(Author’s note: Ok, folks. I feel like we’re acquainted enough to evolve this thing a little further. Y’all know all of my business.

As we move through this journey of past, present and future pussy experiences, it’s time to get into the nit and grit of the lovers. Alot of who I am today is because of my experiences with them; crazy, calm and cool. Good, bad and in between. It is a blog about pussy afterall. So I have to talk about who’s penetrating. Here’s the official disclaimer since I know that a few of my past and current lovers read my blog. *While I will respectfully tell my version of our experiences, let the truth set you free from saltiness.* Cool? Cool. Ok. Let’s begin…)

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“I have something to tell you.”

Now, who wants to hear some shit like that when you’re laying in bed naked about to do the do? I’m not talking about laying there contemplating a move. I’m talking in progress.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” All jokes aside, I was afraid. Who would stop the start of sex with a statement like that unless it was some grave confession. I thought he was about to say that he was HIV positive or had herpes. I was shaking.

He continued. “I’m diabetic. So… It doesn’t work. I don’t get erections. But I promise you, you will always be satisfied.”

I had no words.

Just a week or so before, he told me that he wanted to take things to the next level. He wanted a relationship. Our conversations had been consistent. We had spent a good amount of time in each other’s company, and I was trying to step out of my box by not being so caught up on a type. I needed a project; someone to build and grow with. I was looking for steel, but settled for him. A pile of cheap legos.

His remedy was oral sex. I cannot tell a lie, the man was skilled. But not skilled enough to make me miss penetration. Oral is foreplay, to me. I was completely turned off.

We were about three weeks in when I realized that I had yet to see him fully naked. He kept his underwear on and I assumed that it was because of the erectile dysfunction. I didn’t make it an issue because I wanted him to be comfortable. Remember, I was stepping out of my box so compromise was priority.

That’s the shit right there gets us caught up and tangled every single time. We feel this need to make accommodations for things that we have no business accommodating. We do that because we’ve established a standard. An idea of the type of man we want and the moment that he doesn’t show up as quick as we want him to, we take our asses back to the drawing board and chisel our preferences down. We need to cut it.

He caught me during one of my nice periods, aka when I let my loneliness lead my decision to date outside of my norm. I knew better. He wasn’t a bad person. But he wasn’t being good to himself and his health just sort of followed.

It made me sad for dude. He was a perpetual fuck-up. A perpetual middle aged fuck up at that. He hadn’t been taking good care of himself so pair all of that with the fact that he still lived at home with his mom, drove a beat up car, hopped from job to job. He couldn’t even get an erection to screw away the reality of his sad little life. Me and my sad self hopped right into his passenger seat. Going nowhere.

And then, he did it. He finally was comfortable enough to let his guard down.

I would always laughed whenever I’d hear someone use the expression hoodwinked. It was the first word to pop into my head when I saw that flaccid micropenis just laying there. I wasn’t laughing. I had never in my life seen a penis that small on an adult male. It was the exact width and diameter of my pinky. If it were boneless.

I felt hoodwinked. Committment was such a big deal to him because he wanted me to commit to the entire tragedy – from living at his mama’s to no sex. I could not. But while I felt bamboozled, I also felt guilt. Heavy guilt. I had a tarot reading with my spiritual advisor and I still get chills when I think about it. I had shared no details whatsoever with anyone, yet the cards mentioned a partner experiencing impotence and to be patient.

I was floored. I talked to one of my good guy friends and he cut straight to the chase. He said, “Nah Ace. You can get past it if he’s doing something about it. Has he seen a doctor? What is he doing to fix it? That’s the conversation you need to have with him.”

Good question. The answer? Not a gotdamn thing. He said the pills he needed were too expensive. I moved past my guilt quickly. I didn’t want to be hurtful but I had to take a few steps back and be real with myself. One unfortunate event after another, no desire to change or grow, moving through his life at the pace of a tortoise and wanting someone to drag along side him. Hell no. London bridge fell quickly.

We spent New Year’s Eve together with a few of my friends at my place. Right after the ball dropped and we were all calling and texting loved ones, I happened to glance to my left and caught a quick glimpse of a text convo that he was having with someone, talking about eating her pussy to oblivion. I was disgusted. I thought, “He can’t even get it up! And he’s a coochie eating cheater??!” This trashy bastard. Oh hell no.

Things ended as quickly as they had started. He hit me up a few times with the whole, “I’m not leaving you alone” nonsense but he quickly changed his mind after I told him quite bluntly that if I wanted a lesbian relationship, I would be with a woman. That ceased contact.

Penetration is a big deal to me. From my mind to between my legs, we have to connect. Our relationship can’t have problems “staying up.” Here I was, willing to compromise sex, which I thoroughly enjoy, for the sake of something different. I envisioned twenty years down the road, sharing the secret of no sex with my good girlfriends. Bragging about how creative me and my boo had been with intimacy and how beautifully deep our connection was without it. All in the name of stepping outside of my standard. Bitch, please.

I was vulnerable and he smelled it on me like a bloodhound. See, in past relationships I could play rubik’s cube and make all the colors fit if the sex was good. Ruin my life but keep me good and fucked and you had me. We could be poor, broke and hungry but blow my back out. With him, there was no sex to hide behind. There was nothing for me to hide behind.

He would be the last exception. I made it all about him but really it had nothing to do with him at all. He responded to the call I had put out into the universe: SEND ME ANYBODY!

Compromise is necessary. It gets us out of our own way, exposes us to different ways of thinking and doing. I want to be open with the world and the people in it, but I don’t compromise access anymore. You can’t cum or come any less than correct. Have your shit together.

You can’t be head over heels for me but ignore your own red flags. I won’t. And a working penis – bigger than my pinky – is an added bonus.