"We are the generation of / Not Being In Love /  And Not Being Together"

Umm....hello? Can anything truer every be spoken? Okay, I'm sure that it can, but this statement here is awesome. And let me be clear, 99.89% of the time, I cannot stand Drake and his whiney voice. But I felt him on this. It's like pulling teeth to get someone to claim you exclusively as their boyfriend or girlfriend. We use phrases like "oh we're just talking"  or "she's my friend" or that God awful phrase T-Pain popularized, the "shawty". It's clear that something is going on between you and whoever you are seeking to get romantically involved with, but the titles are absent, along with the expectation that the person remain faithful to you and practice all the behaviors someone courting you and seeking to enter an "adult" relationship with you should engage in. Let me simplify. They can get all the perks of you being their main squeeze without having to actually work for it.

All over Instagram and Facebook, we see people who practice these behaviors. But why? You know I have a theory. We imitate what we see and what we are surrounded by. Think about this. Aside from celebrities, how many Black people do you know that are married and are not separated or divorced? Now I challenge you to get to ten. One for each finger. Can you? If you can, awesome!! Leave a comment below and tell us about those marriages. If you cannot, you are not alone. I can count my dad's marriage, my mom's marriage (before her husband passed away), my fiancé's parents, two of his sisters, his brother, my old boss, and one other lady whom I adore. I got to eight. But half of my eight are people who are part of someone elses family. So you see my point? How are we supposed to get accurate examples of Black Love and marriage when so few real examples exist around us?

Another pit fall is the idea that Black women and men have unique issues standing in their way that inhibit them from practicing traditional marriage as we know it. This article on Centric raises the issue of whether Black marriages are destined for failure and also asks some great questions. One of them being: are Black women too picky? Now a while back, I did a blog post on Black women and their sometimes unrealistic expectations in regards to the Man List. You can check it out here. But I don't think Black women are too picky when it comes to things like wanting a man that can provide for and support her, wanting a man that is honest and doesn't play games, and wanting a man that is going to stick around. These are all things that go into a stable relationship. No one wants to be constantly guessing where they stand with someone they love and care about. And if you have these expectations, there is nothing wrong with you. Keep on pushing honey!

The Centric article also raised the question on whether or not Black men are able to be faithful. This is a can of worms that I will open in another blog post. But it all depends on what you mean by faithful. Do you want him to be with you and only you? And in what regards? Sexually? Mentally? Can a man still be completely faithful to you if he has kids outside of your relationship? Because he has to take into account your feelings, the children's feelings, and the feelings of the baby mother? These are all great questions. And honestly, before you can assess whether a man can be faithful to you, you have to first define what faithful is and what you're willing to accept. The short answer to this question is, yes. Black men can be faithful, no matter who they are. But they will only be faithful to a woman who they deem is worthy, and who makes it clear that this is her expectation. Period.

Let me say this. It is okay to fall in love. The world will not end. It's also okay to have your heart broken. And there's no shame in having your heart broken more than once. The purpose of dating is to see what's out there, find out who and what you like, and go from there. Every relationship is not going to work out. That's why there are so many songs about breaking up, moving on, and finding someone new. It's just the chance that we take when we put ourselves out there. Just like anything new, there's a chance you may fail. Your partner may cheat on you, they may lie to you, they may not live up to your expectations. And you know what you do? You move on and find someone else. There is absolutely no shame in that. You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your price is an old cliché for a reason. There's some truth to it.

And in regards to marriage. It's not for everyone. But even if we don't elect to get married, we have to do a better job at showing our children loving, stable relationships. Why? Read this article on fatherless Black girls their difficulty learning how to love. If you decide that you want to just be physical with people, that's perfectly acceptable. But that doesn't mean that your children need to know every man that comes through your home. And that also doesn't mean that you have to air your dirty laundry for all to see. And if you're having some issues deciding whether the feelings toward your person of interest are Love or Lust, you can read this article to gain some clarity. We are surrounded by plenty of images of booty calls and one night stand. Once we reach that point in our lives where we are ready to settle down and make a home, we must make sure that we provide an alternative to the negative media images about Black families and Black homes so the next generation can see that falling in (Black) love is possible, and it most certainly can work.

Side Note 1: Slut shaming in the Black community is a major contributor to why so many Black women cannot find a man to settle down with. If you don't know what slut shaming is, Wikipedia offers a nice definition here. Slut shaming put in more popular terms is "you can't turn a ho into a housewife". Now I'm here to tell you that statement is so very false. And it's so very sexist. Everyone has a past. We all do wild and crazy things. The difference is that when a man does it and it is publicized, it doesn't hurt his chances of  going out and finding a wife. When a woman does it, no man wants to "wife the ho". To all you Ladies out there doing in like a brother, do you. You will find someone who doesn't care about your past. If you encounter a partner that isn't secure enough in himself to accept the fact that you had a life before him that you don't have to answer for, he's just not the guy for you, no matter how awesome he may be. You don't have to feel guilty about anything you've done. And that's a fact jack. Need some reassurance? Watch the Facebook video below.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane. Remember my tiny studio apartment? Cobalt blue walls with hand painted vines reaching toward the ceiling. You laid me flat out on the firmness of my cheaply made Walmart futon and covered my eyes with the Blackness of my silk scarf. Remember running ice over my bare skin? Then syrup? Then your warm pink tongue? How did it feel to taste the very best of heaven on your virgin taste buds?

Now let’s make a left on Nostalgia Avenue. All my love. My peace and happiness. I want to give it to….. You. You sang in the shower and I hummed along. Waiting for you to step out and reveal the greatness that dwelled within you. Body glistening. Branded chocolate skin. You were glowing even though the room was nearly dark. You made love to me on that cold bathroom floor. I dug my fingers deep into that sun-kissed skin. Licked those Greek Letters on your chiseled chest. Tasted the stories that you would forever keep from me. Stories that turned into dark secrets. Secrets that ripped us apart. But I can still taste the majesty of that burn. Still hearing you pledging that allegiance in my small shower.

Make a right on Reminiscent Road. A long hallway. Blue stars and men playing football. Plush couches and countless pictures of children that weren’t yours. I danced for you as you sat in that brown chair. In my purple dress. And my orange heels that you loved. We didn’t make love. You pleasured my body so well no words I put on this page could do you justice. I ain’t never felt nothing like that before. And I still haven’t to this very day.

Memories. Take me back to the places I want to visit repeatedly but can no longer go. Carry me through the recesses of the deepest parts of my mind and let me live there. Let me travel through those alleyways and side streets to the destinations that are forbidden to me outside of my psyche.  

I’m running out of gas.

Recollection Boulevard. And I’ve hit a dead end. Nowhere to go from here. No longer able to remember the small details and the little touches that once tied me to the things I desperately want to remember. Forced to turn around and make my way back through the mish mosh of happenings and occurrences. For some reason I cannot find my way through. I’m stuck on Memory Lane. And left with all the things that live there. Pain. Anger. Regret. Hurt. Love. Hope. Fear. Love. You. It’s all so foreign. But so pleasantly familiar. I can make a home on Memory Lane. Live here forever.

But I won’t. This place, filled with all of the stickiness and filth of emotions, is a place you visit. Not a place of permanence. It’s a place I must come to when I need a vacation. But right now. In this perfect piece of space and time, with this combination of this new you and this old I, I think I have to leave Memory Lane and find a new place to call home.

I love girl talk. Especially with my closest friends. Not because I like to gossip. I mean, I do appreciate some good juicy gossip, but I'm really not into spreading people's business. But because I like to hear what people have to say on various things. I like to understand why people do the things they do and make the choices that they make. Because let's be honest, people do some pretty stupid stuff. But I digress.  I was having some girl talk with a few friends of mine and we got to what my friend referred to as "her list". I'm sure plenty of you have heard of said list before. The list of requirements that women keep to judge men against. Things like he has to have a job, he has to be handsome, tall, successful, he has to have all his front teeth. You know, stuff like that. And men have them too. Don't front. We use these prerequisites to decide whether or not we want to settle down with someone for the long haul or whether the encounter is just going to be a booty call kind of thing.  Now I'm all for a list. Totally and completely. It's good to know what you want. And it saves a lot of time. I refuse to entertain anyone that is not motivated to do something better with themselves. But that's where my list ends. And maybe that's why I've dated and been in relationships with every kind of man you can think of. The over worker. The mama's boy. The player. The nerd. The baby daddy of sixty eight kids. I've dealt with them all. It's not that I didn't have standards. Some of these men I just needed something physical with. Some of them I wanted much more. It's just that with my hippie soul, I like to get to know every type of person and, again, understand why people do the things they do. If I would have had a list, I probably would be in an entirely different space in my life right now. But I digress again. To all of you that have a list, kudos!! I just want you to pull it out for a second or think of some of the things that you just cannot live without in a partner. What is on your list? If you've never thought about it, check out this article to help you get started. Some of the things I heard during girl talk were a good job, big feet (personally, I think hand size is a better indication of what he's working with), straight teeth, a college degree, any kind of car, a good relationship with his mother, and he has to love kids. These are all great things to have on your list. Hell, I even had to sit and think about what I would really and truly want out of a partner if I was in the dating game again. So again, look at your list or think about it in your head and let's move along.  Now for all of those who have things like he has to have a six figure income or wash board abs, I strongly suggest you go pick up a copy of this book I just read, It's Okay To Sleep With Him On The First Date: And Every Other Rule Of Dating Debunked. In it, one of the authors, Andrea Syrtash talks about the list and how her list changed dramatically when she started looking into why she wanted the things that she had written down. My favorite line in this section of the book is: 

"Dig deeper than the superficial stuff, since the superficial stuff changes with time......" Syrtash, p. 168

I couldn't have said it better. My friend, bless her simple soul (you know I love you girl), mentioned things like he has to have locs down to his butt, and he has to wake up before her every morning, and he has to like to travel. So for argument sake, let's break down those things. She's really conscious when it comes to Black social and political issues. So she assumes that locs on a man means that he values these things too. After all, locs are supposed to be a rebellious hairstyle symbolizing that you're "down with the cause". But I shut that down real quick. Lil Wayne, Wiz, Two Chainz, Future, they all have locs. Not saying that they are bad men to date. There is someone for everyone out there. But I know they just aren't her type.  I asked if she would date any of those men. I got no answer. She should probably change that to a man that is passionate about the same things that she is. And list those things she's passionate about. She might start attracting a different type of man.

As for waking up before her, why is that important to her? Does she want him to start their day by making breakfast and coffee. Then maybe she wants a man that's considerate. Or maybe she wants him to be up and out the door before her headed to work. Then she wants a hard worker. A provider. Someone who will take care of her financially. And the love of travel? Maybe she wants someone adventurous. Maybe she wants a man that likes to explore. Or someone impulsive who likes to do things spur of the moment. Dig deeper into the things you want from your partner. Apart from the basic things. If you're ready to really start looking to settle down, and I didn't say get married, I said SETTLE DOWN, I suggest that you know what you're looking for. Or else you'll be like me with a bunch of bullshit experiences with a bunch of different people.

And of course I must say, your list will not be exhaustive and all inclusive. Which means, it's not going to have everything you want or everything you don't want in a man. That will come with time. And don't be stupid! Just because a man may not have everything on your list doesn't mean he's not a keeper. I strongly suggest putting a star next to the things that you cannot live without in a partner. Those are the things that can make or break your union. The other stuff would be nice to have. And those are the things that you can compromise and be flexible on. Again, I learned this the hard way. I compromised on the things that I needed in order to love a person. Like really be in love with them. And my relationship fell apart because of it. So don't be like me. Do better.

I just had to sneak away. Parked across the street from your home, nothing but some leggings and a fitted white t-shirt on. Even forgot the shoes. Oh well.

I was waiting for you. Waiting for the silhouette of your car to come into view. Waiting for the fury of you to come into my eyesight. And finally you did.

I was happy to see you were alone. By yourself when you parked your own car. Solitary when walked the pathway to your steps. And I followed you the entire way. Bare feet and all. I pushed you in as you opened the door. You first reaction was to reach out and swing. I caught that arm and forced you against your bare wall. No need for talking. I fiddled with your silver belt buckle. Not caring that there were no greetings shared. Not concerned that my husband was at home asleep. Not giving two damns that your wife was on her way home.

I was nearly set ablaze when your lips covered mine. I couldn’t stop the waterfall from flowing when you pulled my hair and nibbled at my neck. I couldn’t control myself when your hand found all that they were looking for inside those cheap, black leggings. My knees buckled when you gave me what I had come for from inside your overpriced jeans. I missed your passion. I missed the eruption that was set off in the deepest depth of my being when you lifted me up and wrapped my legs around your head. I’d gladly burn in hell forever for this little piece of heaven. For a little slice of you. For this small sample of Love. Of passion. Of this. And I know that despite your weak protests uttered between fiery kisses, you would have gladly gone through hell to be with me. Too bad hell had come in the form of wedding rings and empty promises.

But while we shared this hour of our nirvana, these moments of belonging totally and completely to each other, swimming deep in this ocean of sin, I knew that there must have been a God. Because he made you just for me. And as we dressed again, still not uttering a sound, I knew that The Universe was going to make a way to bring us together again.

Yet as I sat in my car and watched her walk up your stone steps, wedding ring gleaming even in the dark, I also knew that life was never that simple. That when you greeted her at the door, wrapped your arms around her waist, and kissed her like you should only kiss me, I accepted that Heaven was on fire and God was no more. I had to keep these fantasies in my head. Stop hoping for things that would never come.

So with my white tee and my black leggings, I tucked my imagination back into the box from which it came and vowed to leave you alone. No more late night visits. No more fictional adultery. No more butterflies and day dreams. It just had to accept what was there. It’s going to be a long lifetime without you.

Tell me if this sounds familiar. You (or a friend) are dating a guy, and you place no rules or regulations on him. He's a friend with benefits or just a cool guy you hang out with (and happen to have feelings for) and he views you the same way, minus the romantic feelings. You guys go to the movies, but it's not a date. You invite him over for game night, drink, laugh, have a good time, maybe even fornicate a little bit, but there is still no relationship. He sometimes says you're like his "homegirl" or his "little sister". He likes you because you're low maintenance, like to watch football, don't demand to talk about feelings or define your relationship. He doesn't contact you for days at a time but you're always there when he needs you to be. Congratulations. You (or your friend) are officially the chill girl.
Now my issue is not with girls that are genuinely fine with playing this role. Sometimes we have guy friends that are just that, friends. We don't sleep with them. We don't secretly want to be with them. They're just cool. What I do have a problem with is the fakers. The girls that pretend they like sports just to please their crush. The girls that pretend that they don't care about him coming over and getting some and then leaving two hours later. The girls that say they're not like other girls because they don't need to be in a relationship or don't need him to call you his girlfriend. You pretend that the confusing little dance that you and him are doing is just fine although you don't know where you stand or what the future holds. Stop that.
The truth is, this is just another way that we as women try to please men that really aren't worth much of anything. We want to be with them. We want to be in relationships. We want him all to ourselves. But we suppress these feelings and pretend that we're emotionless little robots just so that he'll stay around. But what does that get you? Disappointment. Confusion. Anger. Hurt. You can keep all that too. I don't need any. Thank you. And you have no one to blame but yourself. You made him think you were something that you're not. And don't think he's going to pick up on the signs that you're unhappy or pretending. Men are simple creatures. What you tell them is what they believe. And it gets no deeper than that. Trust me.
Now let's flip this coin here. Say that you actually start talking to a guy and you, GASP!, be yourself?!?! What if when you feel that he's disrespected you or made you feel some type of way, you actually say something? What if after you guys have hung out for a while, you tell him you want something more serious? You actually call him out when he doesn't honor the commitment that you guys made to each other? You let him know that you like to wear heels through the mall? What if you want him to pay for a date and not go dutch? How different would your interactions with this man be? How much happier would you feel when you know what the hell is going on and you don't have to guess and tip toe around his feelings and your own?
Let me warn you. Most guys that are happy to have you as the "chill girl" are not going to like when you start making demands. They're going to high tail it out of there and say that you're too clingy and needy. You'll be characterized as the girl who was trying to tie him down and make him put a ring on it. Be prepared. The men that are not ready for a commitment are going to think you are possessed and avoid you like the plague. And that's fine. At least you know now. Instead of you pretending to be someone you're not to please him and wasting everyone's time anyway. You're not going to die if he stops contacting you.* You might actually start to live a little. You actually have a chance to learn who you are outside of him and use that to attract a man that is ready to take things where you want to take them. Oh happy day!! 
Let me validate you for a second. It's okay to be a girl. It's okay to wear heels and make up for a guy and not be afraid that he's going to think you're high maintenance. It's okay to want to cuddle on the couch while watching a movie. If he's into you, he's going to want to cuddle too. Or not. Maybe he's not a cuddler. But he'll want to be close. It's okay for you to shriek when you see a spider. Being feminine and fitting into the box when it comes to certain things "girly" is okay. It doesn't make you weak or vulnerable. You can be the girliest girl in the world and still kick some ass. You don't have to negate your femininity in order to please a man. Tell him that this is what the package comes with. He can take it or leave it. That simple.
Okay, let's close this puppy out. If you're really a chill girl, go ahead and chill out. But don't pretend to be something you're not. Don't fake the funk when he forgets your birthday or orders food and doesn't get you anything. Your feelings are allowed. Don't believe me? Read it again here. Again, men are simple creatures. How is he supposed to know what you want if you don't tell him, or even worse, if you pretend to be fine with whatever he does. Girl bye. At some point, when you're done playing around and sowing your wild oats, you're going to want to be in a relationship on your own terms. And you should have that right. Just make sure you're you, you don't play those childish games, you make it clear what you want as you go along, and you remain true to you. The only person that can truly keep you in the chill girl zone is you.
*Although you may not die, you may feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest. You will feel like you did everything in the world for this man and he doesn't appreciate you. You will feel like you want to punch him in the chest. You will cry. You may eat excessive amount of chocolate. It's okay. Let it out. And then pick up the pieces and move on. His loss.

I remember Vicky. The way her oversized chrome feet glimmered and shone when you would roll past me on those stifling July days on New Jersey streets. You loved that car as much as I thought that I loved you. You kept her clean, giving her a bath one a week. Twice when it rained. She was always neat. Proper. I remember riding around past Burger King and Walgreens, blasting Meek Mills. He was a newby then. A break out artist. Something fresh. Like what was happening between us. The music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. So loud I couldn’t feel my phone vibrate on my brown legs. But I heard him. Feeling like the words to the songs you chose off that album had been picked for me. They weren’t. They were for everybody. For every girl. For every pretty face you had ever seen. They were never for me.

I remember Cammie. Silver and bright. She still had the new car smell. I shared so many firsts with you and that car. First kiss. First love. First car. I was hurt when I learned that I wasn’t going to be the first woman to enjoy her heated seats. But I’ll take second place to your sisters. But she was there through everything. She drove those many miles from Philly to DC. She took you away when you learned of my infidelities. She dried your tears and drowned out your cries with the sound of Rick Ross after our heated fights. Live Fast. Die Young. She carried away our boxes of memories when you told me it was over. You’ve had enough. Pictures. Teddy bears. Clothes you left behind. She carried you away from me. I miss Cammie. I don’t even think she remembers me. I’ll never forget her.

I remember the thunder of your Black Honda Coupe. She never had a name. Your racing car. Your bad boy car. Your drug dealing car. I loved the roar of the engine. I love the way you switched gears. I loved the speed. How fast you and Her swept me off my feet. I remember hearing you coming from around the corner. Anxious. I remember the butterflies. You and Her would always bring me something special. Wendys Frosty’s. Specially made burgers. McDonalds Fries. Well placed kisses. I loved when you and Her would come home to me. She was ferocious, but oh so sweet. Just like you.

I remember when she started to go. Over heating on dark highways. Windows that wouldn’t roll down. Balding tires. Peeling tint. Leaking coolant and oil. We had to let our Honda go. We’ve upgraded since then. Gotten something new now. But Ms. Honda is still in our hearts. I still hear you revving that powerful engine in the recesses of my mind.

So many cars. A Burgundy Buick. A Black Caddy. A White Pontiac. A Black Civic Coupe. A Green Acura with the passenger side door banged in. A Lexus Jeep. Many men. Many cars. All with their own stories to tell. Something so simple. Giving me a ride. Taking me to dinner. To a movie. Sneaking me into your mother’s basement. All the late night “chill” sessions. So many destinations.

I only have one ride now. His gray Acura. Tint black as midnight. Always parked outside our home. As if waiting for me. Ms. Ebony. She’s my ride for now. And I’ll be riding that girl until the wheels fall off. Believe that.

I stole her wedding ring. On purpose. From right under her pretty little nose. While she slept, I snuck into her husband’s head and danced his favorite dance. As she worked to tie ends that he wasn’t man enough to make meet, he layed in my bed, buried by blue cotton sheets. I made sure he always had white pillow cases. He said they made him feel like a king. I liked dating royalty.

As she cut chicken and boiled pasta, he snuck away to enjoy my lips in the back of his car. My ass at our favorite gas station. Other parts of me in the Burger King parking lot. I slipped into her home when the lights were out, through hushed phone calls and late night text messages. I was there in the pocket of his size 34 waist dress pants, wearing only his favorite blue and white neck tie. I crept in on their anniversary dinner. Him saying he had to get to work. Something urgent had come up.

That’s when she suspected that someone had invaded her home. She started to smell the perfume on his collared shirts. She started to time his meetings. His golf games. His trips to the grocery store. She waited up for him one night. And asked him about the pink socks in his car that weren’t hers. Confronted him about the smell on his chin. He liked when I sat on his face. Naughty. She yelled that she never wore glitter, but there it was on the crotch of his pants.

And just like that I had slithered into her home and stole her wedding ring. She yanked it off her finger and tossed it at his head. And it was mine. To have and to hold. Until death do us part. Sneaky. Cunning. Clever. I wouldn’t say I was a thief, but I sure did have the ability to steal. Her life. Her sanity. Her peace of mind. I have it all. And she never saw it coming.

Now as I admire her platinum setting diamond ring on my left ring finger, it’s all so bitter sweet. I love this man. I’ve worked hard to make him mine. Plotted. Schemed. Waited patiently as the walls came crumbling down around her perfect like head. I had played my part and came out victorious. There was no better feeling. Until I began to wonder, who would be the bandit to come and make the walls fall in my own castle. When would my burglar come? Who is going to come and steal my wedding ring from me?

"Here is a man who loves me, and I love him, but he doesn't want to marry me. Here I am, a person that doesn't care about marriage, but I'm heartbroken that he doesn't want me as his wife............I should have just left him a long time ago when I saw the signs that he would never marry me." - The Girl Who Played With Men (Mielech)

Just close your eyes. There is nothing to see here. Only feel. Your jagged nails against my bare scalp as I bury my head between your velvet thighs. You’re so soft against my callused hands. So smooth against my roughness. Your hips rise and fall as my tongue flickers against the tiny piece of skin that holds the key to every single ounce of pleasure in your body.

You pull my hair.

You grab my shoulders.

You let me know that you’re feeling it. All with your eyes closed.

And when I finish, and your wetness threatens to drown me, I’ll rise and kiss your pink lips, covered with Sephora lip stain. You’ll pull me into you and I’ll let you. Pull me in baby. Tell me your dirtiest fantasies. Your most secret desires.

As you slip your tongue into my mouth, I’ll run my hands over your erect nipples, down your stomach, and back into your ocean. I’ll find my way over the waves and into the deep. Two fingers in and out of the rising tide. You moan your satisfaction to me. Telling me you’re feeling it. All with your eyes closed.

It’s a rhythm. Up and down. Your kisses. My sighs. Your moans. My grunts. Your hips. My hands. It’s me and you gorgeous. Me doing my very best to pleasure you. And by the way your body clenches and releases me every time I enter and exit your sacred places, I know I am doing one hell of a job.

You never told me with your soft lips that you loved it, but the way you gripped the sheets told me everything I needed to know. So many describe themselves as flawless, but you, here underneath me, with your back arched and your mouth open, you were the epitome of the word. Your rapid breathing and the way you parted your legs, allowing me to really explore your wetlands, let me know that you were feeling it.

So keep your eyes closed. Feel my lips all over your bare skin. Feel the affection in my hands. Feel the passion in my heart. Envision heaven in the darkness of your imagination. There was nothing to see in the blackness of our bedroom. So lover, keep those beautiful eyes closed.

I found the crumbled up piece of paper underneath our bed while gathering the dirty linen you refused to throw in our bedroom hamper. It just sat there. So unassuming. So patient. Waiting for someone, anyone, to come along and notice it was there. Waiting for someone to bring it back to life after it had been sentenced to damnation between Barbie Doll shoes and pink and purple sippy cups. I was happy to breath purpose into it once again.

I grabbed that little piece of yellow paper and tugged it open. Careful not to tear it and ruin the surprise it held inside. And a surprise it was. Your handwriting, sloppy and child like, revealing all the things your lips were too scared to say.

This is a booty call that went too far.

Maybe we’re rushing.

I never want to be broke again.

I can’t deal with you talking to your exes. Especially Him.

Is the baby mine?

Can I trust you?

Will you ever be able to trust me?

Not the words I had hoped for when I discovered the doorway into the secret places of your mind. But all the feelings, thoughts, emotions, fears, concerns, and uneasiness I knew you held in the pits of your existence were here in my hand, transcribed with black ink. All the things I knew you were thinking but I know you would never dare say. They were the scribbles of your brain and the confessions of your heart. So I decided to respond.

I don’t know if I really love you.

Everything you tell me I think is a lie.

I’m scared you’re going to leave me for someone more attractive.

We never should have had a child.

I lost my true self in you.

You’re a child trying to be an adult.

And with this I crumbled up the paper again and tossed it back under the bed. Perhaps you will find it while looking for the remote to watch football. Maybe our daughter will find it when her yellow ball rolls into the darkness of our bedroom. Maybe I’ll just tell you it’s there so we can have a conversation about why we are a married couple that cannot communicate outside of little scribbles on random pieces of paper. Or maybe I’ll just throw it in the trash so we can continue to pretend like we are perfect. That our insecurities do not exist and that we never think that our life, in this moment, is the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. 

I know that I've already done a post about baby mama and baby daddy situations. It was a few years back and you can find it here. It is one of my most popular posts, generating a little less than 1,000 views from people all over the world. In this post I talk about men who abandon their children and their responsibilities. Partly talking to the general public, partly dealing with my own situation I had going on at the time. But a recent post that I saw on Facebook made me look at the flip side of the coin. Check out this video below that was posted by a friend of mine.

Post by Oprah Winfrey.

Now check out the comments that this particular friend received on the post:

"Whatever we believe about ourselves and our ability comes true for us." - Susan L. Taylor, journalist

We, as females, constantly ridicule the loose woman. We judge the street walker. We look down on the exotic dancers and escorts. The shameless women of the night. But we are the foolish ones. Doing for free what they get paid for. We take pride in our expensive vehicles and flashy diamond rings on fingers that continue to plump with age. She enjoys freedom, liberty, and the high of life flowing through her veins. The addiction to fast money, fast cars, handsome men, and jealous stares.

We hate her for sleeping with our men. But yet it is her that we emulate when we want to bring our man’s attention back home. It is her we think about when we envision our partner’s escape from us. We fault her for wearing heels that are too high and tops that are too low. But we seek to be like her when we want to be sexy. We wear her uniform of stilettos, tight dresses, and teased hair. We look for her independence. We look for her carelessness. We envy her candor.

We whisper to our friends that she squanders her money while we work hard every day for our 401K. We mumble that she’s had too many pleasures with too many men. So many ships have sailed through her wetness. Her ocean must surely be polluted. But we want to be like her. We dance naked in front of the mirror, sucking in our stomachs to be perfect. Just like her. All the time.

But the truth is, we are her. The woman who wears the heels and disappears with strange men into the darkness of the night. Why are we so different from her? Because our privates are not public fodder? Because less hands have rubbed against our bare skin? No. You hold the same power as her. It is infinite. You burn with the same fury. You feel the same passions. Do not fault her for doing what you are simply too conservative, too ashamed, or too afraid to do. How we use the roar within us is what eventually separates the lioness from the house cat. Which one are you?

I've never been the jealous type of girlfriend. I'm all for my significant other having friends, being friendly with girls, and even talking to their exes. My whole thing is, if she was really that great, he would still be with her and wouldn't be wasting his time with me. Period. Plus, I was not above having my own little thing going on. So he could do as he pleased because I was doing the same. But lately, I'm starting to get super duper paranoid. Maybe it's because I'm actually marrying the the guy I'm with now and I don't want any third parties in our relationship. Maybe it's because now I don't have my own thing on the side and it's just me and him rocking this out until death do us part (omg! that whole sentence just scared the shit out of me!). Can you tell I'm scared of marriage? 
So with all this being said, thoughts of snooping have sometimes crossed my mind. Let me define what I mean by snooping here. Going through your partner's phone while their asleep or in the shower? Snooping. Going through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, e-mails, etc. while your partner is not around because they left it open? Snooping. Going through phone records to see who your partner is calling and what number they contact most frequently? Snooping. Got it? Snooping is basically any attempt to get into your partners private information without their knowledge or consent. That's my definition. Plain and simple.
 Now based on what I've read online, girls are all about snooping!! Demanding that their man unlock his phone any and everywhere to allow her to go through his messages and pictures. Scrolling through his Facebook messages and Instagram DM's, which were created by the devil to ruin relationships, in order to see what he's been doing and who he's been talking to. And heaven forbid she finds something! Sweet baby Jesus. Hell and fury will rain down on his soul and he will forever be cursed with the nagging, insecure girlfriend. Gasp! 
But let's be honest here. When you go snooping, you're already looking to find something. You already have it set in your mind that they've been doing something and you're just looking for evidence to back you up. And I know your reasoning. If he has nothing to hide, I won't have anything to find. Snooping is just your way to make sure that everything is fine and you have nothing to worry about. If they haven't been doing anything than you can look all day long, get caught up on what's going on in their life, and have peace of mind that you and your partner are in a good space.
I have not known or heard of a case of snooping that turned out well. There have even been cases where snooping turned out to ruin the best surprise of your entire life. Check out an example here. And think about this. Even if he texts the cute neighbor across the street and she thanks him for helping her with her groceries, groceries that you saw him carry in, you swear that he kissed her on the way out of the house and that they're having an affair. And what happens when he says it's not true? You swear he's lying! You scream and yell at him. He thinks you're crazy and leaves your crazy behind alone. And rightfully so.
So I've boiled it down to two reasons why we snoop. Insecurities within yourself or lack of trust in your partner. Now for yourself, you have to work on that honey. If he chose to be with you, you're it. You have something that no other girl has and it's what he's looking for. Be proud. Now if you go through his stuff and he's still playing around with other people, obviously he hasn't chosen to be with you. He's chosen to lie to you to make you believe certain things to keep you around as an option. That is not a choice. So go on and let that man go. I know, sounds so simple right? I'm not dismissing that we get lonely and we want a companion. Plus he's cute and drives a nice car. But is it really worth the bullcrap he puts you through? The fights? The toll is takes on your sanity? I think not.
Now as for lack of trust in him, ya'll need to talk that out. If you find something while snooping that is incriminating, I'm not saying to hit the road. I don't believe in that once a cheater, always a cheater. We make mistakes. We're human. I am saying that you guys need to have a frank conversation about it and nip that in the bud. And if he lies about everything? Then you leave his sorry ass alone and keep it pushing. Why are you still lying? I never understand that. I CAUGHT YOU and you still can't come clean. From that point on, there is nothing more to be said. Bye bye Charlie. Hopefully whoever he was talking to on the side will be more understanding.
Now how do I feel about snooping? The crazy, paranoid, about to get married me is all for it. But the rational me thinks it's a no go. My fiance is an expert snooper. He can find anything. But there is nothing for him to find. There are no locks on any of my devices, he knows all of my passwords, and I never sign out of the accounts anyway. But even if I did, he would find a way to get into everything. As I stated before, I'm terrible at it. So I don't do it. I forget his unlock code when he shows me. I forget the passwords he gives me. I just don't care enough to snoop. I have better stuff to do. I'm busy. I have a full time job, I write two blogs, I have a two year old, and I am planning a wedding. I have shit to do. So snooping is nowhere on this agenda. 
And I don't think you should do it either. His phone on the table is not an invitation to go through and see what he's been doing. Ask. The way he answers the question will tell you everything that you need to know. Trust me. Simplify why you feel like you have to snoop and tie it into one of the reasons that I stated above. Then address it and decide if you want to continue with this behavior or trust your partner, address the issues within yourself, and enjoy your relationship. It is such a true statement that if you don't have trust you don't have anything. Take heed to those words.
So to all my expert snoopers out there, ahem ahem, stop. If your partner cannot be honest with you, then you don't need to be with them. We all get those moments when we feel like our partner is being too friendly with the sales girl or we get a knot in our stomach when their phone goes off at three in the morning and it's right there next to you. Unlocked. And the message flashes across the screen. Look at you! I know that light bulb just went off in your head. And I know you would look! It's time to start having some frank conversations. It's time to start putting the trust back into our relationships and the peace back into our homes. It's time to deal with insecurities and lack of pride within ourselves. Take baby steps. The next time you see your partner's Facebook open for all to see, walk slowly away from the screen. Nothing good can come of that.

My favorite moments with you are when we say nothing at all. The moments when your toes touch mine underneath the purple covers as we read our books on different subjects taking us to different worlds. No noise in the background. Just the sound of turning pages and slow, relaxed breathing.

I love the moments we share enclosed within those four automobile doors, saying nothing at all. Listening to the notes that escape out of your overpriced speakers. No noise needed. The sound of the engine going. The sound of the road beneath us. The sound of love dancing between our hearts.

I especially love the moments when it hits me. The bad days. The crippling days. The dark days that come without warning. That is when I love you the most. When you stare into my face, read the sadness in my eyes, and plant kisses along the same path where the tears fell. Those are the moments when I need you most. When you grab me and fall to the floor, holding me the entire way down. You don’t understand how much that means to me. How you help me out of hell with your silence. How you make me feel so loved. So safe. So secure. And you say nothing at all.

It’s not when you ask how my day was when you see the stress resting on my brow. It’s not when you surprise me with trinkets or flowers at work, making all the girls envious. It’s not when we dine at my favorite restaurant or even when you solve the riddle of my orgasm while we make love.

I love you the most in the moments when you say nothing at all. In those moments when your lips do no talking and you let your hands do the explaining. In those moments when the quietness of the room is filled with all the things you want to say. All the things I need to hear.

My God. How I love you. How I love the deafening silence. How I love your ability to decipher when to speak and when to bow. When to bark and when to kneel. When to roar and when to lay. You just know. This is the reason why, of everyone, you are the chosen. Because you understand that I understand you best, I hear you loudest, when you say nothing at all.

I surely would be in jail had anyone seen me. Peeking cautiously through a gap in our brown wooden fence. 
But here I was peeking. 
And there they were in their backyard. Engulfed in fresh flowers and unhindered lust. She wore an over sized white t-shirt. Her firm nipples peaking through the thin metal material. He wore black basketball shorts. His pudgy belly covering his elastic waist band and braided string. 
She kissed him repeatedly, as if to make sure that he was ready. And to absolutely guarantee that she was too. 
His hands were all over her. Up and down her legs. Over her shoulders. Through her hair. And especially on her bare behind. I was supposed to be watering my herb garden. A new thing I had started ever since my husband decided he was tired of the processed taste of supermarket food. What a hippie. 
But instead, here I was, watching this man slowly slip this white cotton tee over this woman's head and reveal her vulnerabilities to the world. No panties to cover her feminine parts. No top to cover the young perkiness that he was so eager to enjoy. He remain clothed, only pulling what he needed up over the top of his baggy shorts. Her naked and free. Him only giving and revealing what he wanted her to have. The part of him that would give him the most pleasure. What proved he was a man. 
More kisses shared and I realized that my sage was over-watered and my oregano was dry as a bone. But I didn't care. He has begun positioning his body under hers. Ready for lift off. Preparing to enter outer space and shoot straight for the moon and stars. 
He was so rough. But she was so obliging. And commanding. She wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her hips, and sat down on his pleasure stick. And so she began rocking them to heaven. Slowly. Surely. Confidently. 
I was hypnotized. I just couldn't make myself look away. Not even when I heard my husband come through the front door. They were moving with the rhythm of their own desires. Rocking to their own gratification. Her arms casually draped around his neck. His arms falling lower. His hands gripping her hips, squeezing her behind, causing the cheeks to turn red. 
My husband called my name and I felt the heat rising in my body. This gap in the fence  was consuming all of my thoughts. I was watching the body movements. Watching him rise to her buck. Watching her toes curl. Watching his fingers tremble. Watching her back arch. His chest rise and fall. Faster each time. She bites her lip. He pulls her closer. They dig deeper. Fly higher. Push harder. 
She finally verbalized her gratification. A low, throaty moan. I felt it deep down in the forbidden parts of my own womanhood. And in walked my husband. Not a moment too soon. Perfect. Passionate. Sexy. Edible. 
I gave him the eyes. 
didn't even say hello. He grabbed me. We dropped to the floor. Crushing all of the greenery beneath our weight. I was no longer concerned with the gap in the fence. I had my own zealous cries to make. Our love sounds and passion cries competed with those next to us. 
And quite frankly, there is no competition. 
Perhaps next week they will be peaking at us through that same gap in the fence. Staring. Gazing. Observing. Learning. Taking us all in. And they surely would see a few new things. My husband and I are great teachers. 
But for now, our chords and theirs would come together and create a beautiful symphony of love, affection, and sex. For now, we would prove that Black Love is alive and well. No competition. Just enjoyment. And we had just one for our naughty neighbors. Touché.

So, in case you haven't heard, some compromising celebrity photos have been leaked to the general public. Some people somewhere hacked into the Apple iCloud system, targeted celebrity accounts, and leaked pictures of people like Jennifer Lawrence, Kirsten Dunst, and other celebrities who have no immediate bearing on my life. Of course, I read about it on Forbes and on Facebook, didn't care, and commenced to scroll through cute baby pictures and family photos. I was done with that mess.
What made me stop and really pay attention was when Jill Scott's name got mentioned in this whole fiasco. One of my friends posted this article to their Facebook page and I almost fell out my seat and died! I mean, I love Jilly from Philly. I was introduced to her spoken word by a friend and immediately fell in love with her music afterward. Very rarely do we hear bad press about her. She's graceful, classy, sweet, and sassy. I just love her to pieces. And she was on of the celebrities who's privacy was compromised during this whole picture leak situation. 
Now notice how Jill Scott's name is not mentioned in the Forbes article that I linked above. Now of course, putting that nudies of Jill Scott got spread like wild fire is not going to sell papers or get more readers on a website like Forbes. Maybe in the Black neighborhoods, but certainly not on Wall Street or corporate America. At the very least, it will create some type of diversity in the article. And we all know how everyone is trying to be politically correct and culturally diverse these days. If you don't know, you better ask somebody! 
But anyway, let me get to the point. Why am I talking about this in relation to Black Female Sexuality? Because my dear people, the reaction to Jennifer Lawrence's photos and the reaction to Jill's photos were EXTREMELY DIFFERENT!! The undertone of most articles relating to Jennifer Lawrence and the photo leaking scandal has made J. Law seem like a victim. The big bad wolf blew her house down, leaked her naked photos, and exposed her beautiful body to the entire world. It was an outrage. It was despicable. It was just sad.
But Jilly? There was a bunch of fat shaming. Some of the "that's what you get" kind of talk. I mean, the insults started pouring in. And the thing is, one photo that was leaked was of Jill in a robe recording her weight loss journey. And she has really slimmed down a lot. The other, which is a topless photo, Jill claims is not even her! Now in fairness, the other celebrities have experienced the same back lash. But most of the articles about Jill and this situation have to deal with how harsh the comments and the feedback about her photos have been. I mean, people are MEAN! But these comments are evidence to something much deeper. They are evidence that Black Female Bodies are not viewed in the same way as their white counterparts. And that's where I have the issue.
Of course, we all know that women of all races are objectified and in most cases, still viewed as commodities. But think about this. How would you feel about Jennifer Lawrence or Katy Perry on a Times Square billboard modeling Hanes underwear. Now how would you feel about someone like one of the female cast members from Think Like A Man 2 modeling those same underwear? I'm talking about Meagan Good, Regina Hall, Taraji P. Henson, or Gabrielle Union. Hell, let's not even talk about if you saw Nicki Minaj on that billboard modeling some Hanes underwear. Girl, there would be a first class riot up in that peace! So you get my point. Totally different reactions to the same billboard trying to sell the same product. Only difference is race and body construct. But this makes all the difference in the world.
What I think needs to happen is we as Black Women start to take ownership of our sexuality. For real. Let us take back our bodies and not be ashamed of them but refuse to let them be over sexualized and degraded. Period. There will be no apologies for our hips, our curves, or our round behinds. I cannot help that I fill out a pencil skirt to perfection. I cannot stop my booty from jiggling in a sun dress. I have no apologies that skater skirts and dresses are not as innocent on me as they are with those who have less behind. It's my body. I love it. And I will not let anyone make me feel ashamed of it. Or let anyone tell me that things that are deemed appropriate for one person in the workplace or not appropriate for me. If we are ashamed, we give them power. And quite frankly, we've given men and society the power long enough. Time to take it back now.
On another note, I do not judge anyone tho decides to participate in sexting or sending nudies. Again, that is your choice, I really hate that everything that is private and sexual is made to seem dirty or shameful. Yet, if a woman is pretending to have an orgasm in the shower in a shampoo commercial, than that's just advertisement. What I do have to say is this. Practice this behavior wisely. Make sure that you share photos with someone that you trust and have known for a long period of time. And have an understanding that once you hit sent on that picture or video, anything can happen to it. Literally. There are plenty of websites that expose exes or put people on blast based on their sexual activities and preferences. Beware. And trust your gut. If it doesn't feel right, don't do it. No matter what kind of pressure you're under.
Okay beauties, let's wrap this up. Jill Scott. I love you to pieces!! I also love the way that you handled this entire situation. If you are not aware how Jilly from Philly dealt with her haters, you can see her actual response here. It was classy, it was graceful, it was empowering while others were trying to tear her down. I wanted to raise a fist after reading it! She owned her body, made it clear that she was not ashamed of who she was or how she looked and shut everything down. Well done! But think about this. In his article about Jill and the photos, Jerry Barrow made the statement that Jill's privacy is our privacy. I would go even further to say that Jill's pride is our pride. No shame here. No hiding here. And no acceptance of hate, belittling, fat shaming, or degradation here. And once we make this the standard everywhere, the way Black Women, Black Bodies, and Black Sexuality is viewed will begin to change. You just watch.