Wonder Night.

He pulls me in closer to him, putting his beer down and wrapping his now free arm around my waist, grabbing my butt. I give him a flirty smile as he squeezed it so hard. He now has both hands on my ass and crushes me against him, holding me captive with his eyes. My body is confused, like it doesn’t know whether to melt or erupt into butterflies or float away to cloud 9.

We went out to the parking lot holding hands ready to leave. Being with him just seems natural; it’s comforting and warm and exciting and makes me feel safe.

I can’t think and I can’t breathe and my heart has never pounded so fast in my life because he is kissing me. Morris is kissing me and all is right in the world.

All my stress, problems and worries melt away with the softness and intensity of his kisses. Everything around us ceases to exist as I focus on the warm, tingling fire stemming from wherever he is touching me and spreading throughout my entire body.

My mind, body and soul is just consumed with fire and I can’t think of anything else except the burning need to be closer.  He inclined the passenger seat and pulled me in, easily lifting me onto his lap, my knees placed on either side of him so that i’m straddling him as I pull myself closer to him, my arms around his neck.

No amount of butterflies or fireworks could compare to the feeling I’m experiencing as his lips move in sync with mine. It’s like all I’ve ever needed in this world is to be held and kissed this passionately by this amazingly powerful and intense man and it’s like there’s nowhere else I’ve ever wanted or needed to be than right here.

He trailed kisses down to my neck and to my breasts and started sucking on them. I arched my back as he sucked my left nipple, and it tickled. He trailed kisses down to my stomach and slowly to my pants. He pulled my skinny jeans and undies down at the same time.

He stared at my area and looked at me. He smirked and slowly made his way to it. My heart was pumping so fast, I gripped his hair. Kissing both sides of my thighs, I let out a loud moan, as he slowly had his finger on my yoni slowly stroking it. I bit my bottom lip as he licked my clit with his tongue slowly placing his hand on my breast and squeezing it. I placed my hand on top of his hand, I couldn’t stop moaning. He increased his speed and put his finger into my coochie real fast. I couldn’t hold it anymore, I had to cum any second now.

“I-I-I’m gonna cum…hu…hu OMG!” I said with all of my breath.

He licked up all of my juices and kept kissing my clit and everywhere, sucking his finger that had my cum on it. He looked up in to my eyes, smiled and winked at me. He bit on my thigh, that probably was going to leave a mark on it.

From Drought To Deluge.

I lifted my top over my head and undid my bra, letting it drop to the floor. I began to circle my hands around my breasts imagining they were his hands. I noticed how stiff my nipples were, too sensitive to touch, but the areola area felt wonderful. I continued exploring my chest and breasts with my hands, pausing slowly as I ran my fingertips near but not on the nipples. The lips of my womanhood were tingling and even without touching, I knew my pussy was very wet.

Reaching down with one hand, I could feel the edge of my skirt sliding up my thigh, as my hand began to tightly touch the top and inside of my thighs, still lightly caressing my breasts with one hand. I continued exploring the sensations of touching my thighs. I was startled by my trance as my fingers traced lightly over the surface of my panties, slowly walking over them along the swollen inner lips of my woman hood. “Um” I thought, “I’m wet… this feels so nice.” I continued to run my fingers along the lips and the inner parts of my thighs.

I lay on his bed, my left hand pressing harder on my lips, applying enough pressure to slip my finger deeper between the inner swollen lips, restrained by my panties, I shifted my legs slightly so my lips parted a bit. I let my finger rise up and over my clit. “Um…pleasurable”

My skirt still above my waist and my hand working it’s magic inside my soaked panties. I was still fondling my breasts, but was now lightly squeezing  my so hard nipple, the strong aroma of my sex, adding up to my pleasure. The image of my half naked body on his bed, skirt pulled up to my waist, my erect nipples being rolled between the fingers of one hand while the fingers of the other were dancing under the layer of my wet panties was exciting me.

I decided to remove my panties in a sensual way, using my two hands, I pulled them halfway down and bent my knees slightly. My fingers were frantically rubbing hard across my clit making my juices flow out of my honeypot slowly. That release is all I wanted. Pressure started building up and my body was now covered with goosebumps.

I let out loud lustful moans, I could feel blood rush all through my body and I knew this was it. I was a geyser ready to explode, my legs started to shake and I couldn’t hold it. The orgasm was so strong such that I was woken up by a loud knock at the door 2hours later.


The theme of the Alchemist revolves around how everyone should live in the pursuit of their dreams.

Making a decision is only the beginning of things, for it’s only those who are persistent and willing to study things deeply, who achieve the master work.

When each day is the same as the next, it’s because we fail to recognize the good things that happens in our lives everyday that the sun rises. People are capable, at anytime in their lives, of doing what they demand of. At times we have to choose between something we are accustomed to and something we want to have. We must always know what is that we want.

When one wants something, all the universe conspires in helping them to achieve it, and if you start out by promising what you don’t even have yet, you’ll lose your desire to work towards getting it. Every blessing ignored becomes a curse.

The world has a soul and whoever understands that soul can also understand the language of things. The Alchemists discovered that the purification of the metals had led to a purification of themselves.


We can have the same freedom as the wind. There’s nothing to hold us back except ourselves.


Rape is a type of sexual assault usually involving sexual intercourse or any other forms of sexual penetration carried out against a person without their consent.

People who have been raped can be traumatized and develop posttraumatic stress disorder. What I’ve gathered is that most rape victims don’t get raped by violent offenders but mostly by people they already know.

Rape is bad as are all forms of violence. We are living in a world where victims of rape who come forward may have their privacy and healing space invaded probing questions like; what were you wearing? Why were you out late? Why didn’t you scream? Did you have sex with them before? Making it very uncomfortable for the victims. Though people are rightfully outraged by cases of rape and lend their support to the victims, we still live in a society where the credibility of rape victims is regularly invalidated.

People should know that people who report rape are human who are more likely reliving a traumatic event in their lives while going through the trauma of dealing with the criminal justice system.

But what happens if no one believes them? If justice is not served? We demean their minds to spite their bodies. They begin to thinking that speaking up is a trivial if not completely detrimental and that it is best to remain silent, avoiding the doubt, judgement and mindless attack on their character. It is better to remain an untold statistics than a disregarded one.

…and when we don’t believe the victims, we let the rapists free to do what they please. We give them a silent yet palpable permission to continue to misuse and mistreat their human counterparts. We give the rapists the power to diminish the victims to nothing more than convenient item meant for consumption and inevitable abdication.

When we don’t believe the victims we not only create more of them, we create more of the ones who will rape them.

What is it like to carry a heartbreaking secret, summon the courage to share it, then discover that no one believes you?


It has been there since the ages of our fore fathers. Mostly in an African setting, you’d find that young ladies were being married off to much older men, even old enough to be their grand parent. These days we find that there’s a trend of young ladies wanting to date much older men. The society is too quick to judge such relationships but they are never keen to take time to understand why it might have happened.

Normally, there are motives behind everything done on this earth. I personally think that the younger partner may be searching for someone who is their superior either socially or financially more secure.

Maturity may be one of the reason. Who wants to date a man whose brain cannot think beyond their phones or even their need for competition with the rest of their age mates? Their conversations are quite limited to new dancing style, who laid who, who is dating who, and the like.

Respect plays a crucial deal in relationships. It’s so easy to give an older person respect because of their years of wisdom, their way of reasoning, and how they can stand on their own two feet and support themselves. They are also chivalrous which not many men my age are. I like a man who knows how to be a man. A man who can protect, provide and care.

We can also say thay sexual experience can be another motive. At least you know you are not having sex with someone who cannot even locate your vagina. Older men at least cares about our needs and pleasure making them more attractive. Most of the young men don’t even know what foreplay is, they jump and pound on you like nigerian yam making it so boring and at times painful.

Some ladies may never have felt the fatherly love in their lives, so they may be trying to fulfill that longing that they have always missed in their lives. Therefore, looking for a father figure to make them feel safe and secure.

But in the end of it all, we all know how we like our cream in our coffee.

I’m Just A Bad Bitch…

Now a bad bitch is a woman who handles her business without making it seem like a business. Only dumb girls let love get them delirious to the point where they let things that really count go undone. For example, you see a good looking nigga walking down the streets, you get excited. You get wet just thinking about him. You step to him, size him up, and you think, ‘looks good.’ You slide your eyes down to his zipper, check for the print. But then you realize he’s not wearing a watch, ain’t carrying no car keys, and he’s sporting last month’s sneakers. He’s broke as hell.

A bad bitch realizes that she has two options: (1) She can take him home and get her groove on just to enjoy sex and don’t get emotionally involved because he can’t afford her; or (2) She can walk away and leave his broke ass standing right there.

Having a relationship is out. Getting emotionally involved is out. Taking him seriously is out. If a bad bitch is slick she can keep this guy on the side for the good sex. He then becomes a commercial to the money man who is the main program. The money man is the guy who knows how to provide for his woman, who knows how to bring her the goodness and bless her with everything she wants. Now the money man might not be ringing any bells sexually, but if his pockets are heavy- a bad bitch will moan like this nigga is the original casanova. When he’s sexing her, she’ll shake, pant and cry out like he’s creating orgasms as strong as ocean waves.

You might also be lucky to get the money man with good looks and wsho knows how to lay it down in the bedroom.