying hi to a few women I knew, we went back to the cabin, where I washed my hair and watched Black Womyn and Noma got morosely drunk.

Noma pulled herself together and rest of the day was fun…there was the tequila and wine tasting, dancing way into the night, and delirious late night scream-worthy fucking with the big dick.

Noma broke up with me the next day.

Asphalt Response

Trashy buxom blond half naked against a truck tire.

I just discovered the blogg Butchtastic: in addition to providing me directly with tons of much-needed reading material (at least until I clear my name with the library), I’ve been plundering Kyle’s blogroll for even more fodder. Yay!

But it was some purple prose that triggered the story below. Halt! Before you read further, read this!

Done? You may proceed:

*      *     *

I strutted into the bar, trying to look thrilled by the big oaf on my arm–the head of the football team that made all the other girls jealous in highschool–but the walls were closing in on me even as the echos of his buddies laughter ricocheted off the polished bar.
“I’ve gotta use the ladies.” I said, carefully avoiding the eyes of my “best friend,” so she wouldn’t think I wanted her to join me. She was the “cool girl” I had plotted and schemed with all through high school, using our shallow popularity to push away anyone I might have had a genuine connection with.

All that seemed so important then…but now, living with Brad and going to a community college, I wished I had the bravery to follow my dreams. Now, as my so-called-friends grew into bigger characatures of their highschool selves every day, there was only one thing that made life bearable.

My pussy throbbed at just the thought of Buddy. I never met anyone like her in this little podunk town. The first time I saw her climbing out of that pick-up truck with the cowboy hat and the rougish smile, I knew I had to have her.

We had been seeing each other for a while now; wild, intense fucks that blew my mind like nothing else. But it was always in secret. No one must know. I spent so many years pretending I was normal, pretending I was dumb and cool and liked those jocks without a thought in their head. Pretending to make fun of the school tomboy so no one would know how I used to touch myself at night and imagine that it was her inside me…
I thought I could keep it up forever, marry Brad, have his stupid kids, live a lie…
But that last time, with her fist deep inside me and fireworks in my head louder than the ones outside, I knew that was all I wanted. And as she pressed her lips against mine–her lips so firm and hot and her tongue so insistent–I knew we had to find a way to be together!

That night I came up with a plan: We would run away and never look back! There was no way I could come out in this town–Bradd would beat me to a pulp if my father didn’t get to me first–but there were places we could go–like San Francisco!

I could go to school anywhere–maybe study writing instead of these stupid nursing classes–and dishwashing jobs were a dime a dozen. I had a bag packed, a little money saved…we could leave tonight!

All these thoughts were tumbling through my head as I sauntered with fake casualness down the hall, faking to the right, like I was going to the bathroom, then darting to the left into the kitchen, where Buddy was bent over grabbing something from under the dishwashing station.

“Hey Buddy!” I called out coquettishly.

She–I mean he–straightened up–the eyes that met my gaze had the guiless blankness of a 16 year old.

“What’s up?” he leered at me, his face I forest of pockmarks and zits.

“Where’s–where’s Buddy?”

“I dunno. Never showed up for work. I just started today.” His gaze traveled from the short hem of my dress to the low cut at my bosom. “Can I help you?”

“No you creep!” I stormed out.

I went to the bathroom after-all. Tears poured down my cheeks as I sat on the cold ceramic: memories of the smell of cotton candy and wet asphalt and the sounds of the carnival mixed with moans echoing through my head.

The End of Trevor

I promised to tell y’all all about my adventures with speed dating–and I will–but first I need to talk about the end of Trevor.

I went over to Trevor’s Tuesday night knowing I had to tell him that I was done. I’ve known in my mind that I needed to stop messing with him for a while…but I guess having someone who wanted me seemed better than no one, even if I didn’t really want him.

For once he was there on time, which has been a really big issue…that and his habit of taking a week to return a text message.

He could tell I was upset about something, and I told him I couldn’t see him anymore.

“Because of your ‘Lesbian thing?'” He asked scornfully. “You realize you’ve given me this line three times now.” (I think it was twice, but who’s counting?)

“I know. But I mean it this time.” I told him about my hot date, and how I barely thought about him after, but couldn’t get a brief kiss with a woman out of my head.

“We’re just playing around, you can keep being with me until you find that one you want.”

“I can’t. I need to be one way or the other. I need to be open to finding that woman, and I don’t want to be hiding that I’m seeing a man. Besides, I am never going lick you or let you stick it to me.”

“I know you have that barrier. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t think about putting it inside you–I’m thinking about it right now. But that’s okay.” His tone changed. “I don’t think you’re a Lesbian–I think you’re bisexual. I know you like what we do. I could have you right now if I wanted to”

“I know you think that, but I really don’t–I  don’t like jacking you off. I never did.”

“You didn’t? What about the things I did to you? I know you liked that.”

“I do like kissing you,” I conceded. “And I like the things you’ve done to me…but I don’t want to do anything back. If you were a woman I would.”

“So–you want me to do you and you not to do anything back? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No! I don’t want that–especially after what my ex did to me.

“Well,” He took a deep breath. “I like doing things to you, I guess I can deal with that.”

“No–I just need to stop.”

“Okay.” He said. “I can respect that. You think too much, you need to relax. Look,” He took a deep breath, looking deep into my eyes. “I respect you. I know what you go through. I was also raised by a white, single mom. My mom was studying to be a doctor when she met my dad…and she had a hard time of it raising us kids by herself.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ve always felt like you respected me.”

He gave me a hug. It was a big soothing bear hug. I felt the tension run out of me. Then before I knew it we were kissing. I do love kissing him. With his big soft lips it doesn’t feel like kissing a man, or kissing a woman, it just feels good…kinda reminds me of eating pussy, actually.

After we kissed for a moment he lunged forward, pushing me onto the bed.

“Wait–stop.” I said unconvincingly as he pinned me to the bed. Not for the first time it crossed my mind that with his 6’6″ frame and 400 lbs he could have his way with me if I wanted it or not…but I never thought he would want to if I said stop. My mind went blank as he continued to press his mouth against mine, his body heavy on me, keeping me immobile as he felt on my titts. Finally I was able to pull away just enough to say–

“I mean it. Stop.” In a firm voice. And he did. Reluctantly he got off of me. (I don’t think he realized how overbearing he had just been. At least I hope he just got carried away.)

“So you Lesbians have your dildo’s–your straps, right?” He asked me, as I moved away from him, adjusting my bra.

“Well I’ve never tried one.” He looked perplexed at my answer.

“But…it’s the same thing, right? The same motions–with a woman.”

“I don’t know–I never tried one.”

“Oh right, you’re the foreplay queen.”

“I think Lesbians have a different view of sex.” I replied wearily and cryptically. I didn’t feel like explaining or justifying lesbian sex to him. If you’ve never been a woman with a woman, I guess you’ll never understand…how it’s so much more intense…how the slightest touch can turn one on ten times more…

All I know is giving up men is easy if it means a chance of being with one. Actually, it’s just plain easy.

He says he’s writing a song about me–me, and all the women who’ve done him wrong.

Psychological Dick

I wanted to repost a comment from LoveShackBaby so that I can respond to it in my blog rather than letting it be buried in the comments:

I definitely believe that Dick is a psychological construct. You know how women talk dirty to one another and might refer to different “attachments” as cock, dick, etc? Yea, that turns some of us on and it’s all in our heads. The butcher types really like it, too.
I had a really hard time with my (transgender) husband because he was always keeping the girl bits covered. I wasn’t sure how to proceed or reconcile myself with not being able to do the “girl” things. We were able to get past it enough for me to be able to touch him in the lower area but never the chest.
Good Luck figuring your girl out. :)

(First of all, I read butcher as someone with a meat cleaver–so that confused me until I realized she meant more-butch lol)

Sadly the two of us are not “together” or whatever that was anymore…that melted down at the same time as I fell back in lust with my ex. She muttered something confused over the phone about how she thought I was too obsessed with her and she needed a break. I don’t know if she’s sleeping with someone else, got tired of me, or what. Whatever.

But I somehow didn’t have a problem understanding her in that way–more understanding my response to her. Even now when I think about her: she has no ass, man-titts, not pretty in the face. What the hell did I see in her? And why do I still want her? No, I do know: it’s her energy.

I just accepted her as she is. I felt like I was already somehow familiar with her type. I guess she is trans–or right on the edge. Maybe from books or–I don’t know–osmosis. She does have some kind of crazy mojo between her legs, and part of the magic for some reason is my not seeing or touching it. (She had no problem with my touching her titts.) I can’t explain it any better than that, but there it is. If I was going to be with her, there was no “working past it” that’s just how she is.

Even so, I could never be in a serious relationship with her for a whole host of reasons, generally summed up by the words “asshole,” “player” and “pathological liar.” But even if we got along great, I don’t think I could really handle being with someone long term who only served and wouldn’t let me reciprocate. I think that’s why I started lusting after my ex again. She was very passive and I usually ended up frustrated–but at least she let me go down on her when we were lovers. And she was soft and sweet in bed…not hard and aggressive. Don’t get me wrong, I like aggressive…I just like both.

I guess I thought that if I could be with one woman and give to her, and another and take, it would almost be like being with one woman who gave and took. But that did not work out. Karma’s a bitch.

I totally deserve to be back to celibacy square one. I know that both women lied to me, and I guess that I lied to them by omission, although they both knew about the other.  But what the hell was I thinking? I should hold out for someone who’s the whole package: give and take, someone who treats me decently. And despite my attempt at playing, I do try to treat the person I’m with, and my friends in general well. I make them chicken soup when they are sick, babysit if they are in a jam, and do other things to show I care and am there when they need it. I don’t like lies, arguments and games. I’m better off without the drama they both brought to my life.

So why do I feel like I have a hole in my heart?

Lost in Space

I just spent the last couple hours driving aimlessly down the highway listening to jazz and nursing a broken heart. Well, kinda broken. Feelings of hurt and loss simmered in an uneven gumbo of respect and pride. Not pride in my actions, but pride in my ex girlfriend Jen’s. You see, in the time between when we broke up and when we fell back together, she had acquired a girlfriend, so making love to me was especially naughty..

I have this weird cognitive dissonance whereby as her friend, I think we should break it off, and am actually proud of her for cutting the cord that I was not able to break completely, but as her lover I just want to take her in my arms, kiss her sweet lips, caress every inch of her skin…

I thought to myself today that things would soon be “wrapped up” between us, but that did not make it easier when it came. I had been looking forward to seeing her all week. I had even been calling her, texting her. She texted me to tell me she was thinking of me, looking forward to seeing me.

I got lost on the way to her house. I should have seen it as a sign. There’s me, going left, right..getting lost…

Tonight an Ice princess opened the door to her apartment. Gone was Jen the with the slightly butch cornrows, blue jewel-toned tank top (no bra) that made her  skin glow, the smoldering eyes… The Jen who lay next to me trading longing gazes and then tender kisses. Who I kissed from head to toe, lingering long on her lovely labia.Who I spent hours wrapped up in conversation with, sharing dreams and aspirations.

Clad in white from head to toe the warm tones of her skin were the only relief for my eyes against the stark white walls. White towel wrapped around her head. White laundry in a pile on the table.

A single tear ran down her cheek as she said goodbye. She felt so far away. Like she was farther away sitting across the room than she had been in the last few years.

I think she had to rekindle things with me so that she could break up with me instead of the other way around.

I feel so old and mature tonight. But mostly sad.

And Damn. Did she really need to make me drive 40 min each way after a long day of work to break up with me? She has a phone!

A Little History

So if you are one of the two people who have been following my blogg you will know that I had a boyfriend I was quite serious about. He was a kind, thoughtful person, a creative genius, and absolutely the best lover that I ever had. He also lived out of state and grew pot. Our break-up was the most non-break-up break-up I’ve ever had: we stayed friends, chatting online at least a couple times a week, and even still slept together when logistically possible. If you read back through my Blogg you will see him referred to as my Beloved.

Then I met Jen (previously referred to as my ex-girlfriend). Jen was fine as hell: honey-bee eyes, skin like dark gold maple syrup. Also insecure, demanding, a little crazy. I was also the first woman she had been with. One day she sent me a text that read:

I miss you.

I miss u 2, I replied while cleaning the bathroom. I had a lot on my mind: I was up for a job in New Hampshire, and I was trying to decide if I wanted to ask her to move there with me. I knew that she wanted to live together. We both had kids and lord knows we could both use some support–but I was hesitant. Although our conversations clicked some of the time, (and the sex was very hot, if she was still a little hesitant to do some of the things I would have liked her to) but we were already arguing too much. Nothing ever got resolved. We had some serious communication issues.

I started thinking about how if I lived in New Hampshire, I would be a lot closer to my Beloved. (Who I had not been sleeping with during this time.)

As I wrestled with these thoughts in my head I got another text from Jen:

You’re a selfish Bitch.

So that was it. I broke up with her.

So why, nine months later, am I sleeping with her again?