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.

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 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.

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.

"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.