Countdown to no longer being pregnant

My first appointment is tomorrow. Because I live in a shitty state with a 24 hour wait period, I can't get the procedure done until Friday or Saturday. I'm still wondering where I will get the money. The clinic has funding sources that can help with up to $200 of my procedure, but I will have to find the rest. My abortion will cost $480. I can lay hands to $150 more. I don't know what to do.

I'm going to try to gather as many comfort items as I can, to make this the least shitty experience possible. Only a local anesthetic is included at my price point, so distraction is called for. Unluckily for me, I'm missing the charger and headphones to my Android, so I won't be able to take that to the clinic. I could take my laptop, but I'm taking the bus and I'm absentminded. Been there, won't do that again.

I'm staying with a friend right now. She lost her baby a few months ago to a miscarriage. I mentioned abortion to her once and she quickly told me that wasn't an option. She a Baptist and real conservative. I'm so scared she'll find out and kick me out, but I can't have this baby. This situation stinks. Her pregnancy was wanted and she still mourns for her baby. Mine was less planned but this baby is loved. In fact is loved so much I'm doing the most compassionate thing I can do. This is going to kill me emotionally but it's the right thing to do.

I don't have any support to have this baby.Yesterday when I called a minister I knew for help because I couldn't find a shelter for my family, all they could recommend was a shelter that takes kids when their parents can't take care of them. I feel like God is against me and hates me right now. Going through this has solidified my decision and ensured I will never set foot in another house of worship as long as I live. No one is here for me, everyone else is living their own lives. They feel this is something I brought on myself, and they're right. There is no help out there for people like me, and I'm not naive enough to believe there will ever be.

I'm so sad thinking this may be the daughter I always wanted. With my fucked up childhood, I don't really need a daughter, so it's for the best. I've done this before, but this time feels different. It hurts my heart the closer I get to having it done. If you've been there and it was hard for you to do, your comments would be sincerely appreciated.

I'm having an abortion

Today I finally made a decision about this pregnancy. I spent all morning looking for a homeless shelter and none of them had space. How can I bring a child into this mess? I did some research and found a few abortion funds that can help. I'm hoping using more than one will enable me to pay for this abortion.

In a few weeks, my life will be different. I'll be in a different city, trying to adjust to life. My kids will be in new schools. And I'll no longer be pregnant. I got my world rocked by morning sickness today. Another 3-4 months of that is not fun. Plus any bed rest I may have to go on like I did with my others. I have to figure out what to tell my children. Someone felt the need to tell my children that I was pregnant and ask them how they felt about a new brother or sister. My kids have been so psyched about a new baby. How do you tell your kids that a baby isn't going to be born?

Sunday edition of Google Producer is up

Check out the latest edition of the digital version of this site: https://www.google.com/producer/editions/CAowhKD3AQ/sunday_82512

It's compatible with Android, Tablets, iPhone and iPad.

SUICIDAL THOUGHTS: Keep Fighting, Don't Give up!

This was a good video to come across today. I've hit a low point in my life, and I sometimes feel alone like no one cares and there's no way out of my situation. I tried calling a few friends, but they had their own shit to deal with. And I didn't call "S" since my friend is already tired of my bullshit. I didn't want "S" to see me like this. I'm not suicidal, but sometimes it feels so easy to stay stuck and stand still. As a black woman, I feel I have to hold the weight of the world on my shoulders. That's ridiculous. Even Superman needs help sometimes. So if you're going through some stuff, or know someone this might help, check this out:

Fear and loathing

I'm disgusted with myself right now. I'm seriously considering an abortion, and I'm in the process of losing a friend. My life is too complicated for another child, and why drag someone else into my mess? I have health and financial fears and just feel afraid in general. Afraid to lose this baby and afraid to have it. I don't know what to do, and I want to be proactive in any decision I make.

My friend is disgusted with me. I know "S" is fed up with what appears to be my rationalization of my childhood and my passivity. Before calling, I was resolved not to talk about my life or my viewpoints with "S". It never leads anywhere nice. My friends gets flustered and upset and so do I...I just want the easy conversations we had in the beginning. I want that easiness back. I hate talking about my fucked up life and my fucked up way of doing things. Why can't we talk about cupcakes or some shit? I just think if we stop focusing on any of my shit, things will get better. I just wish my friend could take me as I am, move past my way of seeing things, and be ok with my life being off limits...Talking about my fucked up life has driven a wedge between us. I hate that. I just wish things could go back to the way they used to be.


*"Free image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net"

Real rape

I had decided to stay out of the rape debate currently happening because I have an actual personal stake in it. Anything that triggers me to go batshit crazy and takes me back to that hopeless feeling is to be avoided at any cost. Except now. I get steamed when people feel the need to distinguish between rape, real rape and rape rape. What the fuck is "rape rape". Is it like "sex sex"? Seriously people, grow the fuck up.

It stings a little when people try to speak on behalf of rape victims, and presume to know what they want most. Especially if they've never been through it themselves. My heart goes out to those who've gone through rape, especially those who conceive as a result. I've been there and everyday I look at my child who looks so much like the rapist who helped make him. Friends and family played the it's not "real rape" game with me, and told me to get over it.

Everyday during that pregnancy I felt like I was imprisoned in a cell made of flesh. The only way I got through it was with a lot of denial and dissociation. So for people to actually play this game of semantics gets me hot under the collar. Bravo Donors For Boners for taking on this issue. And for the record, garlic makes vaginas cry too (read the post, it makes sense)!

Great expectations

I'm pregnant. There's really no reason to talk around that, so I'll just put that out there. I've known for about two weeks. The baby's father could be any of the 4 men I slept with that week, although 3 seem likelier. I got horny, I fucked, enjoyed it and this is the result. Since I have a lot of unprotected sex, this was inevitable and I'm coping well with it.

The last few weeks were spent trying to decide whether or not to carry to term. No matter what I chose, there would be someone who would have a reason for my decision being wrong. There were so many variables that went into my choice. How would I cope with another child? What about my other children? Can I afford this? One of my friends with benefits knows, so I took his feelings into consideration too. Then I chose to carry to term.

There were a lot of things I had to consider. My financial situation is very unstable at the moment and I'm moving soon. Two of my children have developmental concerns, and it's only been two years since the birth of my last. I'll be on my own with this baby, just like the others. And this will make "baby daddy" #4. I never wanted to be that girl.

Growing up, I knew that I would be a mother someday. All my children would have the same father: One man who wanted to be involved in their lives and loved them with all his heart. I knew firsthand how much it hurt to have a father who didn't want to deal with you, and I saw cousins who struggled and received no help from their multiple baby daddies. I was turned off by that, and was raised to be monogamous, and to find a good man who would love me and our children. How did I get so far from that?

  

I'm extremely promiscuous, and I know how that is judged by our society. I'm a fat black woman with multiple children by multiple men. I buy right into the Aunt Jemima/Mammy stereotype right there. Except for the sex part, so I guess I have a little Jezebel in me there. I could attribute some of this to past trauma, or I could accept total responsibility for how my life turned out. All I know to do is to take responsibility for my actions right now. There are people depending on me, including this baby. I need to make the best choices for this child, my current children and myself.

Adoption is an option right now. I just have to be brave enough to make that choice. Plus, who really wants a partially or fully black baby with an unknown father? The men I slept with were of different races and right after the other. This could go either way and I won't know anything until the birth.

Sometimes I just don't understand

Well Readers, I'm back after a long break. I've had a lot of things on my plate lately. Trying to prepare for a move across country. Starting school. Dealing with the past. It's that last one that has mainly kept me away from this blog. I'm finding it hard to cope with the things that were done to me and that someone has recently told me about. I'm going to share some of those with you to get them off my chest and out of my head space.

I was talking to my aunt several weeks ago about things in general. Gradually the conversation steered towards childhoods. Mine, hers and my mother's. She'd told me about the sexual abuse she and her siblings endured at the hands of their mother growing up. This was in addition to the physical, verbal and emotional abuse that I was already privy to from my mother telling me. From another aunt, I have since learned that everyone denies the sexual abuse. The ones most affected have since passed on, and the person accused of the abuse died almost ten years ago.

I really don't know what to think when my aunt tells me about that. I want to see her the way that everyone else in the family does, as a crazy overly religious loon. I've never known her to lie to me and she's always been forthright in everything I've ever asked. But the things she's accused my grandmother of doing are mind boggling. Is it possible that the sexual abuse of someone else close to her has caused her to see sexual abuse everywhere? I've known people like that. Convinced that a pedophile lurked behind every bush, hedge and tree.

If that were all we talked about, I wouldn't be writing this post. Being sexually abused by their mother was something I'd known for at least ten years, though my other aunt claims that she only heard of this within the last few years. But then she also managed to avoid talking about the physical abuse when I pointedly asked her. The next time we talked she was more open and admitted that their mother did hit them, and often. Eventually, it got to the point where I had to be more open and out there about the abuse my mother did towards me. I didn't want to tell her, as I knew that my mother was her favorite growing up. She spoke a lot about the compassion, love and caring that my mom gave her, and how that impacted her as a child.

It wasn't all gravy, as I picked up some other feelings that she seemed to harbor towards my mother. She seemed disgusted by her weight, attitudes and outlook on life. Wanting someone to love her, and trying to see the positive in life made her seem weak to my aunt. Being obese made her almost worthless to any man that would have wanted her if she'd been slimmer. It became less about how much she loved and looked up to my mom and more about how much of a sucker she was. I'm curious to see if there are any additional dynamics to that relationship that I don't understand. Her point of view did give me some insights into why she may have abused me, especially in the ways that I'm about to describe.

My mother was very difficult to be with sometimes. If we all have a cup to lug around that holds all the stuff that we've dealt with, hers had overflown a real long time ago. She seemed perpetually on the brink of tears, when she wasn't moving frantically around the house sporting a maniacal smile that scared me when I would greet her at the door after school.

I never knew if the same Mommy that sent me off to school would be the one who would greet me at home when school was over. The same hands that lovingly applied lotion to my face, or combed and braided my hair, could strike out to slap or hit. Sometimes it made no sense which reaction I would receive. The same offense could merit a thousand different responses.

Once, I made the very bad mistake of telling secrets to a cousin of mine. For this, I was stripped of all my clothing and made to lie face down on the bed, spread eagle. Using a phone cord, my mother made sure I understood that what happened in our home, stayed inside it. Acting up at school was another no-no, as were bad grades, and not being obedient to her every demand. Sometimes during those beatings, she would talk about my body or I might get caressed on my butt. Eventually I came to have sexual feelings during them, so I'm sure that I'm blocking out some details. I know that I consciously choose to do so in order to keep loving her and to avoid hating myself.

If that were all that happened, I could stop there. There would be nothing to understand. But my aunt told me something. My mom confessed to her that she had molested me, starting from when I was a toddler. One day she went to pull my panties down for a spanking, and ended up masturbating me to orgasm instead. I don't remember that. I do know that I was very sexualized starting around that age, and my mother was verbally reprimanded by more than one person for my sexual acting out.  Some people felt I was too sexually precocious, and I had a habit of being sexual towards other children and men. I spoke with my other aunt about this, and she said something my mother always used to say. My mom would tell anyone who asked that I was a "sexual being" and that children were born being able to express sexual feelings and desires. People just assumed I was a horny little slut destined for early motherhood or prostitution. Almost word for word I got to hear the same things my mother used to say, in a voice that was eerily similar to my mom's.

I also remember the time when my mother reached her hands between my legs after trying to touch my breasts. I pulled away from her before she could touch me, and she laughed so hard at me. I always wondered about that, and that incident has disturbed me more than anything else she did. I think it was the point at which she realized that she could no longer touch me. I dissociated a lot back then, spending hours in a daydreaming state. Pretty much ignorant of the world around me, I created fantasy worlds to escape into. That's when I wasn't masturbating for hours on end.

According to my aunt, my mother liked touching me. She enjoyed my responses and liked to watch my clitoris become bigger and bigger. I know that my mother had a fascination with my body. The way it looked, responded and changed. She talked about it constantly, and it made me uncomfortable and ashamed. If my nipples became hard, that warranted a comment. There was a lot of focus on making sure that my genitals were always sweet smelling and clean. I had to sneak to masturbate as she would call attention to it, even if I did it in private. My mother also felt that men who touched young girls weren't always necessarily at fault. Sometimes, the little girls pursued them or were hot for it. She didn't feel men should be prosecuted in those instances.

For my sanity, I'm willing to see the aunt who told me the way that everyone else does: As a crazy overly religious loon. Otherwise, I can't deal with the thought that a mother who's hands were sometimes used to love and sometimes to hurt, touched me that way. Why would she do that to me? Even though it meshes and it makes sense in light of what I know and remember, I deny that. I refute it and it will never be a part of my truth. So Readers, what do you think? I really don't know what to think, and I've put up a wall around this piece of information. It perfectly fits the puzzle that is my childhood, but I don't want it to fit in. I just don't understand sometimes, and I don't know what to think or feel.

I'm back

Hey everyone! Sorry I was away so long. I've had a lot going on. School starts soon, and I'm dealing with our living situation right now. I'm going to start packing soon for our move, so that has my whole attention. So much has been on my mind. This past month really knocked me over, and in the next few days, I'd like to share some of that. So stay tuned!

The new edition is up on Google Producer

There's a new edition of this blog available for the Android, iPad, and tablet. It has the newest articles and a few sexy pictures from the web. Check it out.

Contemplating writing a book

For years, I've thought about compiling my life experiences into print form. I think someone out there could benefit from telling my story. I haven't seen too many like it, from a black perspective. One that I did find was A Piece of Cake, and while there are many similarities, I couldn't identify 100%. This blog is very therapeutic for me, and provides a release. It keeps me from acting out sometimes and allows me a place to put things I'm going through. Sometimes I don't have anyone to talk to about my life, so this helps a lot.

So readers, would you be interested in a book? It wouldn't be for another year, but I could start the preliminaries now. Talking to my cousin about my abuse and being bold about the sexual abuse I encountered at home tore down a roadblock that has stopped me from writing a book on myself before. So if you're interested, drop me a comment and tell me what kinds of things you would like my book to include. Ask me anything!

My life on the downlow (No more closets)

I've talked about this before, how there are people in the black community living in the closet. They live straight lives, but their reality is that they are gay, lesbian or bisexual. My reality is that I'm not straight. My friends, family and neighbors see me living a life that is a lie. I've been living that lie for over 20 years, and I'm tired of it. But I've dug such a deep hole for myself, that I don't see any way to climb out of it.

 My First Girlfriend

When I was 10, my mother enrolled me in day camp at the Y. She felt as an only child, I might benefit from interaction with other children. She meant well. I'd had a harrowing year after my rape, and I could use some time away from her just being a kid. It was a bad experience at the Y. I had to battle older boys trying to gang rape me when the counselor's backs were turned (which was often), threats from street-wise kids and teasing from other children. But there was one bright moment out of the whole experience. I met my first crush and had my first sexual experience with the same sex. And I don't mean a "Show me yours, I'll show you mine" type of encounter, but we actually had sex. But that's not the point of mentioning her right now. The point is that before we did all that, she recognized in me a kindred spirit. She knew that I was different in the same way that she was different. No one had ever noticed that before about me.

We talked about our sexuality, and how we hid it from those we loved out of fear of punishment. She asked if I liked boys, and I could honestly say I didn't. If I hadn't been raped, I might never have been with a man. I crushed on boys and men because that was the expected outlet for my sexual curiosity, but since I was 6 or 7, I enjoyed very close friendships with other girls. I found a kinship and a closeness that being with a boy just couldn't provide. I also found them sexy. Male bodies made me queasy, but I loved looking at women and their soft bellies, hips and thighs. They interested me. Not males. She felt the same way as me, and we bonded over our similar experiences. My new friend appreciated and loved my body that day, and I did the same for her. Unluckily for both of us, another camper caught us and tried to blackmail us into performing for her. We never went off alone again, but I still remember her after all these years. For years I carried shame around because of the things I did with her, but I was never sorry for doing them.

 Coming Out of the Closet the First Time

Around 15, I told my mother the truth. That I had no interest in boys and I was a lesbian. She withdrew from me, and as she told me later, fought to keep her stomach contents under control. Using the resources available to her, she prevailed upon my counselor to fix me, and baring that to help me find myself. I attended a GLBT teen group for a few years, finally leaving when I noticed that few women actually attended, and those who did were usually partnered. Every Saturday, I would put on my most baby butch outfit, and spend the afternoon with my friends at group, and go out to lunch with them afterwards. I'd watch my male friends kiss boys, revel in their club escapades, and we'd make fun of the adults in charge of group.

Meanwhile, my straight friends were growing up, and my mom was telling me in small ways that I needed to decide what I was. Where I wanted to be in life, and with whom. She also wanted grandchildren. I caved, and went back into the closet, just so she could stop looking at me like that. The disapproval in her eyes, and the quiet manner in which she regarded me was a change. I just wanted her to love me again the way she used to.

Hiding Myself Away

I've gone from man to man trying to find something that would make me alright. I married, divorced, shacked up and had babies by several men. All the while, I kept holding up my end of the bargain which said that I would be straight if only she'd stop looking at me like that. My mom passed on, and my need to provide a straight role model for my children replaced the old excuses that kept me in the closet. I felt that boys need a feminine mother, one who loved men and who could model femininity and the proper female role for them. If I was gay, what would they become by seeing that? And I didn't wish my life on anyone, especially not my kids. I would love them no matter what, but our family is very hard on those who step outside the boundaries of normal sexual behavior.

Years have passed, and I no longer know what I am anymore. Life and experiences have reshaped and molded anew, my body and mind. I'm not that strident ten year old girl who declared her love for women, nor that scared 15 year old who shook while she told her mother the secret she'd held inside for years. Who felt it was worth the telling, even if it hurt to tell. That she couldn't pretend to be something she wasn't anymore, and it was time to come out of that closet. Now, I'm in my early 30s, firmly in the closet, and I don't know what I am anymore. I'm so used to being used and misused by men that I've come to expect it. How do I find my way again and lead the life I'm meant to have. My oldest child's father told me I should be honest with myself. He's bisexual and he feels that I should do what makes me happy. Both him and one of my friends feel that the best role model I could provide to my kids is one that is open and who lives their truth, not lies. Am I that person?

My father is gay

 

Last night, I spent several hours talking with my cousin. Real talk. On every topic under the sun. Sex, men, our kids, family. The last one was the hardest one to talk about. There was laughter, gasps and at many times, tears almost splashed down cheeks because of something that was said. I've talked about my mom on here a little bit, but sometimes I feel crazy when I think about my childhood. Sometimes I wonder if I'm mistaken, if things weren't that bad. My cousin saw how things were for me. Not everything, but some of it. That validation brought some measure of closure and healing.

Out of respect for her, I won't tell my cousin's story here. I don't have that right. My cousin had a hard time growing up, and I wasn't the only one to experience these things. Our parents had an extremely hard childhood, and they had few people to balance the abuse of their mother. It took many years until I could feel any kind of compassion for my grandmother. Even as a kid, I had such hatred of her for hurting my mother and twisting her into the kind of parent that I had.

My cousin told me a lot of things which are weighing heavily on me today. One of them concerns my father. My mother was honest to me as a child about my father, once I was old enough to ask the right questions. She never turned me against him or told me lies about him. His behavior turned my love away from him, and he had a renewable supply of lies and bullshit. I knew about the drug use, cheating, prostitution. I thought I knew it all, but I didn't. When I was old enough to know, my mother told me about my father's bisexuality. Well, last night my cousin told me it was less bisexuality and more gay. My parent's relationship ended because he was gay. Everything I always believed about myself, my parents and especially my father, was a lie.

Knowing this about him, I can look back and it's like all these pieces of a bigger puzzle have snapped together and I understand what I'm seeing now. He was disowned by his brother, ostracized by his family. He moved cross country for a new life and every time we spoke, he had a new girlfriend. It explains the frenetic sexual activity and extreme promiscuity. Maybe it even explains the drug abuse. I'm not appalled that he was gay. Who am I to judge? It's the deception that bothers me most of all. My mother's family has a history of gay men marrying women to hide their sexuality then going on to abuse the woman and or the children. I'm sick of it. I watched my mother waste two decades of her life pining for someone who could never love her back. My father has psychological and personality problems that make him a very hard person to love, and yet she did.

I wonder if my conception was a cover for him. If he felt that having another child would prove he was a man to others. Am I bisexual because of some genetic inheritance on his or my mother's behalf? And if I speak with him again, how can I talk to him and not mention any of this? I just feel like it's a huge lie that no one felt I had the right to know, which is fucked up considering how many consequences I had to deal with because of these lies.

The best I ever had

 Normally, I don't share my sexual experiences just to share them. I place them within a context of some kind to tell a bigger picture that I have in mind. This post is an exception to that rule. I was inspired to write this based on an email from a reader. Although I'm in my early 30's, the best sexual experience I ever had was about 6 weeks ago. I've had good sex, even great sex. Mostly mediocre so-so sex, with a dash of never again, horrible bad sex. But each of those times, something was missing.

Dana was a young man that I met on Craigslist. He was in his early twenties, white, over 6 feet and extremely fit. So fit in fact, that we met after he worked out at a nearby gym. Dana had a previous sexual experience with an older plus sized woman and he wanted it again. It was a fetish of his. There was something about the shape and feel of a bbw that set him off. I remember him telling me that the age difference was another turn on. He wanted me to teach him some things. When it was over, I was the one who had learned something new. Standing there in gym shorts and a white t-shirt, Dana looked like Adonis personified. I still figured the sex would be so-so because of his age. Imagine my total surprise an hour later.

My body was worshiped, lovingly touched, appreciated and gazed at. He left no fold untouched. One of the best moments was during missionary when he grabbed my breasts and squeezed them hard while he pushed in and out of me in a blur. Dana had endurance. He could go and go.

I get down on myself a lot, so I was amazed that he came to me already hard and erect. I wondered why a man as attractive as him would want to be with me. Self esteem issues cause me to seek out partners younger, fitter and more attractive than me. I value myself based on my ability to have sex with men who are like that. Once with them, I doubt their ability to find me attractive. I pretty much find it hard to relax during sex as I spend so much time watching my body to make sure it doesn't jiggle, hang or move the wrong way.

I think this is part of the reason I didn't enjoy my last time with Young Daddy. While in the reverse cowgirl position, I became aware of the fact that my stomach was slapping against my thighs and that was making noise. Instantly, I was turned off and became less centered on the amazing sensations in my pussy and more focused on minimizing that sound. Young Daddy didn't care as he was making sounds of his own, though his were more moans and groans. He noticed the change in me and asked at various times if I wanted to keep going. I think he thrives on the fact that he can make me cum. Tuning out and becoming focused on getting it over would turn any man off.

My absolute favorite part of the encounter, aside from the love he showered on my breasts, was being in doggy style position with Dana. He rubbed, smoothed, grabbed and slapped my ass, thighs and back. It was like he was thirsty and hungry for me and couldn't get enough. The sounds of his hard body and my softer one slapping together sent me over the edge. Feeling my ass jiggle with each thrust kept me focused and aware of the sensations moving through me and heightened my arousal. Whatever position we moved to, I loved seeing his eyes roll back in his head and his soft moaning sounds.

Dana left me extremely well fucked and all I could do was drape myself on a couch and try to still my breath and stop sweating so much. I was completely covered in sweat and my pussy was dripping wet and sore. After a quick shower, I slept like a baby until morning time. I think this was the first step in my sexual awakening. For years, sex was something men did to, on or around me. Dana was the first man to have sex with me. We didn't make love, though there were tender moments. We fucked. But, we fucked together and we mutually enjoyed it.  I didn't focus on making him cum to the exclusion of my own pleasure. Many of my experiences have found me trying to get the guy off so that I can please him or get the encounter over quickly.

I can see my body now and I'm less disgusted by it. I still ask for the lights to be dimmed, but I no longer keep a t-shirt or bra on and haven't for years. However when I was with Dana, I did turn around to undress despite the fact that he was going to see it anyway. I'm trying to stop doing that. I chuck my clothes with abandon and after sex I no longer jump up to get dressed. The internet has been wonderful as a learning aide and I've been able to use it to develop self-acceptance. The experience with Dana has been a big part of accepting my fat body.

Google Producer is now live!

You can now view the latest edition of this site at Google Producer. This tool from Google allows users to create "magazine" editions that can be viewed on mobile devices such as iPad, Android and tablets. I'm pretty stoked about it. I just put together something basic with the latest posts and some pics, but you can take a look at:

https://www.google.com/producer/editions/CAowlqrHAQ/monday_71012

Adult breastfeeding resources

I came up with this list for people who are interested in and aren't sure where to get started. I came across a lot of them while I was searching for an ANR (adult nursing relationship) close to me. Towards the end, I included a few of my favorite videos. Enjoy!

The Land of Milk and Honey, is an all around useful resource. Not only is there articles and information on getting started, there are personal experiences, a message board and a very useful personals section. Ads are free and limited to one per person. There's also a gallery of very tasteful, though still NSFW pictures that you can view.

If you have an account with Yahoo, Adult Breastfeeding Personals can be worth a look. With over 3,000 members, you may find success finding a nursing partner. For support and general discussions of adult breastfeeding, Adult Breastfeeding Relationship Groups is a good group to try. There are discussions of breastfeeding groups and ANR issues in general. You're not allowed to promote groups or ask for partners, but you can make direct contact after you've established yourself on the board.

This next one seems strange, but if you are looking for factual and detailed information, especially if you are trying to re-lactate or have never breastfed before, this is your go to resource. La Leche League (The Milk League) was founded by a group of mothers interested in learning how to nurse their babies in an era where that was discouraged. It has since grown and there is information on extended and tandem nursing. And some adoptive moms are able to provide milks to their babies because of the guidance of the kind ladies here. It has published several books which can be purchased pretty cheaply online, especially used.

Those should get you off to a good start. I will update this guide with more as I come across sites. Here's a few of my favorite videos. Assume they are NSFW, as I don't want an email from anyone complaining to me about getting in trouble at work!:


This is a very sexy video of an older Asian woman nursing at the breasts of a younger one. There is some sex. This next one is a great compilation of nursing and pumping videos from an erotic perspective. The user has about 3 more videos like this one. Lastly, I enjoyed watching this one. The scene where she stands up and starts dripping everywhere was an enormous turn on for me. It's been very refreshing to get past my squeamish and to enjoy seeing others have this experience.

In the land of milk and honey

After posting about my Daddy issues, I realized that I forgot two of them. I just wanted to write about them quickly, as I would feel remiss if I didn't mention them. One is a white younger man, and the other is my age and black. Both of them make me feel good to be around, but I'm not sure where it will go.

Bear is fresh out of a bad relationship. He craves intimacy without strings attached. He's my hugging partner. He just wants to be held and to cuddle, with some sex thrown in from time to time. I need that. I put on a tough girl persona every morning when I step into my big girl panties. Sometimes I just want to drop that and fold into someone's arms and not be judged because I have tears falling from my eyes, or because I need to be weak for once and not hold the world on my shoulders. I think he could provide that, and I could provide that for him. When Mr. Shy held me before he left, I felt a real longing for another person. I was sure I had closed that part of myself down, but here it came bubbling back up. I felt such a longing for intimacy that I almost started crying in his arms. Hopefully time with Bear will help that.

Dom is very dominating. He can't wait to spend time with his sweet Baby Girl so that he can do all the things that a good Daddy wants to do. Like spank her, tie her down and fuck her until she comes all over his big dick. You know the usual. We just have to work out some time in our schedules as we both stay pretty busy. I think being with him will give me a good sexual release. I crave rough and dominating sex, but sometimes the men I meet are turned off by that. They look at me as damaged goods or disturbed. Dom understands and wants to dominate me as much as I need it.

I'm having Daddy issues Part 2

Things have changed a little bit since I last posted this. Relationships have changed and things have heated up with some of my Daddies. With others, things have dropped off a lot.

I ended up telling Big Daddy that I wanted more from him which left him completely dumbfounded. He couldn't understand why I would want to change anything. I need more intimacy from him and I want to grow our relationship. He wants to keep things the same. After spending some time going back and forth, I backed down and told him that I was ok just being friends. I have to admit that part of the reason for having this talk with his was because 1., I do want more, and 2., I'm not getting anything out of sex with him anymore. I just end up sweaty, sore and with a numb vagina. And his combined weight and mine make certain positions difficult. I'm not used to that.

Maybe I'm a casual sex addict. The first time of an encounter is often the hottest. You don't know what to expect. Each partner tries to bring their best, and I can lose myself in the sex easier. There's just something about grinding on the fat dick of a stranger that makes it easier for me to cum. Maybe because the man hasn't placed any demands on me, as we're not partners. Gradually, things level off and we develop a familiarity with each others bodies. In theory a good thing, but I really enjoy the sparks from a new sexual encounter. This may explain my last time with Young Daddy. We had good sex, but halfway through I'm squeezing him with all I had as I'm ready for him to be done. I wasn't feeling it like before. The first time we had sex, I learned some new erogenous zones in my vagina.

I love the way that he makes me call him Daddy during sex. When he rubs my sweaty body and his hands glide over the skin of my ass, that sends chills through my whole body. Young Daddy isn't content to just fuck. He wants to talk to me during it and touches me all over. He fucks me rough, fast and dirty, and I always come away dripping sweat. And he is very vocal when something feels good. It's easy to get feedback from him. Plus a hard dick that never goes down is very good. I just need to spice things up next time. I almost popped when he demanded for me to come for him. There's just something about a domineering man that gets me off. I'm just surprised to find one so young.

There hasn't been too much communication between Nasty Daddy and I. After failing to produce pictures for him, he hasn't shown much of an interest in me. In fact I've discovered a manipulative streak in him. He gives me very little in the way of emotional support while consistently browbeating me about my disobedience. He holds out the carrot that we'll be together soon, but I doubt it. Back to the corner Nasty Daddy! Too bad he's being like that. My fetish partner agreed to take pictures for him.

Papi loveeees Mami's tetas! He spent hours loving and sucking them. Kneading them between his hands and reshaping them over and over again. I wonder if he would suck the milk from them if I were lactating? Things are changing between us, and I think it's a good thing. He's really into me, and I have to admit that a man who loves what I consider to be one of my least favorite features, is perfect.

Mr. Shy ignored me after out first time together. After I'd given up hope on seeing him again, he texted me to say that this weekend was really hectic for him. I can't wait to see where things will go with him. I want to spend time drawing him out of his shell. I could really turn him on to some freaky stuff (spanking, domination, rimming, etc), and I think it would be a gratifying experience for all involved.







"Free image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net"
(I chose this image because of PTCruiser's comments on another post. I haven't had enough images of black men on this blog which is strange, as half of my lovers are black. Enjoy!)

Just wanted to reblog this

While browsing the new blog posts on one of the sites I visit, I happened to see an excellent post on Kelly Shibari, who is the first ever BBW to have her body used to create a FleshlightFleshlight. These are flesh-like sex toys designed to be penetrated by men. Shaped like a flashlight, they are molded from the bodies of actual women. Kelly's an extremely pretty Asian BBW, and I think it's very cool that she's being immortalized this way. Plus, how often do you see the bodies of bigger women appreciated like this? Especially a minority woman? Check out more at Blasian Bytch.

A letter to my readers

Every so often, I receive an email from a reader of this blog, thanking me for being so open about my experiences. Before I started this blog, there wasn't really too many black voices out there talking about the things I write. Sure there were black sexuality blogs, but I hadn't seen once that so boldly stepped out there and laid it out raw the way I do. I know I'm not the only one. I've had the privilege to meet other black women such as myself. I just wonder why I'm the only voice out there speaking these things.

Maybe other black women are afraid of confirming stereotypes that America holds about black women. Today I was talking with my friend and she asked me do I ever get tired. Tired of living up to the stereotypes of a prostitute. Before you go "Damn", her and I were talking about the perceptions that others have held for my life since I was a baby. People assumed and voiced the opinion that I would be a whore just like my mother. A prostitute. And in so many ways, I have lived up to that.

I've sold myself for money. Given sex away as freely as one passes out tissues, and allowed so many men to walk over me. I've had children with different fathers, and abortions by even more men. Isn't that what a prostitute does? Haven't I been a good whore? My friend said maybe I should start defying those stereotypes others have laid on my life. That I need to rise above those expectations.

My friend grows flustered with me. She was there for me when I came out, and is dumbfounded that I continue to have sex with men. The fear of losing her is foremost in my mind. What if she grows fatigued with my shenanigans? Any friend, even a really good one, will grow frustrated with hearing the same ratchet behavior all the time. I know sometimes she dissociates when I talk about my abuse. I think it's too much for her. Lately, I've tried to keep from discussing anything too serious out of fear that eventually she won't talk to me. I don't want her to see me as her dramatic self-centered friend. But I think that's what I've become. I'm going through so much right now, and I have no one to talk to. Well, I have one other friend. A new one who is addicted like me. So much of our life stories are similar. But I worry about stressing her out, and losing her too.

Even though I created this blog to have a secret place to write down my experiences and feelings, it's become so much more. It's become an outreach to other people, a confirmation that someone else shares this dark secret. A secret so terrible that they are afraid to disclose it, because it could mean the lose of those they love. People are able to see someone who's just like them, living in the margins, who's less than perfect and isn't afraid to put it out. I just hope that the people who read this will decide to open up about their lives. You never know who you influence or help with what you write. It might give someone the strength to keep going.

A pocket full of pennies

Sometimes I've regretted the way that I treated a man. I have to admit that I was often picky about the wrong things, or too quick to discard someone who did not meet some demand that I had. One of those men is Guy. I have no idea where or when I met him, as I was heavily into my sexual addiction, as well as a more traditional addiction.

Guy seemed sweet and nice, too nice at times. Tall, dark and lanky, he was fresh out of a bad relationship with a long-term girlfriend. As things progressed with him, I was asked out on a date to a movie. Thank God my mother taught me the $20 rule. It goes something like this: Always have $20 that you can use to pay your own way, or to leave if you're ready to go. That way you aren't stranded in a bad situation. Guy had brought money to pay for the movie. Just enough in pennies, nickles and dimes to pay for his fare. I let it go. He wasn't my boyfriend, and I could pay my own way. Still I was kind of surprised by that.

Fast forward to later at his house. Guy took me to his house, and after sitting around awhile, decided to make out with me. I acquiesced, and clothes came off. I wish they hadn't. I'm not perfect, far from it But I do enjoy a well endowed man. Guy was extremely under-endowed with a length of maybe, and this is stretching, maybe 2 inches. I had no idea where he thought that would go. I demurred and opted for some extended cuddling.

Sometimes I think back on Guy. A lot of women often want the man who has a promising future, prospects and is a nice guy. However no one wants to put in the work that a having a man like that entails. Take the Obamas for example. When Michelle met Barack, he wasn't a successful anything. He was still trying to get his life together. I have friends that married wonderful guys that were broke when they met them. Sometimes the love of a woman is enough to motivate a man to become more than he is. Not always, but sometimes.

I was so desperate for love back then. Maybe I still believed it was possible for someone to love me, and for me to love them back. My hurt was broken in so many ways by men unworthy of my time and attention. There was no real reason to dismiss Guy, and yet I did. Well he did have a weird smell. But still. Most of the men I have dated have been abusive or violent. Addicted or otherwise unavailable to me. Yet time and again I gave them my attention and I tried to love them, in my own disturbed way.  I'm sorry Guy. Maybe I should have given you a chance and been sweeter to you.

A short intro to adult breastfeeding

As I stated before in another post, I've experimented with adult breastfeeding. I struggled a bit with using breast milk in my sexual relationships. I chose to be in denial even when it was obvious that Alain was suckling more than his own spit at my breasts. The 'mmms' should have clued me in. An ex of mine explicitly asked that I continue expressing milk when he was away from me, as he wanted to enjoy plentiful milk during our times together. I think part of my discomfort stemmed from the belief that my breasts and milk should only be used to nourish my child. I struggle with expressing my sexuality while pregnant and nursing. These experiences stretched my conception of myself as a sexual being and a mother, and were pretty hot as well.

Some couples use breastfeeding as a way to share intimacy with each other. It can make the one nursing feel nurtured and can bring out maternal feelings in the one doing the nursing. Oxytocin is released during several life experiences. Sex, childbirth, orgasm and nursing. This hormone makes the woman feel relaxed and calm and helps bond mother to infant during birth and while breastfeeding.

One of the best ways to make milk is to be pregnant or to give birth. While it is not a requirement, having the body make the physical and hormonal changes need for nursing over 9 months makes it easier for the breasts to make milk. Adoptive mothers who have never been pregnant or older women, have been able to make milk with enough stimulation of their areola. See, breast milk isn't expressed by suckling at the nipples. It takes repeated sessions of nursing at the areola, or dark area surrounding the nipple, for the brain to get the signal to make milk. Nipples don't push out milk. The milk 'lets down' during suckling which can feel like tingling or even painful at first. The aveoli which store the milk (think tiny bunches of grapes) squeeze out the milk once they receive the signal that it is needed. Aggressive nipple sucking will lead to only one thing: Sore nipples.

Some nursing couples find the greatest success with a schedule. Scheduling in regular nursing sessions makes it easier on the woman as she is less likely to become engorged. The other partner will probably appreciate frequent nursing as the more nursing there is, the more milk is produced. In a few weeks, I will produce a second part to this which expands on this more.

The process

My "process"

Last week, I had access to about 4-5 men daily. Did I have sex with that many? No! But I had the ability to, and if I were younger I might have gone for it. I did in the past. You may wonder, "How does this fat bitch get fucked so much?". Well that's the purpose of this post. I'm going to write a little about how I find men, and what I tend to look for. Even a bit about how I choose a partner. Primarily, I'm looking for a sexual relationship. My life is too busy, and I'm too wounded to do more than have sex with someone at this point in my life. Last night I wanted BBC. For those of you not in the know, that refers to Big Black Cock. So, when I want what I want, and I want it in fast, I turn to Craigslist.

The key is a catchy headline and a concise and informative paragraph. It just needs to be what you are looking for, your stats and any other requirements or turn offs. For mine, I stated that I wanted some BBC and I told a little about myself. Of course, 95% of my responses were belligerent white men and a few Hispanics. But I did find the BBC I wanted and it was guuuud! But I digress lol. I tend to look several places when the 'itch' is upon me.

Depending upon the desire, I may use an ad placed on Craigslist, or I may try to find a man on pof.com. I have also branched out to Adult Friend Finder and a few other sites. Pof is great for cultivating a longer term friends with benefits relationship. For a quickie, Craigslist is the way to go.

Once the responses come in, I first look for ones with pictures. I respond most to clear pictures that do not features penises. Next, I want to know what the man is looking for, and if he can read. If you are a white dude, my BBC ad should have been passed over lol. Unfortunately, as I stated above, 95% of my responses before it was flagged, were white men. For some reason, a black woman stating a preference for black man is responded to with "Why does it have to be about color" and " We're all the same race." No, I do not discriminate, but sometimes I have this need for a man of my own race, and that will not be sated by a non-black man. Once I have looked at the emails with pictures, I read through those without. I have gotten some great responses from a guy who didn't send a picture initially because he was wary of my being either a 'pro' or a bot.

What makes me choose a man is several things. He should make me feel comfortable and at ease. A man who boasts too much about his sexual prowess and skills usually sucks in bed. Any man who is desperate to meet, to the point of hounding me days after I've stopped emailing him, gets blocked. I also weed out Angry Men, and Slut Punishers. If a man spends emails testing me and telling me he is afraid or bitter because of past women in his life, I bounce. Some men are uncomfortable with expressions of feminine sexuality. They may become reticent or belligerent if confronted with the fact that real women fuck. Not just make sweet Victorian (Just lay back and think of England) love, but sweating, screaming, ugly faces fucking. Some feel the need to punish these sluts and it can escalate to violence, stalking or abuse. So yea, I avoid them.

I tend to spend a lot of time emailing back and forth and getting to know the guy. Once things progress this turns into text messaging and phone calls. I may text a man over 70 times and have several conversations before I feel comfortable enough to meet him. The next step, well you read about that all the time on this blog. If you have any questions, respond to this post and I will followup with another post.

I'm having Daddy issues

By mutual unspoken agreement, my father and I aren't involved with each other. He has my main number blocked and I don't reach out to him. It's a waste of time. So when I write that I'm having Daddy issues, I'm primarily talking about the other men in my life. Right now, I am seeing or talking to a handful of men, each with their own issues and requirements.

One of my "Daddies" had a problem getting off. No matter the position, type and strength of stimulation or ability I brought to the table, he seems to go on and on. Like the Lil Train That Could. Only thing was, that left me puffing and chugging along, and sore to boot. Anal fixed that. I have a great rapport with Big Daddy, and he puts me at ease. It started out as teasing motions with his cock against my ass and eventually he just 'popped' in. I had to stop him and find lube, as I reminded him that pussies are self-lubricating. Not assholes.

 Young Daddy wants to swing. He's not content to just stay home and have great sex. He wants us to meet up with a couple he knows, and I don't blame him. But time constraints make it hard for me to comply. I feel so old because I can no longer just jump up at a moment's notice, grab my lube and toys, and head to the orgy/4some. I envy his youth and enthusiasm, and I hope I don't end up losing him anytime soon.

Nasty Daddy is mad. Mad as shit. He likes to send me on sexual adventures which I have complied with. He is especially fond of me taking multiple hard and thick, black cocks. He wants me well used and completely stretched. Ruined pussy is his favorite thing in the world. Unfortunately for him, my pussy is tighter than the security at Fort Knox, but I can still make him happy by taking big cock after big cock. That's not the problem. The issue is that Nasty Daddy wants pictures. Lots and lots of pictures of his Baby Girl being stretched wide and filled. Pictures of her giving oral pleasure. And well, Little Princess has not been complying. For various reasons, I keep forgetting to take pictures, or the guys get skittish on camera. The last time we talked, he blew up with me and told me to get with the program. Yea, I think Nasty Daddy needs a time out.

Papi is sweet. A true Spanish gentleman and he's very well rounded. He's also freaky as fuck. We haven't had sex yet, but talking to him leaves my panties (if I wore any) drenched. We still haven't made love, but I can't wait. He talks to me about the mundane and the sacred and I can envision a life with him sometimes. Except he says he just wants a friend with benefits situation. I wonder why he bothers to romance me when I would drop my panties for him at the snap of a finger. Oh, and did I mention he plays the Spanish guitar and sings? I've noticed that Latino men will whisper lovely things into your ear and completely romance you. So I'm learning to respond to them based on their actions and not just their words. I will do an update on Papi as things progress.

My last Daddy is Mr. Shy. Like his name suggests, he is terribly shy. I had to seduce the poor guy almost. He came to me fully erect and at attention, and the poor guy was too afraid to tell me to get on my knees for him. He's tall, dark with smooth chocolate skin and has great skills in bed. A little quick on the draw the first go round, he still had me humming. Something he did bothered me though. He seemed really down on himself and was unable to speak up for his desires. I think with training, I could turn Mr. Shy out, and really bring out his inner freak. He also gives the best hugs and has a wonderful smell. Mmm.

Big, beautiful, black and addicted?! Pt. 2

See, this article gets it. It article describes the ideas behind who or what is perceived as a sexual addict. Successful Americans who exhibit a high out of control sex drive are more apt to be labelled addicted to sex. A minority, especially a black woman, is often seen as hypersexual. Increased sexual activity, or hypersexuality, is a facet of many disorders such a manic depression, sexual addiction, some personality disorders, and some victims of child sexual abuse will exhibit hypersexual traits during puberty and beyond.

Let's see. I grapple with manic depression, a personality disorder (none of your business :P), and I was the victim of child sexual abuse. I don't want to lay the blame solely on those factors, but I think they are contributing causes for my addiction. As I meet more sexual addicts, I often meet people from different walks of life who have the same or similar life stories. Sexual abuse, abandonment as a child, mental problems, other addictions.

This part especially drove home the point I have been trying to make, and I could identify myself in it:

"Generally, a sexual addict gains little pleasure from sexual activity and is unable to form a bond with his or her partner. The actions of a hyper-sexual often lead to feelings of guilt, embarrassment and shame. The sexual addict overlooks the risks and consequences, be it financial, health, social or emotional.
Hyper-sexuality can be a result of adrenal gland abnormalities or disease, bipolar disorder sometimes referred to as manic depressive disorder and often associated with juvenile hyper-sexuality, puberty, frontal lobe trauma; it has also been observed in the elderly suffering from dementia."

I derive little sexual pleasure from my acting out, this week notwithstanding. In fact, I sometimes experience pain or injury as a result. I don't feel very empowered with my ass up in the air and my face on the ground. After the experience is over, I freak out about the consequences. When I'm riding the moment to hell, nothing affects me. Afterwards I have to pick up all the pieces and try to prevent it from happening again.

I will write on this more later, but I thought this was a great find for others like me out there experiencing this. We hide ashamed, feeling guilty and hurting inside. If more people came out about their struggles, maybe people would have more understanding for us. Sometimes I doubt it though. Sexual addiction, especially among poor black women is still seen as a moral issue and not as a mental health one. Public opinion says that we just need to control ourselves. Stop having babies. Lose weight. Hide behind (marry) a man. Control our unbridled sexuality. Just Disappear.

Sex addiction as a form of self injury or harm

When you think of self-injury, you tend to think of emoish teen girls cutting themselves. Or maybe binging and purging. You never think sex. Sex is supposed to be about intimacy or bonding oneself to another person. Can you use sex to harm yourself? How can something that's supposed to feel good hurt so much?

I finally realized some things about myself. I use sex, especially unprotected sex that leads to multiple pregnancies. as a way to hurt myself. I feel better when I'm bogged down in another crisis pregnancy, or trying to decide what to do. It's an opportunity to care for myself and find attention. I can show myself the attention and caring I never received during my rapes or abuse at home.

There have been many times where I had sex to the point of pain. Then had more sex to further irritate myself. This week I had so much sex that it hurt to even sit down. I can masturbate for hours, even after my clitoris burns. The way that I have sex is in itself, very harmful.

Usually, I perform oral sex on a man, while minimizing his chances to touch me. Once he is hard (if he didn't arrive that way), I will get on all fours with my face touching the ground, and push my ass towards him. When he's in, I encourage my partner to act 'abusive'. I will tell him to call me names such as bitch, whore or slut. Another biggie is to make him pump me as hard as possible, even if it hurts. If the man hits me, I become very aroused. To just thoroughly abuse and misuse me during sex.

I've managed to restrain myself from asking to be held down or forced. I've really wanted to ask a man to force me to take his cock, but I'm scared of the reaction. Many guys might be scared they'll be accused of rape, or wonder about my mental state. But sometimes I want to. Instead I allow any man who looks good to lay on top of me, or push me up against a wall and pull my panties down. I even let some of them cum inside me.

Even though I want to avoid diseases and pregnancy, I feel better if I let them unload inside me. I feel degraded and like a true whore when a man's semen is running down my legs or pooling in my panties. Because of health issues, my choices of contraceptive are limited to polyurethane condoms or spermicidal. When I become hypomanic, I don't take care of my sexual health the way I should. It's easier to ignore it, or it doesn't come up. 

When I'm manic, it's like my mind is on fire, but I don't notice. I just flit from thing to thing, never lingering for long in one place. It's hard to remember birth control at those moments. My attention tends to be focused on my family and on really stupid shit. Many, though not all, of my pregnancies were conceived when I was either hypomanic or acting out sexually because of my addiction. Once I come down from that, I have to face the consequences of what I've done. I think I even conceived once while selling myself. Selling sex may be another way I abuse myself. Forcing myself to be with men for sex confirms how I feel about myself. I put on a brave face, but inside it's killing me.

"Stand up"

Well, I'm sitting here listening to Lil Wayne thinking about an encounter I just had. Devon seemed like the kind of man I normally have sex with. Except he wasn't. His intensity scared me and I shied away from his eyes much of the time as it seemed he could truly see to the center of me. Something happened which I've never had happen before.

I went down on my knees as usual. My sexual encounters have a very ritualistic manner to them. The guy touches me a little, then I fall to my knees and suck him until it's time to have sex. No one has ever did what Devon did tonight. He told me to stand up. He kissed and savored my body in a way few men ever have. I'm blown.

I'm so used to sliding to my knees to receive some guy's cock in my mouth. Whether for free, or because I'm getting paid, it's what I do. I know a lot of it has to do with the experiences I had at 12 with an almost 19 year old man. He used me as his personal suck machine every time he would see me. Something like that sticks with you.

I can say I have never had my pussy so thoroughly loved in its whole life. My G-spot was caressed, massaged, rubbed and rocked. Yes rocked. I was so wet after awhile that he slid several fingers inside me and it was like a mini introduction to fisting. He didn't hurt me, in fact he ignited passions, sensations and nerves I didn't know I had. My legs were in the air, and I clenched down on him like a fist. I had to cover my mouth at one point to keep from screaming. I'm sure I had a few mini orgasms around his hand before I stopped him to offer that blow job again. All I can say is wow.

Big, beautiful, black and addicted?!

When most people think about sexual addiction, they're thinking about a man. A white male in his 20's or 30's. Middle class. Educated. Married. They're not thinking about a person of color, poor, or female. There are words for what we are and it has nothing to do with addiction. Immoral. Licentious. Promiscuous. Nonwhites, the poor and women are never allowed to have reasons for their failings. Instead our shortcomings are supposed to be hard coded into our DNA and reinforced through "negative" cultural practices and standards. Bullshit.

I don't know why I'm like this. I know that many things have combined to make me this way. Experiences, choices and luck have all mixed together to make me the way that I am. To many people, it seems incongruous that a person like me could not only be addicted to sex, but actually have it that often. I often fight the assumptions from others that a big woman is desperate, promiscuous and has few options. I have options and I exercise them regularly.

I've been approached and approach. While my preference as of late is young and athletic, I have had sex with chubby and skinny men as well. I've been sought out, desired, stalked and maybe loved. Even at my dustiest and most broken, I've had options and someone sniffing at me. Even if I really didn't want them to lol.

Lately it amazes me the number of men who are searching for a bigger woman, especially one of color or older. Men who are pretty desirable and who you would expect to find on the arm of an equally attractive girl. As I have said before, I know I'm not pretty. But I have sex appeal in buckets. My body drips sex and I send out feelers towards men that they can understand.

Most of my life, I've felt inadequate. I was scarred from the time I spent enrolled at a private school. Most of the children were the offspring of multigenerational mixed race parents. Parents like mine. Only problem was I took more after the African side of the family than the more "exotic" sides. If students weren't light, bright and damn near white, they had money or were smart. That's the only way you got in there. I was smart. One boy in particular made my time a daily hell. His personal nickname for me was 'Blackie' which he used to describe my copper colored skin. The boy was almost coal colored. When I called him on it, he let me know that it was ok for men to be so dark, but that it was wrong for a woman to be so black.

I remember being made to feel inadequate for my skin color and hair. There was a boy in our class who showed an interest in me above and beyond that of the other girls. You'd be surprised how much a pair of C cup breasts will influence a fourth grade boy! We were caught kissing, and only I was punished by our teacher. She beat it into me that I was nasty, promiscuous and that I sullying that poor mulatto boy with my whorish behavior. Little wonder I withdrew even more into myself. This was the first positive thing that had happened to me since my rape that year, and that teacher made me feel so dirty about it. I think part of it was that she knew about the rape and felt it had tainted me somehow.

At home, my mother never made me feel inadequate about my color. She had plenty of fodder with my weight and hair. I was always 10-15 lbs overweight, and she made sure I knew that she was much smaller at my age. I can remember growing out of my favorite pair of yellow pants and feeling like shit because I was too fat to fit them anymore. I was 8 and already hated my body. Eventually I stopped eating except for dinner and a snack. Soon I would binge, purge and starve my body in an effort to slim it.

My hair is mostly nappy with a looser texture towards the back, unlike her curly and wavy mane. I would ask why mine had to be so ugly and she would explain to me that we had different fathers. That my grandfather had given her that, and mine had cursed me with this. She made sure I understood that I shouldn't make a baby with a man who had nappy hair. And I knew how important it was to maintain the racial composition of our family. So I coveted mainly mixed looking guys who resembled my grandfathers and stayed away from darker men who could give me babies with nappy hair and dark skin. To this day if you asked me, I would say that my skin color looks closest to Alek Wek, even though my skin is much, much lighter than that. It's how I perceive myself.

By the time I was in my late teens and early twenties, I was using my body to gain attention and  make money. I think my addictions stem from my need to control uncomfortable emotions, situations and thoughts. Instead of thinking about my rapes, I could snort, smoke and fuck myself into numbness. Sometimes it worked. I'm going to end it there, but I will try to write more in depth with issues of addiction on this blog. Sometimes people have these preconceived ideas of how a group of people will behave. My purpose for this blog, along with telling my story, is to shatter that mindset. Addicts are people.

A temporary setback

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Who's out there listening?

I just have one thing to say. Please comment. I know someone is reading this, but no one ever leaves comments. I feel kinda vulnerable here and I wonder what others think about the stuff I've been writing. Plus it would be nice to know what else you guys would like to read about. I mostly flow with what's happening in my life or on my mind. If you have a special request, want me to talk about something or have questions, this is your chance. Speak up!

Laissez les bons temps rouler

As much as I go on and on about my love of women, all I tend to talk about on here is "teh menz". So I'm going to post a little quick something about them. I love them. Their bodies, pussies, faces, skin, smell. All that. If I could live in a world of nothing but titties, I could die happy! I'm just highly intimidated by women.

For a month now, I've been trying to find a female friend I can take things slow with. Hear me well, there is no shortage of cute guys willing to have sex with me. There does seem to be a dearth of eligible ladies. I think part of it is that I'm a mother.

I have small children and to many so called "gold star" lesbians, that is a no no. That tells them that I've been fucked by men, and I may have liked it! Why else would I have so many children? There was a blog post I read a few weeks back where this black lesbian castigated so-called fake black lesbians with kids. She all but called us whores. She felt there was no way a woman could wake up years down the line with several kids, a marriage or a man and go "I'm gay". For the record, I didn't. I knew even before my first lesbian experience at 10, that I was sprung on women. Boys and men did nothing for me. The blogger felt most single moms were compensating for the lack of cock by using a stud to fill that need.

I sleep with men because I can't allow myself to be with a woman. I've done it so long, I don't know if I can stop. It's really hard to call myself a bisexual as my father is one, and I don't want to ever be anything that is associated with him. The dislike goes that deep. Plus bisexual screams, fucks anything. I know, I know, but bear with me.

I have only a slight attraction to masculine lesbians and bisexual women. If I had to put into words what I like, it would go something like this: Not skinny, at least 30, black, big breasts and booty and a good head on her shoulders. I have always preferred to date those with kids, once I had some of my own. I also feel that a woman is most beautiful between the ages of 25-45. She comes into her own. Her body is softer, and I find the way a woman's body looks after kids to be very sensual. I love the curves.

It's seems strange that I prefer older women, or "Milf" types. I tend to have sex with men younger than me as I don't find guys in their 30s all that attractive. Their bodies have started to soften, their sex drive is less "driven", plus they exhibit many behaviors that I cannot tolerate. Who wants to put up with a decade's worth of man-PMS? I don't!

Many times I have slept with men to fulfill my urges for women. I tended to choose androgynous men, or those who had feminine ways. If I couldn't have some pussy, that was the next best thing. Now, I feel sad because I missed out on so many years of good sex and relationships with women by trying to please others.

I know a lot of my attraction to older women is based on my relationship with my mother, as well as other women in my life as a child. As much as I loved my "second mama", she still turned my head as well. She was a bad bitch. She always had her hair right, wore outfits that accentuated her figure without revealing too much, and knew how to handle men. Much of what I know about seducing men and manipulating them came from her. She taught me never to be sorry about the things I do, or to have regrets. I don't know if that has helped or hindered me in life.

Whisper sweet things to me

Today has been kinda strange for me. I spent a lot of time thinking about Gael, a former lover of mine. He was short, chubby and Latino, and he screwed me into the ground. I originally slept with him in order to make him stop calling me. I figured that once he got what he wanted, he'd stop coming around. Didn't quite work that way.

When Gael knocked on my door, my friend took one look and told me to send his chubby ass home. He wasn't the sexiest guy, but then I'm not the sexiest girl. I just happen to have big breasts and an extremely tight vagina, but I digress. I let him in and she took the kids to the park for the afternoon. After a false start, we got down to business.

He took such pleasure in exploring my body and touching it. He made my thighs tremble and my insides melt when he tasted me. There was an early mishap that almost derailed things, but we were able to overcome it. I was still lactating. He sucked on my nipple and immediately received a mouthful of milk which he promptly spat out. I was simultaneously insulted and embarrassed. How dare he reject my milk, and omg that didn't just happen.

A previous lover, Alain, loved my breasts. He would spend almost an hour sucking, kneading, playing and pulling at them and had me quite worked up when he was done. He also had the habit of going 'Mmm' when he would suck my nipples. I wondered at times if he was sucking the milk from them, but I was too prudish to ask. Gael barely sucked my nipple and got a mouthful, so I'm sure Alain was getting more than titty out of it. I just know that I would feel really content and hot when he was doing it. Every time we met, he would go straight for my breasts.

Another boyfriend (the pimp) demanded that I keep up my milk supply once my baby was weaned. A big 'selling' point to his friends was that I was still lactating. Also the tight vagina lol. My ex also loved sucking on my nipples in order to drain my breasts of milk.

Gael, was not turned on by my milk, but there were other things we could do. That afternoon we made love in every position and even a few I didn't know possible. At times we would fuck vigorously, before settling down into gentle love making. I was turned on completely by the sound of our sex music, and my whole body was inflamed and alive. We spent time pillow talking with each other which was something I wasn't accustomed to.

One of the things I loved the most was when he would call me Mamis (yes Mamis not Mami lol). he would say it in this cute Spanish accent that no one else in his family seemed to have. I loved, loved to hear him moan that out when he was buried deep inside me, on the edge of his own orgasm. Speaking of which, I came so easily with him. I don't normally cum from sexual intercourse, unless I'm on top, so it was surprising to say the least when my body began to shake and my pussy exploded from the inside out. Once I relaxed, I was having multiple orgasms with him and completely drenching his cock.

Our favorite positions those first few times were doggy-style, cowgirl (reverse, normal and Asian cowgirl), side-lying and standing up. I had planned on a quick ten minute encounter that ended up bridging 2 days and 13 hours. Once I was on his cock, I couldn't get off. It was like my brain would switch off and and all sensations would go straight to my pussy. I needed him inside me. It was like there was this itch that only he could soothe, inside of me. We had sex for about 7 hours the first day, and he came back and we made love for another 6 hours the second day. It was nice to have the time and leisure to spend having sex without worrying about other stuff.

Eventually I had to tell him to stop coming everyday, as I had children to care for and other obligations. The kids were with my friend and out of the house when he was over both times, but I didn't like how I had surrendered so easily into being with him. That first day, when I had planned never to see him again, he asked for exclusivity within a serious relationship. Little did I know the sex was as good as it was going to get, and that he was hiding his real personality from me.