Sunday, July 11, 2010


Not only am I a world famous writer (ok, maybe not WORLD FAMOUS, but a nigga can dream, right?) I’m also a photographer. didn’t know that? Well you do now! (Plug:
Being a photographer means that I get to work with some very sexy (and some not so sexy) people. I worked with one model in particular named Robert. He was a hot and fresh 18 year old yellabone, bout 5’9 with an incredible body and a nice, round, supple (yes I said supple) ass. 
Now, I usually don’t sleep with my models because its tacky and unprofessional. Of course everyone knows that in the real world (places like New York and Los Angeles, photographers sleep with models all the time. But I like to be different. I like to elevate myself above others, instead of being a tacky photo whore (no offense to any tacky photo whores that may be reading this #idontjudge).
I met Robert online and he told me that he was an aspiring model. I agreed to meet with him one day after work to discuss our concept for the shoot, what he should wear, what he should bring, and all that good stuff... 
He showed up wearing a black V-neck and pair of grey skinny jeans. My initial reaction was DAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNNNNNNN I wanna hit that...
But like I said, I would prefer to be a professional and classy photographer, instead of a tacky, dirty, classless hoe. So we discussed the concept for the shoot:
Me: So what exactly are you trying to accomplish?
Him: I want to be a model, like Tyson Beckford.
Me: Tyson? He’s old. But he paved the way for young models like yourself...have you ever seen Model City?
Him: Yeah...I think Zeric is sooooo hot.
Me: He’s ight...Wendell is the sexy one. But uhhmmm I think you can make it, but you’re definitely in the WRONG place
We talked for about thirty minutes and came up with a concept and date for the shoot. I left the meeting with a hard dick and a guilty conscience (although I hadn’t done anything wrong...yet)
About two weeks later, we met up in Midtown for the shoot. I was shocked and surprised...not by the fact that he bothered to show up and pay me for the shoot, but I was more surprised by the fact that this raggedy, country, podunk ass town HAS a Midtown district. Midtown is usually found in upscale places such as Chicago, New York, and (dare I say it) Atlanta. 
Like most models I’ve worked with, he was shy at first. But I’m a charming and witty person, and I was able to break him out of his shell. He told me that he wanted to be a model/actor, and Trey Songz was his inspiration. I told him to run wild with that. We shot for about an hour, before we both got hot and decided to call it a day. We were starting to sweat, which is definitely NOT a good look for anybody thats trying to become a model OR a serious photographer. I gathered my equipment and prepared to go home.
Him: When will I be able to see the pictures
Me: It usually takes me a few days to edit...I’ll let you know when they are ready
Him: Can I watch you edit them?
Normally I would say NO. I don’t like people in my SPACE when I’m tryna be creative. It interrupts the process. But he was sexy, so, against my better judgement, I made an exception.
Me: can follow me to my studio...
So we got in our vehicles and he followed me to my WORKPLACE, a few short miles away. When we got inside he was amazed by all of the images of the other models I had worked with. I asked him if he wanted anything to eat or drink (its called Southern hospitality) before inviting him to have a seat next to me as I uploaded his photos. We went through his film and he picked the ones that he wanted me to edit. As I began the process, he started asking questions. That was fine, at first, but then it started to get annoying.
We sat in darkness, illuminated only by the glow from the computer. I looked over at him and he appeared to be entertained by watching me. As I continued to edit, I noticed that he was inching closer and closer to me until we were nearly touching. I placed my hand on his thigh. He looked at me and I knew it was GAME TIME! The idea of me being a different, classy photographer was gone at that moment. I was horny and I was turning in to a beast.
He took his shirt off to reveal a beautiful 8-pack, perfect V-line, and a pair of sexy pecs. I helped him unbutton his pants. He was wearing a pair of tight black boxer briefs. I took off my shirt and unzipped my pants. I was already rock hard, anticipating what was about to go down. He started teasing my dick with his tongue, turning me on even more. Suddenly he swallowed the entire thing like a pro. A TRUE pro. I reached into my drawer and grabbed the necessary items for our session (condoms + lube). I lubed him up and he sat on the dick and rode it until we both climaxed.
About thirty minutes later we went another round. I bent him over on the couch, across from my desk, and pounded. His ass was nice and tight...almost virgin tight, and the second nut was even better than the first one.
We cleaned up and he left as I continued editing his photos. 
I tried to behave that night. I really really REALLY did. I don’t know what happened, honestly. I’m usually not a tacky classless photo whore. I guess my hormones got the best of me :)

Friday, July 9, 2010

My Firsts

2005. I was stupid back then. Stupid and horny as hell. I got my first taste of boy puss that year and I haven’t been the same ever since. I also got my first taste of dang a lang...Sometimes I look back on those days and wish that some of the events never happened, but then I realize that every experience is a lesson learned and I should be grateful for every idiot that I have ever fucked with.
I have two FIRST boyfriends (I know that doesn’t make any sense, but FUCK YOU! This is my story dammit!) The first first was a young man that was a few years younger than me. I met him on some social networking site...uhmmm Myspace or Facebook or Blackplanet (yes, I’m THAT old), whatever was poppin at the time. We exchanged info and talked on a daily basis about stupid high school relationship nonsense. The relationship didn’t work because he was psycho and immature. We tried it again a few months later with the same result. An ex is an ex for a reason, and I learned that early.
We are still friends, somewhat. But that’s a story for another day. We never had SEX, which is why I have two firsts...
The second first was crazy. And not just regular crazy. He was psycho Texas Chainsaw Massacre serial killer crazy. He was from New Orleans (he was living here BEFORE Katrina), about 5’10, dark skinned, cute smile, nice ass, and a decent sized dick. I remember calling in sick to work one day so we could fuck. Yup...that was the day I lost my boyginity (boyginity=boy virginit...for those of you that can’t keep up), which was a very painful, yet pleasant experience. About a week later I got a phone call from him:
Him: Bae, I got something to tell you...
Me (fearing the worst): What?
Him: I cheated on you with my best friend.
Hold up...what now????
Me: What?
Him: I’m so so so sorry
I was young at the time, so I didn’t really know how to handle the situation. Let that shit happen now though...
Anywho, I really didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t have anyone to ask for advice. I couldn’t just walk up to my mom and say ‘My boyfriend cheated on me, what should I do?’ And my high school friends weren’t aware of my SEXUALITY.
But he apologized, and he seemed sincere, so I let the shit go and stayed with his triflin ass. Everything was cool for the next few months, but eventually we faded apart. I’m sure he did something to piss me off, but I can’t think of what it was at the moment. 
He called me a few months later.
Him: I miss you
Me: Nigga save that shit
Him: For real...I miss you
So we started talking again (yes, I fell for that bullshit. #dontjudgeme) Everything was good. We chilled (and fucked) every weekend. But it was my first year of college and there was plenty of sweet eye candy to look at during the week. Eventually I got tempted and tasted some of it. Yup...I cheated on him (payback is a bitch, right?)
I actually felt guilty about it, so I told him what I did. He was PISSED. We got into a fight over it...but he forgave me (like I really gave a fuck) and we moved on. We broke up again a few months later and we haven’t really talked since. We hit each other up every now and then on Facebook, but its not as heavy as it used to be.
This relationship taught me several things.
  1. Niggas are NOT to be trusted. No exceptions
  2. Niggas from Louisiana are CRAZY, ESPECIALLY if they are from New Orleans (no offense...) No exceptions
  3. Niggas from Louisiana have good sex game 
  4. Never trust a big butt and a smile
As for the other first...
Like I said, his ass was crazy and immature. But he was cute. And could ride dick like a soldier (or so I had heard). We talked again during my last year of college. He was a freshman and he KNEW that I had a boyfriend but he would always flirt with me and try to slide my pole in his hole. I’m not sure what it is, but apparently messing with married men is in these days. I won’t lie, I was tempted to break his back on several occasions. In fact, he invited me to his dorm room one day when his roommate wasn’t there. At first I didn’t plan on doing anything, but he started touching and kissing the right spots until I was rock hard. When I get horny, I turn into an animal. Something inside of me when a pit bull senses a female in heat. 
So I knew I was fucking that night. Or so I thought...he played with the dick for a little while, but suddenly he said that he had a headache and he wasn’t feeling it.
REALLY? Really nigga? I wasn’t having that. I was gonna at least get some head, and that’s exactly what I did. I nutted all over his face. That’s what he gets for not giving me any ass...
That was about a year ago. We still talk on and off, but he’s got issues. MAJOR issues. AND he’s a gold digger. I really don’t have time for drama, and I don’t like having that element in my life. So we wave when we see each other in the club, and text each other once or twice a month. That’s about it...
An ex is an ex for a reason, but the first is always special (so they say). Both of my FIRSTS were crazy as hell...but that aint shit compared to some of the other psychos I’ve dated. But we’ll save that for another day...

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


Sometimes I wanna cut a bitch. Really. Gays can be very messy, sloppy, disgusting, and tacky. I know that’s harsh, but the truth hurts. In the gay world, fucking someone elses man is like an Olympic sport. I think its some sort of are not a true homosexual until you have slept with someones boyfriend.
Meet James
James is a 20 year old college student, currently attending the same university that I graduated from last year. We met two years ago when he was a freshman, around the same time I started dating my current BOO. He’s a cute little yellabone...about 5’9, slim toned body, cute smile, and a nice ass. Of course he tried to ride my totem pole, but I really wasn’t feeling him like that. He was a friend to me, and I wanted to keep it that way. But ol boy was persistent. He just kept trying and trying and trying until I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him to back the fuck off and leave me the hell alone.
About a year later, we started talking again. He finally accepted the fact that I had a boyfriend and we were able to move forward with our friendship. He had a boyfriend of his own named Tony. Tony was 6’1, chocolate skinned, and had a body from heaven. Every now and then we would double date. It was good to have friends, because in the gay world friends don’t come around often. You have to watch who you trust, because you will definitely get a knife in your back if you’re not careful.
Lately I noticed that James and my boyfriend were getting a little too close. They would call and text each other throughout the day, and whenever the four of us would hang out they would sit a little too close to each other, and they would give each other looks that were...uhmmm inappropriate. 
Now I’m not a dumbass. I can always tell when something aint right, so I asked my boyfriend one simple question:
Me: Are you fuckin with James?
Boyfriend: What the fuck you mean? Why would you even ask me that dumb shit?
That was all I needed. My suspicions had been confirmed. See, if there wasn’t any truth to it then my BF woulda just answered the fucking question. But instead, he got mad, which means he was fucking James. Right behind my back. Right under my nose. Was this nigga serious? Like really???
This was a delicate situation, and had to be handled with care. I had several options. I could:
  1. Slash some tires and cut some folk
  2. Fuck Tony
  3. Fuck my BFs best friend
  4. All of the above.
I quickly ruled out option D, because having sex with two people would make me look like an extreme hoe. I also ruled out option C because my BFs best friend is a woman, and I truly wasn’t in the mood for a fish fry. So it was either option A or option B. Option A was the most attractive, but I really didn’t have the time or the energy for it. And I wasn’t about to fuck Tony...why should I bring him into the situation? Then again, he was already involved.
So there I was...back to square one. Pissed off without any options. I needed to find a clever way to get revenge. I thought about some new options as I poured myself a glass of Moscato. I asked myself what Tremayne (my alter ego...Beyonce has one, why can’t I?) would do in this situation (don’t ask me why). That wasn’t helpful. It just made me horny (again, don’t ask me why). There was a knock at the door...
I poured myself a second glass of Moscato before answering. It was James.
Me: are bold.
James: What do you mean?
Me: Don’t act stupid. Why the fuck are you here?
James: Because we need to talk...
The EVIL in me wanted grab him by the throat and bash he head against the wall, but that wouldn’t be very nice. I invited the little bitch in and decided to listen to what he had to say. I started to offer him a drink, but since he was fucking my boyfriend he didn’t deserve my Southern hospitality. We sat on the couch as I poured myself a third glass of Moscato.
Me: The fuck we gotta talk about?
Him: I’m sorry. It was late and I was drunk. I didn’t mean to...
Me: Save that shit. I don’t wanna hear it.
I started to throw his ass out, but the Moscato was taking its effect. I started picturing James with my dick in his mouth. Then I pictured him bent over with my dick up his ass. That wouldn’t be proper revenge, but I didn’t care. I was horny and tipsy, so I made my move and fucked him all over the living room floor. My boyfriend got home just as we were finishing. Awkward, right?
Boyfriend: What the fuck is this?
Me: Payback is a bitch!
You would think that this would be a bad situation, but it wasn’t. We ended up having a threesome. Well, it wasn’t really a threesome. It was more like us running a train on the little bitch. But I STILL didn’t get the proper revenge that I needed. 
The next day, Tony came to my job to discuss the situation. I really didn’t have time for that bullshit, especially at work. I was over it, but obviously Tony wasn’t. I decided that the only way to truly get revenge was to fuck this man. So we went into the restroom and got it in. I recorded the ending on my VIDEO PHONE (*Beyonce voice*) and sent it to James and my boyfriend. I thought the image of myself ejaculating on another mans face would be a good way to get back at them and gain some closure. 
So what’s the moral of this story? There isn’t one...