Yay! My first official post in my new, official blog! I’m very excited to invite you on yet another literary ride with me! From magazine features to blogs to books-in-process, you’ve supported and rocked out with me so it’ll be interesting to hear your feedback this time around. Especially since we’re mounting a different horse of sorts. I must warn

you though, this ain’t for the sensitive, politically correct folks. At all.

No apologies will be made because this isn’t for you. I’m transparent, open and real and I know that may be too much for some folk. Again, I bid you farewell. If you cringe when you see the word pussy, log off now. We ain’t your tribe!

This blog is for every woman who has ever rolled a j and sat spread-eagle in front of a mirror and asked her vag the age old question: “Girl, what the fuck we done got ourselves into now? We do thee dumbest shit!”

Now, let’s get to it.

Pussy. Coochie. Vag. Va-Jay-Jay. Pocketbook. Purse. Snatch. Trim. Coño. It ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to. And my god, I’ve answered every call. Every call.

And why? Well, that’s what I’ll be sharing over the course of this blog. And again, you ask why?

A good ten years ago, I experienced the same scenario I described above, sitting in front of a mirror, pretending to ponder but I didn’t ask the question seriously. I was in no way prepared to even phathom an answer. It wasn’t until a few years later, when I sat wiping tears from my eyes from yet another empty night of copulating(fucking), when I painfully realized that I had been operating in a mode of disconnect.

My spirit and my lady parts were on two different planes, going in opposite directions. For as long as I could remember. And to think, I had given birth to children in the midst of it all. Wow.

We are taught how to keep it clean. To keep it to ourselves for as long as possible. We are taught what to do when it bleeds and what to do when it doesn’t. We are taught how to keep it cute and how to keep it tight. We are taught what to do with it to make his toes curls and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

But who taught us how to love it?

How tragic is it for us to think that little magnificent organ is only capable feeling good from dick?

That’s the entire universe sitting between your thighs, sis.

It feels everything because it is everything. Our highs, our lows, our victories and our defeats. And yes, good dick and bad dick too.

What do we do with the energy that emanates from our vaginal walls? Oh, the places we’ll go exploring the answer. You have answers too, I’m sure. Aht, aht. Start your own blog.

Well, there you have it. Tune in for the next blog-isode, next Sunday. I’m going to take you on an awkward stroll down lost virginity lane.

Lawd. *que Betty Wright*

Actually, que confusion, weirdness, uncertainty and a curious 17 year-old on a wild Halloween night.

Ahh, welcome to my world folks. You won’t leave the same way that you came. Figuratively and literally speaking.

Peace out. ✌🏾

5 thoughts on “This ain’t for the faint at heart.

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