friedtalepersona

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What to do when you get sucker-punched in the face

What to do when you get sucker-punched in the face

Image By: Ashutosh Sonwani via Pexels This past week, inspired by all the people making bread around the world, I decided to make dumplings. Whilst I was kneading the dough, I remembered an experience I had with the worst fondling ever, which also lead to me getting punched in the face. It was back in college, of course. Only then will a woman silently endure a terrible sexual experience. Well,…

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Emotional Cookie

Emotional Cookie What do you do when your loved one is exhibit destructive behavior? Address it? Stay out of it? Pray about it?

Image by freestocks.org via Pexels

My fellow reader.

Today, I come to you seeking guidance. I recently received a message from my sister about our cousin, Noni. Noni lost her mother and her sisters in an extremely tragic way at the end of last year. I found it concerning that she was laughing and making jokes during the days before and after the funeral, but baby girl really appeared to be…

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What to do when you get sucker punched in the face

What to do when you get sucker punched in the face

Image By: Ashutosh Sonwani vie Pexels

This past week, inspired by all the people making bread around the world, I decided to make dumplings. Whilst I was kneading the dough, I remembered an experience I had with the worst fondling ever, which also lead to me getting punched in the face.

It was back in college, of course. Only then will a woman silently endure a terrible sexual experience.…

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"Why is yours so big?" - Introduction to Body Shaming

"Why is yours so big?" - Introduction to Body Shaming We've all been there. You were just minding your own business, most likely feeling good about yourself, when someone poured cold water on your fiery joy with a jab on your looks. Here's the story...

Image by Cottonbro via Pexels

The Cambridge English Dictionary defines body-shaming as the “criticism of someone based on the shape, size, or appearance of their body.” Such an accurate phrase to refer to an embarrassing and degrading experience. Shameful.

Do you remember your first body-shaming experience?

I had mine in the seventh grade. For some people, the seventh grade may seem a…

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Fireworks - My Best Orgasm Ever!

It's been a crazy and drama-filled couple of days and your girl has not been able to post anything. Not because I didn't have the time, no, but because I just couldn't find the words to describe the emotional turmoil I have been going through. I was completely stumped. Still am. However, last night, for the first time in a tense few days, I woke up extremely horny. My body just craved a good pounding and one particular individual's face floated through my mind. I didn't just need a good release, I needed him! Let me tell you about him a little.

I only remember three facts about this guy: his name began with an S, he was a photographer, and he remains the best orgasm I have ever had! Please excuse me a second while I cross my legs and adjust my seating position… Thank you.

You've probably guessed it; I was drunk when we met. It was a Friday night out with my BFF when Mr. S and his friends pulled out chairs at our table. Well, I lie, there were no chairs. It was one of those standing tables, but BFF and I had managed to get hold of stools. Anyway, Mr. S and I didn't hook up that night. As a matter of fact, I don't remember much from that night. A lot of sambucas and tequila shots entered my system and I barely remember how I got home.

The hookup happened the following night. BFF and I went back to the same club because we didn't think our livers would ever degrade. We bought jam jar cocktails each, which were actually 2-liter jugs filled with an unknown mixture of liquor and ice. They didn't even give you a glass, just your big ass jug, and as many straws as you want. The reason I remain, 'til this day, skeptical of any liquid poured from a jug.

Anyway, jugs in hand, we made our way to the balcony. It was a Saturday, so the club was much more crowded than the previous night. We were about to abandon our search for a table when who shall we see but the crew from the previous night? We wove our way through the crowd and finally plopped our drinks on their table. After a few minutes of chatting with the guys, whose faces I wouldn't be able to recognize in a line-up, a hand landed on my hip, and a smooth deep voice whispered, "I've been thinking about you the whole day."

When I turned around, it was Mr. S, eyes locked on me with utmost intensity. The brother was breathing heavily, staring at me like he wanted to rip my clothes off right then. I don't know if the chemistry was real or if the booze had taken over me, but I wanted to rip his clothes off too. However, I was a lady, so I blushed politely and carried on sipping from my jug.

That's a lie. I got on the dance floor and started grinding my ass off in his line of sight. When the dance floor got too packed, the bodies around me too sweaty, I signaled to my BFF, who was also grinding with some unknown guy, that I was going to step out for a bit. So, I fought my short ass out of the crowd and descended the narrow staircase leading outside the club.

When I reached the bottom step, I was yanked off the ground, whirled around, and locked into a bathroom I had never seen before. In my drunken haze, I panicked a little, but all that dissolved when I saw Mr. S standing there, looking at me like… well, through my beer goggles, he looked like he was ready to eat me alive. Very un-ladylike, I growled at him. No, not purred, but growled. It was a purely primitive, maybe even animalistic, sound that I couldn't control.

Then I pounced on him, like a tigress in heat. He grabbed my hips and lifted me, slamming me against the wall. Head spinning and body overheating, I somehow managed to yank off his belt. Now, I could describe in detail what happened, but I won't because when I walked out of there, I picked up the lady part of my persona and continued gracefully with my night.

That's another lie. After the sobering orgasm, a loud, obnoxious knock sounded on the door. I quickly shimmied into my shorts (there was no time for underwear) before the door burst open. A large man hurled through and carried me out the club. He literally tucked me under his left arm like a parcel, legs dangling in the air, while he dragged Mr. S by the neck and threw us out onto the streets.

As I picked up my shoes, which the bouncer had been so kind as to throw at me, I saw a familiar face. A friend of my cousin's. He had witnessed the entire thing, but I wasn't embarrassed. Mr. S had fucked me into a new state of mind. I was on a post-coital high like no other. So, securing my pumps on, I asked the guy to go inside, find my BFF, and tell her I had been bounced and was waiting on the street like a dumbass. A dumbass with a glow, but a dumbass nonetheless.

A few minutes later, laughing hysterically, BFF came outside with the manager, and I was allowed back in the club on the condition that I behaved myself. The big man who had bounced me out stared at me with pure hate and disgust, only objecting Mr. S's re-entrance. With a sweet smile on my face, I danced my way back into the club and left Mr. S shouting and complaining outside. He was not my problem. On my way up the stairs, I peeked into the toilet I had been carried out of, but I couldn't see my panties. That mystery still remains unsolved.

What happened next? Well, in an unfortunate turn of events, my underwear wasn't the only thing I lost that night. My cellphone, along with Mr. S's cellphone number, also vanished. I never saw him again. Just like that, I missed out on possibly the best infatuation of my life. Shamefully, I tried to recreate that same high with booze and different men, but none of them ever came close to what Mr. S did to me that night. I suppose I'm still on the lookout for a man who can rock my world as he did, if not better.

Mr. S, my mysterious photographer, if you happen to see this. Hit me up!

[friedtalepersona]

Black Don't Crack - The Age Reveal

Black Don’t Crack – The Age Reveal

Image by Nappy via Pexels

When we were in high school, it was easy to estimate your partner or crush’s age. You just looked at whatever grade they were in and counted. I was always a little tricky to place though because I was 16 in my final year, with the face of a 14-year-old. But that’s what I call a special case. For most people, you could just tell how old they were if they weren’t…

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Painting your Pleasure - The art of Masturbation

Painting your Pleasure – The art of Masturbation

Image by: John Rocha via Pexels

Art – “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.”

There is something Van Goh-like about masturbating. I mean, the man was famous for “dramatic, impulsive and expressive brushwork”. If you truly immerse yourself in your orgasm, then you can understand the…

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10 posts!

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Love at First Sight - The Benjamin Button of Emotions

If you ask me today whether I believe in love at first sight, I will probably throw my head back and laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of the concept. However, there was a time when I believed in love at first sight.

I was waiting for the train home from campus when I met him. Our eyes met as I was about to take a seat on the cold metal benches, so I gave him one of those quick, tight-lipped smiles that say, “I acknowledge that we made eye contact, but it doesn’t mean we should talk.” In my defence, it had been a long, hot day, and I was grumpy and hungry.

As I settled next to him, I recognized the song that was playing through his speakers. It was one of my favourites at the time, Dirty Harry by The Gorillaz. The sound blasting from his earphones was the first thing that truly caught my attention and attracted me to him. None of my friends listened to The Gorillaz, so as you can imagine, I felt like I had found my other half. It was obvious that he and I were meant to be.

Unfortunately, I don’t precisely recall what he turned to me and said, but he and I started talking. By the time the train pulled up at the station, I had turned my full attention on him, laughing and hanging onto every word he said. Later that night, he hit me up on Facebook and we began our romance. I knew he was mine forever from the way he smiled at me. I didn't have to say much because my lover understood me instinctually. I honestly believed that our souls had connected. It was deep.

It was also doomed to fail, only lasting three months. My first problem with him was that he was broke. I know, I know, it was very shallow of me, especially since I too was a student at the time; however, he was, “I can’t afford McDonald’s fries," level of broke. He was broken, financially. I wasn’t asking for much, just a guy who could buy me lunch occasionally. On our first date, he took me to McDonald’s and invited his friend….so the friend could cover the bill! Cringe! Back then, you could get a whole medium meal for under R50. You would not believe the awkwardness of that situation! I sat on that uncomfortable red chair, holding my boo’s hand, but getting to know his friend. Gentlemen, no woman should be put through that. Rather make her a sandwich and take her to the park.

Anyway, I looked past that first incident, brushed it off as him wanting to introduce me to his friend. I mean, that’s what people in love did. They fused their lives together to make one. He was the Dirty to my Harry. We were meant to be. Little did I know that it would only get worse from there.

On our second and third dates, I discovered my boo’s second problem. He didn’t go anywhere without his friends. I know we were already madly in love, but we still needed to get to know each other. The squad of homies was not beneficial to the development of our relationship. In fact, the only time we were alone was when we had sex… the friends would wait outside. My dears, love is not only blind, but it’s also apparently stupid.

The end of us was actually my fault. Broke Boo was officially the third man I slept with and, to put it candidly, I was too busy trying to explore my inner hoe. I was partying so much that not even the love of my life could tie me down. In my travels from club to club, I met men of equal intoxication whom I wanted to bone without any guilt. I'm not a cheater. Never have been. Rather, I break up with my current lover to be with the next. That's exactly what I did. I broke up with the love of my life (rather the love of my three months) to explore the many men the club scene had to offer.

You might think, “maybe it was just infatuation.” No. He wasn’t exactly what I would call sexy. I mean he was tall and lean, but he was nothing special. He didn’t radiate any intense sexual energy that made my lady bits skip a beat. It was his mind and his interests in music that drew me in. However, the love I felt was not enough. Love at first sight alone cannot sustain a relationship. In fact, I believe it demands just a little extra work. I think of love at first sight as the Benjamin Button of emotions. You start off on a high note and it fizzles down from there…unless you work extra hard at it, then you just might have a shot at making it last.

[friedtalepersona]

Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.

D. W. Winnicott (via quotemadness)

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I don’t understand myself I don’t understand the person I’ve become.

Paula Hawkins (via quotemadness)

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Sometimes I don't feel like counting my blessings. Sometimes I just want to throw a pity party and cry if I want to.

Minenhle Khumalo

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Some people have never been made good love to, or don’t remember, or haven’t been taught how, and cheat their lives out of the pleasure we each can make in one another.

Rebecca Dinerstein (via quotemadness)

[friedtalepersona]

Your entire universe is in your mind and nowhere else. To expand the universe, expand your mind.

Deepak Chopra (via quotemadness)

[friedtalepersona]

I finally understand why people search for love high and low.

When it feels like my problems are strangling me, I think about him. It would be so easy to wrap myself in his warm love. Forget all my problems and let him take care of everything.

I want to do that.

The only problem is my pride. That ugly head has a nasty habit of rearing at the most inconvenient times. It won't let me get buried in him. It won't allow me to forget, propelling me to do it myself.

So, I stay drowning in my problems.

I don't know how to swim.

[friedtalepersona]

[friedtalepersona]

Catching The Unicorn

You know the unicorn. That guy declared unattainable. The one you drool over from a mile away, knowing he would never look your way. My unicorn came in the form of a tall yellow bone, with dreadlocks and eyes like a blasian baby. He was beautiful. He even had the LL Cool-J lips licking thing down. Before I continue, let me first state that when I first saw him, I did not drool. Rather, I was in the company of droolers. Back then, I was so uptight you’d swear I had a wooden spoon up my ass, but that’s not the point. Mr Unicorn (let’s call him Mr U) was at my high school, exactly three years ahead of me. He had some drama behind him by the time I got there in the 9th grade. The story was, Girl A liked him, but he went for her friend, causing a rift between the two girls. Then he cheated on the friend with an acquaintance of Girl A. However, that still didn’t stop Girl A from unabashedly and repeatedly drooling over him.

My drool-fest only started in my second year of University. My best friend and I were people-watching, which honestly should’ve been part of the Olympics because we were champions at it. Over-time, we caught the attention of some cool guys. They weren’t just cool on campus, nope, they were cool all over town. You know, the kind of guys who get a rep in high school and carry it out to college, becoming rap artists and social media celebrities. Full disclosure, they were more interested in my sexy, pear-shaped, dark chocolate skin best friend - a.k.a a whole meal; and I was the piece of garnish you get whether you want it or not.

One day, we were joined at our lookout spot by the cool guys. Talking, laughing, listening to music, some of them smoking. It was the first time in my life I felt cool…by association. Amid our chill session, like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day, Mr U walks up to the guys and greets them. He turns to us briefly, flashes a sexy that only lifted one corner of his mouth, and says, “Hi, ladies,” then carries on with his boys. The next thing I felt was my BFF pinching the black of my skin. Seriously, she left an ashy spot on my arm and I had to scratch in my bag for some Vaseline. We watched in amazement as the unicorn spoke and laughed so casually with the guys. He had cut his dreads sometime in the years since high school and joined a gym. He was no longer the cute boy from school, no, he was the sexy guy on campus.

After he left, after throwing another brief wave at us - in which we answered we a movie-style, dreamy, “byyyeeee” - my friend finally accepted the guys’ invitation to go out at the weekend. They caught her in a dreamy mood, and I was happy to be included. Sure enough, when we were alone, we openly, and disgustingly, discussed how sexy Mr U was. When I mentioned that I knew him from high school, we logged into Facebook and did some proper stalking on his profile – the true use of social media.

The weekend came and BFF and I were out on the town in very similar outfits. It was cold as hell, so we were both clad in thick black stalkings, ankle boots and tight wool dresses (mine grey, hers black). Just the two of us, because that’s all we ever needed. After about an hour into our pre-part at a bar, BFF got a call from one of the guys to say they had arrived and wanted to hook up with us; so, we headed to join them. As BFF and I were about to cross the road when we heard one of the guys shout BFF’s name. He was standing outside another bar, but he was not alone. Mr U was there. As soon as we spotted him, a truck, a damn truck, stopped right in front of us. What a truck was doing at that particular spot in town in the middle of the night, at the weekend, I will never know. That truck, however, gave us two minutes to do a girly squirm and shout “OMG” while we pinched each other repeatedly – I refused to be the only ashy one this time. We could not believe it!

The truck drove off and there he was, clad in black jeans and a leather jacket, hands in his pocket, looking all kinds of sexy. We crossed the road like we were floating on air and greeted the guys on the other side. When he came in to hug me, I savoured that second like my funds had depleted and it was my last drink for the night. We entered the bar and found a table, my first source of embarrassment. The stools were too high for my little legs, my little legs in a tight dress. I tried to gracefully climb onto the chair but ended up having to hop and adjust three times before I could sit comfortably. Then, came part two of my embarrassment. For a second, I was overjoyed that Mr U was seated right next to me, but only for a second, because I then realized that I was right at the corner and would have to hang my head forward the whole night to form part of the rectangular table conversation. I’m an introvert, people, so I’m already not trying to make conversation in general, now I had to put in the extra effort. I was left looking at the side of his beautiful head, while BFF got the full view of his face. So, what did I do? I did what any sane person in my position would do, drown myself in alcohol, of course. It was a bad idea, but it sure felt great when Mr U put his hand on my knee and leaned in close enough to whisper, “Are you okay?” before I hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the restrooms.

When the night was over, Mr U drove some of us to one of the guys’ apartment – BFF and I squished with two others in the back seat – for a continuance of the night. By the time we got there, I was coming down off my alcohol high and excruciatingly aware of how awkward I had been the entire night. We got to the apartment and they cracked open a bottle of J&B, lit a blunt, turned on some smooth R&B and one guy fell asleep on the floor almost immediately. I envied him. The conversation was around HipHop artists and rap music, of which I could not contribute. I watched Mr U, eyes half-closed, glass dangling on his fingertips, a satisfied smile on his face. I wanted to be the glass. After a short while, just before the sun came up, the guys drove us home.

A week later was my birthday, so a bunch of us had a braai at a friend’s house. The meat was burning. Drinks were flowing. The cake was caking. It was my kind of evening: indoors, safe, drunk with the people I love, and cake. Must have cake. The guys from the previous weekend decided they would stop by, uninvited, accompanied by Mr U. My heart leapt when I saw him walk in, once again dressed in all black. He was like a walking fairy-tale. Like all fairy tales, a tragedy was inevitable. All the guys wanted to watch soccer. I sat on that couch, trying to seem interested, but I couldn’t get past the question burning in my mind: “Why would anyone watch this, let alone play it?” Did I mention that BFF is a huge soccer fan? She was having the time of her life as they all screamed at the TV screen. I left her and Mr U (oh, and the other guys) on the couch and joined the anti-soccer party that was going down in the kitchen. P.S. This is why you need ‘other’ friends.

I had given up on ever catching his attention. When the kitchen party got too much (I had somehow ended up dancing on the counter and one of my friends was grinding with the fridge), I made my way down the hall to use the bathroom. When I unlocked the door to exit, Mr U pushed me back inside and locked us both in there. He finally said the words I had been waiting for: I’ve been watching you all night. Oh, my Gina! Before I knew it, he had lifted me onto the counter and was kissing me all over. We were knocking off people’s toothbrushes and squeezing face creams in the throes of passion. When he managed to get my top off, something clicked in me and I asked if he had protection. He said that he didn’t, so, as a responsible girl, I told him to stop; and, as a horny guy, he whipped out his dick and asked me to give him head. I didn’t, mainly because I had only slept with one guy, only once, at that time. I had no experience with giving head and I would be damned if I became the girl who bit off the Unicorn’s beautiful member. I left him hanging in the bathroom and walked out.

I know what you’re thinking: you got the unicorn! Of course, you give him head. You lost your chance!! I too thought I had lost my chance until he sent me a friend request on Facebook and an inbox asking to organize a rendezvous at his place. It was the beginning of a beautiful fling. He was amazing in bed! We hardly had anything to talk about, but he fed me and fucked me, and I was ecstatic for a glorious four months. A week after the last time I saw him, his status changed to ‘In a relationship’ and I, being the respectful girl that I was back then, never saw him again.