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How Do You Like Your (Yoni) Eggs? By Sophia Ned-James

So what do you think about Yoni Eggs? They’re my latest obsession, so I’ve been researching them like crazy. I haven’t bought any yet, but I definitely plan to soon.

But before I spend my hard-earned pennies for something to stick “up there”, I gotta get some feedback from folks I trust. And by “folks,” I mean women who look like you and me. As in Black women. So, I’ve been asking around …

But first, for those of you not hip to this ancient trend, let’s review the basics so that we’re all on the same page. The Yoni (rhymes with phony) is an ancient Sanskrit term for the female genitalia, which means “sacred space” or “sacred source.” In Hinduism, according to Merriam-Webster, it symbolizes the goddess Shakti, and is a symbol of divine procreative energy. It’s often used to refer to the womb, the vagina, and the vulva. In other words, it’s the pussy (or vajayjay, honey pot, woo woo, vadge. You get the picture).

The Yoni Egg is a “beautiful semiprecious stone carved into an egg shape and polished to be worn inside the vagina.” (Source: yoniegg.com)

Yep. Inside the vagina. In your pussy. An egg shaped, semi-precious stone … Inside. Your. Vagina.

To be honest, I’ve been hearing and reading about Yoni Eggs for a long time, now. But I’ve only heard about Black women using them in the last 5 years or so, which is what really got me interested. But this is definitely NOT a new thing.

In fact, Yoni Eggs have been used for over 5,000 years in China. Apparently, empresses and concubines of the Royal Palace used eggs carved from jade to “awaken sexual power, awaken sensuality, and maintain amazing health into their old age.” (Source: yoniegg.com) Advocates further claim that Yoni Eggs are an ancient and sacred tool for spiritual transformation.

Listen. I don’t know about you, but the very idea of a semi-precious stone being all up and through my goodies having the power of spiritual transformation is very interesting, to say the least. And, women have been doing this for over 5,000 years?? Sisters, we gotta catch up!

Proponents of regular Yoni Egg use claim all kinds of benefits, including (but not limited to):

• Increased libido and awakened sensuality
• Natural lubricant, even after menopause
• Balanced estrogen levels
• Tighter vaginal walls; awakened vaginal tissues & muscles; new nerve growth; and increased overall vaginal sensitivity for enhanced sexual enjoyment
• New kinds of orgasms; stronger orgasms; more frequent orgasms
• Easier childbirth and help with fertility
• Stronger pelvic floor to help with incontinence, and prevention of future prolapse
• Increased control over vaginal muscles, leading to heightened sexual enjoyment for male sex partners
• Decrease in PMS symptoms, fewer menstrual cramps, and shorter duration of menses
• Increase in overall health and well-being

In traditional Taoist teachings, three types of gemstones are used based on their properties: jade (recommended for its healing properties); black obsidian (to enable women to work with and integrate their “shadow”); and rose quartz (recommended for advanced users, as it’s said to open the heart).

According to yoniegg.com, the most popular gemstone for beginners is genuine nephrite jade. It’s hard, non-porous and won’t break easily. It also has high thermal conductivity, so it doesn’t take a lot of body energy to warm it up. Nephrite is known to heal, especially the reproductive system. And it has powerful energy, but is gentle and protective of its wearer, shielding her from negative outside energy. It’s also a good weight for Kegels.

Yoni Eggs usually come in three sizes: small, medium and large. And though it seems counter-intuitive, you’re supposed to start out with a large or medium egg, and work your way down to a smaller size, as your vaginal muscles get better at gripping and releasing them.

You can also get drilled or undrilled eggs. Drilled eggs have holes in one end, thru which you can thread a string for removal, kind of like a tampon. Undrilled have no holes, allowing the wearer to use her muscles to release the egg.

Fascinating, huh? But I wanted first-hand information from someone I trust … someone who looks like you and me. So, I found a few Black Yoni Egg users who are sexually aware, open, and honest. And I asked them a few questions about their experiences, knowing they’d give me the real deal. I interviewed three women, two of whom I know casually (and trust implicitly), and one expert who’s a sexual health and wellness coach specializing in natural and medicinal remedies. All but my expert have chosen to remain anonymous, so I changed their names for this piece.

“Sojourner”, aged 43, grabbed me first with her revelation that for her, wearing Yoni Eggs was about self-awareness. She said, “I was molested and wanted to heal myself.”

Wow! Such power in those words! She went on to say that since using Yoni Eggs, she began “to open up more about my problems and how I pretty much felt guilty for any sexual pleasure.”

Again, wow! This immediately sent me back to the internet to revisit what I’d read about Yoni Eggs. To be totally honest, I also revisited my own pain and trauma associated with sex. We all have some, right? And it often hinders our ability to enjoy our bodies and embark on true intimacy with others.

“Sojourner” first learned about Yoni Eggs from an energy healer on Facebook. She did some research and ended up buying her first one from that healer. The healer cleansed and charged it, and then sent it to her. “Sojourner” spoke intentions over it before inserting it and wearing it overnight. She says she woke up the next day feeling better than she had in weeks, and that “things I wanted to happen started happening.”
She’s now a regular Yoni Egg wearer, using it every new moon and every full moon, unless her menstrual cycle prevents it. She uses undrilled and prefers quartz and amethyst.

36 year old “Harriet” also learned about Yoni Eggs from Facebook, but she’d also heard about them from one of the Real Housewives shows. She did her research and took the plunge, buying an undrilled one because she was worried about cleaning one with holes. She “charges” hers by sitting it on a window sill on sunny days. For cleaning, she follows the advice of the site where she purchased it, and uses salt and hot water. She was single when she first purchased her eggs, and has yet to use it since embarking on a new intimate relationship.
Sexual health and wellness coach, Kimi LeVadge, owner of VForVadge.com, is someone I consider a reputable expert on Yoni Eggs. Though she’d known about Yoni Eggs for about a decade, she only personally started using them after the birth of her first child four years ago. As she’s very ingredient- and material-conscious, she wanted to use a natural stone with healing properties. She fell in love on her first try, saying the Yoni Egg “actually helped elevate my mood and made my vadge happier.”

Kimi typically uses her Yoni Eggs two to three times a week, cleanses them with her Black Salt Cleanser and does a monthly salt water soak by moonlight to recharge them. And they’ve enhanced her sex life, giving her improved muscle control and strength, as well as better (wetter) reaction to stimulation. She also sites improved mood and energy, as well.

Kimi’s favorite egg is Rose Quartz for its help with romance and communication. Blue Quartz is her second favorite. She suggests that newcomers start out with a larger egg to build muscle strength, saying that starting too small can “cause the egg to slip out and discourage use. Working your way down also helps with muscle control; the smaller the egg – the more your muscles flex.” As for drilled vs. undrilled, she acknowledges that it’s mostly a matter of preference. But as drilled eggs allow for strings which makes removal easier, it might be the better choice for beginners.

Kimi also advises that since the energetic properties of your Yoni Eggs can bring up unresolved feelings, “it’s important to include meditation and positive mantras” when you use them. “Sojourner’s” testimony confirmed this, and because she was properly prepared, she was able to work through some of her issues with past sexual trauma.

I asked each of my subjects how much Yoni Eggs cost because, as much as I’m all for healing and muscle strength, I’m also broke and cheap. Kimi says that depending on the size and rarity of the stone, eggs tend to range from $25 and up. “Harriet” has a few eggs, which ranged from $45-$60. “Sojourner” paid $70 for her first one, but it came in a kit with other items. For her other eggs, she’s never paid more than $15 for each. So, I’d say they range of $15-$70, depending on what kind you get. Not a bad investment for sexual healing and enhanced muscle control!

All of the women I interviewed cautioned me to be sure to research the source of the eggs, and to be diligent about cleansing them. Salt and hot water seem to be the preferred cleansers. It’s especially important to wash prior to your initial use to get rid of any harmful energies picked up during shipping and handling. All were very adamant about prayer and meditation prior to, during and even after each use in order to maximize the egg’s healing effects.

So, there you have it, Ladies. I don’t know about you, but I plan on giving Yoni Eggs a try. I love the idea of using a natural material to aid my own body in its healing. Plus, better muscle control can only be a good thing, right? Especially in the bedroom. I’ll let you know how it goes!
In the meantime, check out Kimi’s online store for all kinds of goodies at shop.vforvadge.com. And Comment below if you use Yoni Eggs. We’d love to hear about your experiences!

Photo Credits: Richardandnamaste.com, chakazulucrystals.com, nirvanawild.com, yonieggs.com

FaceTime – By Sophia Ned-James

As a thick girl (fluffy, phat, plump … you know, NOT skinny), I’ve always been very self-conscious about sitting on a man’s face.  I mean, y’all already know Sophia loves to be pleasured orally, but it takes real confidence to be my size and actually sit on someone’s face!


You thought the title meant Facetime, as in Apple products and iPhones?

Nope!  In Sophia’s world, there’s only one kind of Facetime, and that involves me sitting on one!

Anyway, I’ve always been self-conscious about sitting on a guy’s face because I’m so not skinny.  In the back of my mind, I’m always worried about suffocating some poor dude while he pleasures me, and not realizing it until I’m done.  I know that sounds creepy, but such is life for us non-skinny types.

That never stopped me from sitting on the occasional face, though.  Especially if the guy requested it.  But, I was never really comfortable doing it until recently.

Royce* is a huge fan of Facetime, always after me to climb on up there and enjoy.  But, I’ve been thick my whole life.  And those insecurities that come with all this abundance run deep.  No matter how much he reassured me, I was always a reluctant participant.

That’s starting to change, though.  And it’s not just because I have a man who constantly compliments my body and tells me I’m sexy.  Sure, that helps.  But the real change has been within my own mind.

Like everyone else, my mind was colonized to subscribe to Euro-centric standards of beauty which have nothing to do with how I (or people like me) really look.  I’d been brainwashed into hating my thick thighs and fat ass, even as white women injected their bodies with poisons to achieve what I have naturally.

But I’ve worked hard to de-colonize my thinking when it comes to my looks, especially my weight.  As I’ve evolved into a woman I’m proud to be, I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of all my assets, even the ones that jiggle.

Especially the ones that jiggle.

Cuz I do jiggle.

A lot.

Sure, I need to lose weight and exercise for health reasons.  But what I’m not gon’ do is beat myself up because I’m not a size six.  And I’m certainly not going to restrain my sex life based on what my bathroom scale says.

Life is too short and sex is too fun!

So, Royce had been out of town for work for a few weeks, and I missed him terribly.  We spoke on the phone every night and had lots of hot, steamy phone (and Skype actual Facetime) sex.  But it just wasn’t the same.

The day he travelled home, we sent at least 100 sexy texts, describing all the dirty things we wanted to do to each other.  During one of our last exchanges, I texted him this:

“I plan on spending a lot of time sitting on your face when I see you!”

He didn’t respond right away, which worried me.  At first I thought maybe he was on the plane and had to turn off his phone.  But as more time passed without a response, I started to panic.  Those old insecurities started to creep back into my head.  Am I too fat to sit on his face?  Why the fuck isn’t he texting back?

Finally, he called.  From the sounds in the background, I could tell he was at the airport.

“Your last text,” he began.

Nervously, I answered.  “Yeah?”

“Sophia, you don’t know how happy that made me!  You know I love when you sit on my face, but you almost never want to do it.”

“It’s because …”

He didn’t let me finish.  “I know why, Baby.  That’s why I’m so glad you’re comfortable enough with me to actually want to do it.  I can’t wait to see you.  I’m gonna keep you on my face forever!”

When Royce finally got to my place, we barely talked, saying only what was absolutely necessary to get naked and busy.  After a couple of frenzied rounds of some epic fucking, Royce finally held me to my word.

“You said you’d sit on my face, Baby,” he reminded me.  But I was tired.  And honestly?  I was pretty satiated, too.

He wasn’t having it, though.  So, like I’d promised, I rode his face for a long time, slowly letting him lick and suck me back to the brink of ecstasy.  It was so good the way he made my pleasure ebb and flow.  We moaned in harmony as my passion mounted, and he gradually brought me closer and closer to my peak.

I think I warned him before my explosion hit, but I can’t be sure.  At that point, I could no longer hear or see or even taste.  All I could do was feel and it felt exquisite.  And when I finally fell over the edge, everything went blank.

They say that there’s nothing sexier than a confident woman.  To be full-bodied and sexually confident is truly liberating.  My hope for you is that you’re able to love the skin you’re in, too.  And that you get to enjoy as much Facetime as you want!

*Royce isn’t his government name, ya know.  Names and details are always changed to protect our privacy.

Photo Credits: Blackandcurvy.tumblr.com

(Originally published on TheSexySingleMommy.net)



Sophia’s Review Of ‘Girls Trip’

Now that ASK A SEX THERAPIST told us about grapefruiting, Ladies, if you & your girlfriends haven’t seen “Girls Trip” yet, you need to – or get your hands on a copy ASAP if it’s left your movie theatre.  Seriously.  You don’t even realize how much you need this kind of sisterhood-laughter-Black-Girl-Magic in your life!

Never mind that I personally know the woman responsible for all the fly clothes these Nubian queens wore (we went to high school together); you can even ignore that one of my favorite sex games was prominently featured (again, no spoilers, but read more about that here ); and forget about the total treat of seeing Queen Latifa and Jada Pinkett-Smith share the big screen again after, like 20 years … the eye candy ALONE should be enough to lure you to your nearest theatre!


I mean, come on!  Fine ass Larenz Tate, who hasn’t aged even a little bit since “Love Jones” hit theatres 20 years ago, still has a smile that can light up an entire movie screen.  For real.  Dude could pick his nose, scratch his balls and spit into a bowl, but when he flashes that mega-watt smile of his, panties will start dropping everywhere!

Plus there’s Mike Colter, with all that bald, chocolate-y, goodness wrapped up thick muscles and tight-ass suits.  Makes me just want to reach up and rub on his pretty, bald head.  Gives me the flutters and the flux just thinking about what those muscles would feel like in my capable hands. With his fine self.

Heck, even Mike Epps’ silly ass makes a cute and funny appearance, causing me to look at him twice, like “Hey, Mike!  Heeeyyy!”

And then there’s so-fine-it-actually-hurts-to-look-at-him Kofi Siriboe!  You know, hot-ass Ralph Angel from OWN’s “Queen Sugar”?  Yeah, him.  With his sculpted cheekbones and bedroom eyes.  With his deep, chocolate skin that just makes you want to lick him from head to toe … Lawd, let me go get me a glass of ice water, cuz that young brotha is HOT!!!

And it’s not giving anything away to mention that this hilarious romp of peak Black Woman Awesomeness is set against the backdrop of the Essence Fest in New Orleans, that yearly musical festival where Black women gather to party, celebrate, learn, uplift, network and just … BE.

Because just BEING a Black woman in today’s world (and especially in Trump’s America) is hard AF!  Because while the world may love our parts (our lips, our hair, our skin, our curves), the only people who really seem to love us as whole people are other Black women.  Because Black women are the demographic most likely to seek love on dating sites, but are the least likely to be chosen on those same sites.  Because the very tenacity and strength that has allowed us to thrive and prosper seems to hide our very humanity from everyone else, leaving them to assume we can’t feel pain.  Because we have to “hold it down”, raise the kids, work harder than anyone only to still be paid less, keep the home, give our all to the church, plan the marches and protests (then feed all the marchers and protestors and clean up after them) … and look damned good doing it.

Because just BEING a Black woman is hard AF!

This movie is the perfect summer respite from all that ails and worries you, Sis.  It’s a raunchy, belly-laugh of a hoot that centers Black women in a way so rarely captured by Hollywood.  For once, the movie doesn’t depict us as the two-dimensional, moral compass of the story, patiently leading misguided white saviors along the bumpy road to redemption.  “Girls Trip” centers Black women in all our fun, crazy, loving, sexual, magical glory, finally allowing US to save ourselves.

So, grab your girls (or your man, if he’s down) and treat yourself to the thrill ride of hilarity that is “Girls Trip”.  The music is awesome, the cameos are epic, the laughs are plentiful and the sisterhood between the four main characters is inspiring.  Go.  Laugh.  Talk back to the screen (you know how we do).  Dance.  Sing.  Shout.  Allow yourself the freedom to actually enjoy something that is just for YOU.


Sophia Ned-James is a Detorit-based Black Erotica writer whose work appears in SuzyKnew! under SIZZLE WITH SOPHIA.

Lost Panties At The Pier – SIZZLE WITH SOPHIA

I was going to call this post “That Time I Lost My Panties Having Sex on a Public Pier”, because that’s exactly what happened.  But that title is way too long.

So … Have you ever done it in public?  Talk about exciting!  There’s nothing like some good, old-fashioned, almost-get-caught-in-the-act public sex, y’all!

Disclaimer: Just so we’re clear: I am NOT encouraging you to break the law.  If you decide to have sex in public and get arrested, that’s on you.  Don’t waste your one phone call on me, cuz I ain’t got no bail money, and I only wear handcuffs for fun.  So before you catch a case gettin’ your freak on, carefully consider your surroundings.  And for goodness sake, make sure ain’t no kids around!

That said, you really should give public sex a try.  Honestly, I haven’t felt anything quite as thrilling as a thigh-quivering, spine-tingling orgasm in public.  The earth didn’t just move, it fell off its axis!

And yes, I really did lose my panties.

Here’s what happened:  I was with one of my favorite ex-boyfriends, Brandt*.  After spending most of the evening shooting pool with his friends in a loud bar, we found the peace and quiet of his car refreshing.  So we decided to just drive around and talk.

The conversation went from generic topics to sexy banter in no time.  Soon we found ourselves at a riverside park, making out in the car like a couple of horny teenagers.  Now it’s not as though I haven’t had my share of car sex through the years.  But, as a member of the “grown and sexy” club, there are just some things I’m a little too old (and curvy) to do anymore.

When I first suggested we leave the car to take things further, I figured we’d find a nice grassy spot near some trees or bushes.   Brandt had other ideas.  Taking me by the hand, he led me to this long pier that led a few hundred feet out into the water.  It’s a popular pier from which people fish or jump in the water to swim, etc.  At night, the lights on the pier are lit, and they’re spaced every few feet apart along its length.  But the spacing of the lampposts also creates pockets of shadows where, on a moonless night, it’s hard to see.

Luckily for us, it was a cloudy summer night, with the quarter moon only making intermittent appearances.  Brandt led us to one of the shadowy spots near the far end of the pier.  While there were no lights shining directly upon us, anyone looking hard enough could definitely see us.

I was eager, but a little nervous.  My biggest concern was lying bare-assed on a dirty old pier.  Fortunately, Brandt had grabbed a small blanket from his car, though.  Don’t you just love a man who comes prepared?

With public sex, there really isn’t time for seductive undressing.  Basically, you just get rid of any clothes that’ll get in the way.  So that’s what we did, pretty much just taking off everything from the waist down.  Very unromantic.

But as we positioned ourselves on the blanket, the thrill of what was about to happen got me excited again.  The cool breeze from the river felt good in the humid air, tickling my skin.  And even in the waning moonlight, Brandt’s chocolate, sculpted body looked amazing.

Brandt quickly took the lead and after kissing and stroking me a little, he headed downtown.  The reason Brandt is one of my favorite exes is because dude could literally teach a Masters-level course on eating pussy.  He’s so good, he probably has “superior pussy eating” listed on his Linkedin profile.

Usually, Brandt takes his time licking me and always makes me cum at least twice.  But since we were outside on a public pier, we didn’t have that luxury.  He went down there on a mission, aggressively taking command of my pleasure and had me writhing in no time.

You know how sound travels farther at night?  Well, anyone on that end of the river certainly got an earful that night.  I couldn’t help it!  Brandt’s tongue was on fire!  And lying there, half-naked and exposed was thrilling!  So, yeah, I got loud.

But before I could cum, Brandt flipped us so that I was on top.  Oh, what a glorious ride!  The breeze, the lapping water beneath us, and the thrill of possibly being seen … it all added up to HOT!  I rode that thick, throbbing dick of his hard and fast, and didn’t even try to stifle my screams and moans.  And since Brandt is such a gentleman, he made sure I came before he did.  But he was loud as hell, too.

I was so spent from my orgasm, I barely even noticed my scraped knees.  If it had been possible, I would’ve fallen right to sleep.  But, one major downfall to having public sex is that there’s no time to bask in the afterglow or cuddle.  We had to hurry and get dressed before we got caught.

Only one problem:  I couldn’t find my panties anywhere!

We were already pushing our luck, so I had no choice but to finish dressing without them.  It wasn’t until we were leaving the pier that we noticed my panties floating in the water below us.  Somehow, in the heat of passion, we’d knocked my panties right into the river!  We laughed so hard, we could barely walk back to the car.

I realize how lucky Brandt and I were not to get caught.  But that night it will go down as one of my best sex-capades, ever!

What about you?  Have you ever done it in public?  Do tell!

Photo Credit: beautifulinsideandout.1992.blogspot.com

*Brandt isn’t his government name, of course.

Sophia Ned-James is the pseudonym for a Metro Detroit-based freelance writer, blogger, and novelist.  Committed to writing fantasy and erotica in ways which celebrate all women, Sophia seeks to provide a safe place for women to explore and own their sexuality without judgment or shame.   To keep up with all of Sophia’s escapades, be sure to like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/sophiasizzles and follow her on Twitter at @sophianedjames.

Rest Well, SWEET PRINCE – A Tribute To Prince For His Birthday, June 7 – By Sophia Ned-James

On April 21, 2016 my heart, along with the hearts of millions of others, shattered into a million little pieces.  Our beloved Prince, the innovative musical genius and icon, died suddenly.  That haunting falsetto was silenced forever, those sexy hips would gyrate no more.

Of all the celebrity deaths in recent years, this one hit me hardest.  I’ve been a hard-core Prince fan since his debut album, For You, was released.  It was 1978 and I was a 13-year old Black girl attending an all-white, private suburban Detroit school where I felt keenly out of place most of the time.  The early stages of puberty hit me hard, filling my head with ideas and images that both frightened and excited me.  I was also a precocious reader, devouring “adult” romance novels by the truckload, earmarking the sex scenes to read to my friends, and trying my hardest to understand the changes in my body.

Then, along came Prince and the song “Soft and Wet”.  Back then, I didn’t fully understand the song was about his girl’s pussy.  Not at that tender age, anyway.  But it felt “naughty”, much like the images in my head.  The song struck a chord, and suddenly I didn’t feel so out of place.  What followed was a 38 year love affair with his music, filled with live performances, dozens of albums and a deeper understanding of myself.

It’s significant that Prince came along at the advent of my sexual awakening, piquing my curiosity and titillating my senses.  Through his music, I was exposed to ideas about sexuality, sensuality and spirituality that ultimately shaped my identity as a woman and later, as an erotica writer.

Prince Rogers Nelson (June 7, 1958 – April 21, 2016)

Young Prince

Born June 7, 1958 in Minneapolis, MN, Prince Rogers Nelson was a musical prodigy.  He signed his first record deal with Warner Brothers at the tender age of 18.  Prince would go onto enjoy one of the most successful musical careers in history, eventually putting his hometown on the musical map.  A prolific writer and producer, Prince was also a mogul, developing long-lasting, lucrative careers for other talented musicians.  And his epic battle with Warner Brothers in the 90s, which played out in the public eye and prompted him to give up his own name for a few years, ultimately changed the way the music industry treats its artists.

The man’s influence is undisputed.  He was an icon, a true musical genius.  Artists from all genres and generations clamored to work with him.  He’s written and produced hit songs for some of music’s biggest stars, and won 7 Grammys, a Golden Globe and even an Oscar.  And he’s also a big part of the reason you’re reading these words today.

You see, Prince taught me a lot about sexuality through his lyrics and music.  He gave me permission to be curious, to explore and experiment.  His artistry helped me to reconcile my growing sensual nature with my religious up-bringing, bridging the gap between sexuality and spirituality in a way that made me feel whole and acceptable.  Bottom line: he’s one of the reasons I write about sex.

My parents hated him and his blatant sexual prowess.  Of course, this made me love him more.  Prince made me a rebel, allowing me to expand my horizons within the safe confines of his music.  His posters freaked my father out and made my mom blush, but they gave me a sense of belonging, a place to pour my fantasies without any real risk.

His 2nd album, Prince was released in 1979 and it blew me away.  The song “Bambi” was my introduction to gay sex and love.  This was the 1970s, decades before the internet, Google and Pornhub.  In my little sheltered corner of the world, people didn’t talk much about any kind of sex, much less gay sex.  While I cringe at the anti-lesbian messaging in some of the lyrics today (“Bambi, can’t you understand/ Bambi, it’s better with a man”), back then the mere notion of two women loving each other was revolutionary for me.  It prompted me to ask questions and explore.  And in those days, that meant a lot more than just typing a few words in a search engine.

Whenever I’m Around You, Baby … I Get a Dirty Mind

Prince 2

It was Prince’s 3rd album, Dirty Mind that really rocked my world, though.  My older sister owned the album and I blatantly stole it from her.  Without remorse.  Without apology.  Without hesitation.  I took it.

You see, this was the album through which my burgeoning sexuality was really brought into focus.  If his first 2 albums were my introduction to sex and sensuality, Dirty Mind was my Master’s Class!

The opening beats of the title song still make my heart race.  I can’t help but bob my head, tap my feet and sing along when I hear it.  Prince put into words all the “dirty” thoughts swirling about in my adolescent imagination.  Then he set those words to a blazing hot beat that still makes me squirm in my seat to this day.

But it’s “Head”, that funky, up-tempo ode to oral sex that was the real revelation!  Here was this tiny little half-naked man bellowing “Morning, noon and night I’ll give you HEAD”!  Man, I was hooked!  Those lyrics, that baseline, that beat all came together to give women permission to want, request and enjoy oral pleasure.  Hell yes!

And that’s the genius of how Prince wrote about sex.  He was this virile, hyper-sexual man writing and singing about women who were unafraid to ask for what they want in bed.  It wasn’t just about the man’s pleasure, anymore.  It wasn’t just about the man’s sex drive.  Prince’s woman, in song anyway, brazenly asks for what she wants (“I must confess, I wanna get undressed and go to bed”).  And Prince, with his diminutive, falsetto little self, is all too happy to give it to her.

“I Just Can’t Believe All the Things People Say”

I can go on and on about those early albums and my sexual development.  There was “Do Me, Baby” from the wildly successful Controversy album (released in 1981).  Not only did we hear Prince simulate an erotic scene which ends with one of the best recorded orgasms in history, but it’s also the song to which many of my contemporaries lost their virginity.  And yes, my friends and I can still sing along with every single moan, sigh and gasp to this very day!

“Sexuality” from the same album became another anthem during my blossoming adolescence.  He says it plainly with this lyric – “Sexuality is all we’ll ever need”.  Yes, my dirty little mind screamed!  Prince gets me!

Following 1999’s “International Lover” (released in 1982), no real Prince fan can listen to a pilot’s announcements on a plane with a straight face ever again.  Especially when they tell us “your seat cushion may be used as a floatation device”.  And don’t even get me started on the aggressive sexuality of “Lady Cabdriver” and “Let’s Pretend We’re Married”.  In the latter, he says “I sincerely want to fuck the taste out your mouth”, and I ain’t been right since.


“I’m in love with God, that’s the Only Way”

I could do this forever, taking you through every single sexually-oriented song and drawing parallels to my own sexual development.  Suffice it to say that Prince’s straight-forward lyrics about embracing our sexuality played a huge role in creating the woman I am today.

But I’d be remiss in not speaking to Prince’s ability to connect the sexual with the spiritual, which was truly genius of him given the era during which his career took flight.  The year was 1984 and the album and movie that would launch Prince into the stratosphere, Purple Rain, was released.  The AIDS epidemic had exploded and was quickly going from a gay, white man’s disease to a worldwide crisis.

In the US, political conservatives were evolving into the GOP we know today, thanks to Ronald Reagan and the enormous push-back from the women’s movement of the previous decade.  The free loving 70s had given way to the greedy, consumer-driven 80s, and ironically, religious fervor was on the rise.

And here was Prince, brazenly sexual, pushing boundaries, not caring if anyone thought he was Black, white, straight or gay.  He had the nerve to sing about God and spirituality in the same straightforward manner, mixing religious iconography and erotica effortlessly.  From “Annie Christian” to “God” and so many other songs, Prince touched upon spiritual themes throughout his long career.

Prince taught me that my sexuality wasn’t diametrically opposed to my Christian upbringing.  He taught me that my sexual curiosity was connected to my spirituality; that I could love God and good sex, and not burn in Hell for it.  He took the shame of my precocious sexual nature and re-cast it as a spiritual awakening, and I’ll always love and appreciate him for that.  I know of no other artist, from any generation, who had the ability to connect sex and religion in such a beautiful and reverent way.


Sometimes It Rains In April

I was a precocious little girl with a wild imagination and raging hormones when Prince burst on the scene all those years ago.  His music and lyrics gave my innermost feelings and desires a slammin’ sound with a funky backbeat.  He made it easy for me to feel comfortable in my own skin, and gave voice to all the thoughts and fantasies swirling around in my adolescent brain.

Prince provided the backbeat and baseline for the soundtrack of my youth.  His lyrics were the syllabus for my sexual education, and the balm I needed when I felt out of place.  Listening to Prince allowed me to shed the shame of my desires and cloak myself in the confidence it would take for me to pursue my passion.  I wasn’t alone when I listened to Prince.  I wasn’t strange or weird or a freak … I was a woman, spiritual and sexual and blessed.  I’ll always love him for that.

Sleep well, sweet Prince.  You’ve earned your rest.  I hate that your life ended the way it did: fighting the pain that so many years of vigorous entertaining caused.  I pray you know how much you were loved and are loved, still.  Happy Birthday in Heaven.


Old Flame, New Beard – SIZZLE WITH SOPHIA

Last night I broke The Women’s Sexual Code of Conduct Rule #46, Section F, Sub-Section ii: Never, EVER, hook up with an ex who broke your heart!  Because even if you hit it and manage to escape with your heart intact, you’re STILL gonna regret it later.

Now I can always justify even the most random sexual encounters, as long as they’re consensual.  But getting back into bed with someone who already broke your heart?  Even I can’t justify doing that.

Well, I’m almost ashamed to admit it, but last night I hooked up with a guy who broke my heart years ago.

“What Had Happened Was …”

Not that I’m making excuses (okay, maybe I am), but this whole thing only happened because of a new beard and brown liquor!

I’d just finished a very productive meeting with a client at a new downtown bistro, during which I’d abstained from alcohol.  I’d learned the hard way not to mix drinking with business, but that’s another story for another day.

Anyway, I was feeling pretty good about myself after my client left, so I decided to stay and treat myself to a slice of Key Lime pie.  What I didn’t realize was that my ex-boyfriend Dante* had been sitting at the bar the entire time.

Dante’s not his real name, of course.  But it’s the name I have him listed under on my phone, even though I know damn well I need to delete his triflin’ ass.  Think Dante’s Inferno.  Now picture whatever you imagine Hell to be.  That was my life with this guy.  I went thru Hell with him.  Then I went thru Hell trying to get over him!  But that was a long time ago.  I’ve run into him a handful of times over the years, and while I doubt we’ll ever be friends, we’re at least cordial.

So there I was, eagerly anticipating my pie, when Dante walks up to me and says “Hi, Sophia.”

Yeah, I was surprised to see him.  But what had me sitting there, a forkful of pie halfway to my open mouth, looking like an idiot for I don’t know how many seconds was Dante’s beard!

Dante’s a nice enough looking guy.  He may be an asshole, but he is handsome in that clean-cut, looks-like-the-kind-of-guy-your-mom-would-want-you-to-marry kind of way.  But in all the years I’d known him, he’d always been clean-shaven.

Well, now he has a face full of hair!  And it looks really good on him!

When I recovered from the shock of seeing him, I did the polite thing and asked him join me.  I didn’t think he’d accept though, convinced he’d do the polite thing and decline.

But, Dante sat his ass down and ordered me my favorite drink: Jack and Diet Coke.  (Don’t judge.  I honestly like the way it tastes.)


That beard, tho!

I don’t know if it was my good mood, the sugar rush from the pie or the calming effect of whiskey, but I found myself actually enjoying Dante’s company for the first time in many years.  He’s naturally charming, and if you ignore the deplorable way he treated me years ago, he’s fun company.

I was halfway through my second drink when I found myself obsessing about his beard and how it would feel against my thighs … which, of course, got me remembering how good he was at giving head.

Dante’s tongue game was always strong.  He knew it, too.  He was cocky about it, and with good reason.  Dude ate pussy like a champ.  He was so good that even now, if I’m struggling to cum, I’ll conjure up memories of him down there doing his thing to help me get there.

So, he’s talking and I’m staring at his beard, trying to calculate exactly how I’d position my thighs to best feel the tickle of those thick, coarse whiskers.  And I’m drinking and getting hornier by the second. Of course it doesn’t take long for Dante to pick up on my mood.

“Whatchu thinking about, with that naughty look on your face?”

I’m thinking about “what that mouf do” and about that sexy-ass beard, I thought to myself.  But he already knew.

Less than 10 minutes later, I’m in my car, following him to his house, where he has more Jack Daniels.  And a bed.

Look.  I knew when I got in my car that I had no business messing around with Dante again.  Not that I was worried about getting my heart broken … that wasn’t going to happen, because what I wanted from Dante had nothing to do with my heart or his.

Besides, my heart is spoken for … kind of.  Remember Royce**?  My boyfriend?  Well, we’re sort of on a “break”.  Again, that’s a story for another day.  Suffice it to say, I wasn’t technically cheating on Royce. Royce is still Bae.

Anyway, I’m over Dante.  He no longer has any power to hurt me.  However, he may not see it that way, since I was currently driving 80 mph on I-75 for a chance to ride his face again.  The thought of what this was doing to his already huge ego was almost enough to make me turn around and take my ass home.


Dude can really eat some pussy.  Plus, the beard.

More Liquor (or “Lick Her”)!

Why bother with pretense and pleasantries when we both knew why I was there?  Dante grabbed two glasses and a fifth of Jack from his bar.  I grabbed the ice bucket, and we headed straight to his bedroom.  He’d redecorated since I was last there, so to make small talk, I complimented him on his new furniture.

But that thick, kinky thigh tickler had me thinking all the nasty thoughts!  Two strong, but quick drinks later, I was grinding on that sexy beard like a maniac.  It felt damn good, too!  Holding on to the headboard as I rode his face, I kept my thighs opened just wide enough for the hair on his face to gently scratch me.  Sometimes I’d grind harder, and my legs would automatically open wider.  But then I slowed down so I could feel his beard again.

Between those prickly whiskers and that brilliant mouth of his, I came twice in mere minutes, and was immediately ready to leave!  But, knowing that would be rude and genuinely grateful for the orgasms, I did the right thing and reciprocated, sucking his mediocre dick like the cool chick I am.  Thankfully he also finished quickly.

And here’s where the regret kicked in … one look at that cocky, satisfied look on Dante’s face and I wanted to erase the last hour!  I could tell that he thought I was still into him and that this latest escapade was a “win” for him.  And as much as I wanted to make it perfectly clear that for me, it was all about that beard and too much brown liquor, I didn’t even have the energy play that game.  It mattered that little to me.

To add insult to injury, I was too tipsy to drive.  So now I was stuck at this arrogant jerk’s house for at least a couple of hours and he really thinks I’m feeling him.  Ugh!

Well, it didn’t make sense to waste a perfectly good beard and tongue, so after a few minutes of rest and awkward small talk, I climbed right back up on Dante’s face!  I figured hey, if I gotta endure dude’s company until the whiskey wears off, I might as well get something out of it!

Was I wrong, though?  Anyway, Rule #46 still stands: stay away from guys who’ve hurt you in the past.

Still, beards.


Photo Credits:  Instagram.com and juergenland.tumblr.com

*Again, not his government name, but it’s the perfect pseudonym for this dude.

**Also not his government name. 


He was standing behind me in his den.  I’d just bent over to change the song on his iPad, purposefully giving him a nice view of my ass.  And believe me.  I knew exactly what I was doing.

His breath on my neck gave me goose bumps when he said directly into my ear,  “What do you have on under that little dress, hmm?  Is my pussy covered up?  Or are you naked under there?”  As he said this, his hands slid up and down my hips and pelvis, coming dangerously close to, but not quite hitting my pussy.  My clit twitched at his possessive reference.  Damn, I could almost cum from just listening to him!

“That’s for me to know and you to find out later,” I teased.

Pulling me hard up against his erection, he growled “Don’t play with me, girl.  Answer me!”

“I’d rather show you than tell you, baby.”  Stepping away, I turned and faced him.  “Do you wanna see?”

He nodded.  With both hands, I grabbed the hem of my dress.  Then, as his eyes followed my every move, I slowly raised it to my waist.

As soon as he got a glimpse of my bright, red thong that only barely covered my goodies, he went wild.  In no time at all, he had me on the edge of the couch with my legs around his shoulders as he knelt on the floor in front of me.

“You know what I want.  Show it to me!”

“Show you what?”

“I need to see what’s mine, dammit!”  And in one motion, he tore the thong right off my body.  I yelped in surprise.  Then he just stared as the seconds slowly passed.  I started to squirm under his hungry gaze, feeling naked and vulnerable.  But honestly, it was erotic as hell.

“You’re so wet!”  He finally said, surprised.  “And look at you … you’re getting even wetter as I watch!”  It was all I could do to keep from touching myself.  I yearned for his touch, his tongue and he knew it.  Yet he just looked at it, torturing me.

Then he spoke.  “Touch yourself.” His voice was like a caress.  “I want to see you touch my pussy.”  I eagerly complied, parting my lips with one hand and slowly stroking my clit with the other.

“Damn, that’s sexy!”  He watched me intently, following every stroke.

Finally, he groaned and gave into his craving.  First, he pulled my hands up to his mouth and sucked my fingers greedily.  Then he thrust his face between my legs and latched onto my swollen clit and began sucking it mercilessly.

Helpless, I fell back and gave my man what he wanted.  He needed this, needed to taste me and claim me this way.  He moaned as he licked and sucked me to a quick climax like he was feasting on his last meal.  I was halfway through my orgasm when he flipped me over onto my stomach as if I were a rag doll.

The next thing I felt was the fat head of his cock pushing at my hole.  Rocking my hips back towards him, my pussy pulled him all the way in … right where he belonged.  I knew that he needed to control this ride, though.  Besides, I was still riding the waves of my own sweet release from his tongue.  So I let him take charge.

He wasted no time taking what he wanted.  His breath was coming in short pants as he hammered his big dick into me.  He wasn’t gentle.  He wasn’t romantic.  He was like a wild animal and I loved it … craved it, even.  He kept drilling me hard, changing his rhythm every few strokes to keep me a little off kilter.

I don’t know how long he kept at it, but it lasted longer than any other time we’d ever fucked.  He was getting his and making it last.  And I was only too glad to please him.  Anyway, the longer he kept at it, the closer I got to another burning orgasm.

But he surprised me by pulling out and flipping me onto my back.  Laying me flat on the couch with one leg in the air, he re-entered me in one smooth motion.  Face to face now, we stared into each other’s eyes.  The passion in his gaze was shocking.  He looked like a man possessed, and I was his possession.

We were moving in tandem now, so in synch our hearts beat as one.  He shifted his hips just enough so that now, every stroke pulled me closer and closer to my peak.  God, it felt so good!

Not wanting it to end, but frantically needing to cum again, I scratched at his back and shoulders.  If I hurt him, he didn’t complain … he just kept hammering away in that mesmerizing rhythm.  And his eyes never left my face.  Even when I closed my own eyes to give in to the powerful wave that was quickly making its way up my body, I could feel his intense gaze.

Finally, I could tell the end was near.  His massive cock was ramming into my pussy hard, now … almost frantically.  I was so close I could taste it.  He must’ve realized this because at exactly the right moment, he whispered right into my ear, “Come on and cum for me, baby.  Let go!”

That’s all I needed to hear.  I came hard and deep, and he was right behind me.  And for a few sweet moments, we were floating in paradise together.

Several minutes passed before either of us could talk again.  And I only had one question.  “Did you really have to rip my thong, though?”

The Golden Tongue: My Night With The Master SIZZLE WITH SOPHIA

Alright, y’all.

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret about cunnilingus: there is no perfect technique!  Yes, I know that some men swear by the “trace the alphabet on her clit with your tongue” trick.  But personally, that just gets on my nerves.  And of course, some men just flat out don’t know what the Hell they’re doing when they go down there.

But every woman is different!  What worked for his ex might make me want to kick him in the head!  And what works for me might bore his next girlfriend to tears.  No two women will respond exactly the same way to some “special” move.  The real trick is that a man must take his time and get to know what works for the woman he’s with NOW.  And ladies, it’s on us to make sure he knows this.

Let me share a story with you.  Years ago, there was this guy I knew who had a reputation for being amazing in bed.  Every woman who’d slept with him raved about him, from his huge cock to his go-all-night stamina.  But his real forte was performing oral sex.  He was said to be the master of pussy eating, with almost super-human abilities to bring women to multiple orgasms with his mouth and tongue.

I mean, I heard about this dude everywhere: over drinks, at bathroom sinks and huddled in the corners at parties.  Women said things like, “Girl, he made my pussy sing!”  Or, “He has the tongue of a god!”  Or my personal favorite, “Dude munches on the first date, and doesn’t stop until you’ve cum at least twice!”

One friend of mine referred to him as Captain Munch (like Captain Crunch, the cereal); another friend called him The Golden Tongue.  But most people called him The Master of Oral Sex, or The Master, for short.

Well, after hearing all these wonderful things, I just had to experience this oral demi-god for myself.  I was young, single and in the throes of sexual discovery.  I’d spent most of the summer hearing about his golden tongue and hey, I wanted my pussy to sing, too!

I finally got my chance at an end-of-summer party.  The huge house was crowded and the music was banging.  To calm my nerves, as soon as I arrived, I grabbed a drink: some kind of fruit-punch concoction that tasted sweet but packed a wallop.  Then, I began to stalk my prey.

He was easy to find, being the one guy surrounded by a gaggle of gorgeous women vying for his attention.  I’ll admit I almost gave up my quest.  His harem was filled with all the “pretty girls” and besides, I was getting plenty of attention from other guys.   But then I kept hearing all those voices in my head talking about multiple orgasms, singing pussies and his amazing golden tongue.  So, I kept my eyes on the prize.

I finally cornered The Master when he came out of one of the first floor bathrooms.  I knew this might be my only chance, so I moved in for the kill.  I walked right up to him and, acting drunker than I was, started talking to him.  From there it was easy.

“Isn’t there some place we can talk that isn’t so loud?”  I asked.  My eyes were all innocence, but I knew exactly what I was doing.  So did he.

We quickly headed upstairs and into one of the bedrooms.  I’ll admit my confidence waivered.  I was still young and hadn’t honed my seduction skills, yet.  But thanks to the punch, I had liquid courage pumping through my veins.  Besides, I hadn’t come this far to walk away.  I was in an empty bedroom with The Master and dammit, I was going to find out what all the hype was about!

Luckily, he took the lead and nature took its course.  We started making out, and his kissing technique was impressive.  Before long, my panties were off and he was trailing those fabulous lips down my body, headed right for my treasure.

“At last,” I thought, closing my eyes.  “Time to experience sexual nirvana!”

At first, he explored a little, testing my responses to this move or that one.  Then he settled into a nice, sensuous pace.  He clearly knew what he was doing.  But there was just one problem: it wasn’t working for me!

I mean, technically he was doing everything right.  His tongue was nimble and his lips were firm, just the way I like.  And from the sounds he was making, he was enjoying himself.

But, it wasn’t moving me!

Worried, I checked myself to see if maybe I was the problem.  Nope!  I was relaxed, confident and aroused … yet, I was no closer to an orgasm than when I first walked into the party.

The Master was intuitive enough to realize I wasn’t getting there, so we changed positions.  I sat on his face so I could set the pace.  But even that didn’t work.  Neither did him licking me from behind.  We tried everything and finally settled for some mediocre intercourse, after which he kindly used his hand to make me cum.  At least he was a gentleman.

What a let-down! I was beyond disappointed. Plus, I was a little embarrassed that I’d wasted an entire night chasing after some elusive orgasm from the mouth of a guy who was supposed to be an expert. Sure I’d climaxed, but not the way I’d wanted to. I had looked forward to some kind of out-of-body experience, and all I got was the same thing I could have gotten from myself.

I never told anyone what happened, so his perfect sexual reputation remained intact. After all, he really hadn’t done anything wrong. And his dick was huge, so that part of his mythos was true.

Besides, he was a nice guy. And whenever The Master saw me after that night, he was always very sweet to me. To this day, we remain friendly (well, we’re friends on Facebook, anyway).

What I learned from my lukewarm experience was there is no one sure-fire technique when it comes to eating pussy. Women are just too different. Yes, there are some basic do’s and don’ts; but for the most part, each woman has her own personal map to pleasure … it’s up to her partner to find it.

I’m sure that if I’d had a few more sessions with The Master, we could have made beautiful music together. Maybe his reputation had planted unrealistic expectations in my head. After all, how could he possibly know what I liked after just a few minutes of fumbling in a strange bedroom in a house full of people? Given those circumstances it’s no wonder my attempt to reach paradise failed so miserably.

Anyway, that night didn’t ruin cunnilingus for me. On the contrary, I went on to have plenty of amazing experiences receiving oral sex. And when it was exceptionally good (I’m talking earth-shattering, mind-numbing, make-you-drool kind of good), it was always with someone who’d taken the time to learn my body.

The pleasure of oral sex on a woman starts and ends with that woman. She has to know her body before she can receive pleasure from anyone else, oral or otherwise. She also has to be willing to help her man along … she just can’t send him downtown without any directions! She needs to guide him to her pleasure, gently allowing him to learn what she likes and dislikes.

So, the moral of the story is that the best technique for going down on a woman depends on that woman. A sensitive man will learn what works for his woman. And a self-confident, comfortable-in-her-own-skin woman will know how to enjoy this precious gift from her man.



In general, I don’t condone using sex as a weapon in relationships.  If that’s your thing, cool.  Do you.  But personally, I’m not a big fan.

I guess I’ve just never been one of those women who withhold sex as punishment for some petty infraction for which I’m going to forgive him anyway.  If a boyfriend commits a “break-up-able” offense like cheating, beating or stealing my money, I end the relationship.  I’m not saying it’s always easy, but those relationships always end.

But if a boyfriend does some of the petty things all men do in relationships, I just don’t see the point in withholding sex as punishment.  I may cuss him out and I may even stay mad at him for a while.  But, deliberately withhold sex?  What would be the point?  Why should I go without and suffer just because he did something stupid?

Well, Langston* and I had been fighting so much, I broke my own rule!  I held out for two weeks because he’d gotten on my very last nerve.  In hindsight, we were both equally to blame for our fighting, though.  I’d been more hormonal and bitchier than usual, and Langston had been under a lot of pressure at his job which made him cranky.

So we kept bickering over little stuff until two weeks ago we finally just decided to spend some time apart.  I suppose I could have spent time with one of my other boyfriends, but I missed Langston.  (Y’all know me, though.  I may date more than one guy, but I’m always safe and I’m always honest.)

Anyway, I finally decided to end our drought and put us both out of our misery.  Two weeks of pent up sexual frustration wasn’t doing either one of us any good.  From the few conversations we had, I knew Langston was as horny as I was.

So the other night I called him and invited myself over to his apartment.  He still sounded a little angry on the phone, but I didn’t care.  We’d gone without for long enough.  It was time for some good, old-fashioned “Make-Up Sex”!

He answered my knock wearing only a towel.  He’d obviously just gotten out of the shower because he was still damp.  I could even see the steam wafting through his apartment from his opened bathroom door down the hall.  My timing was perfect!

Langston’s a nice looking guy with a body that just won’t quit.  It took all my willpower not to just jump him right there at his front door!  He looked so hot standing there with tiny rivulets of water rolling down his buff, honey-colored body.  There was no shame in my game as I ogled him from head to toe, either.  The man looked good enough to eat, and I intended to enjoy a full meal.

When my eyes travelled back up to his face, I wasn’t surprised to see the grim expression there.  It had been a rough two weeks for both of us, and he was obviously still mad at me.  Still, he graciously invited me inside and led me directly to his bedroom.  Only the bedside lamp was lit, giving the room a warm, intimate glow.  We stood in the middle of the room and just stared at each other.

Langston’s body was tense.  While his arms hung loosely at his sides, his hands were balled into tight fists.  And by now, he had a pretty hefty hard on making a tent out of the front of his towel.  Now it was his turn to ogle me and judging from the way that tent expanded, he liked what he saw.

I knew I had to make the first move so I reached out and gently touched his chest.  I simply laid my palm on his cool, damp skin.  His muscles jumped from the initial contact, and I could sense a change in his breathing.  But other than that, he didn’t move.

I stepped closer to him.  And when I leaned in to inhale his clean, masculine scent, my body immediately reacted.  He smelled so good, and looked so sexy … the intensity with which he stared at me made him even seem a little dangerous!

Langston watched me warily.  I didn’t mind.  I didn’t want to just jump right into bed, anyway.  I actually liked the idea of slowly seducing my way back into his good graces.

“Can I have a kiss, Langston?”

“A kiss?”  He sneered.  “That’s all you want, Sophia?  A kiss?”

“For now,” I nodded.

I watched his lips move as he considered my request.  And I knew that what he really wanted was to throw me to the bed on my knees and take me hard from behind.  He was just pissed enough to make it hurt a little, too.

But, as thrilling as that sounded, I didn’t want that.  I wanted to soften things between us, no matter how horny we were.  Yes, we both needed the sex.  But I didn’t just want to fuck.  I wanted tenderness, too.

“So, can I?  Can I have a kiss?”

“Is that why you came to me tonight, for a kiss?  You should’ve stayed home if that’s all you wanted.”  His voice sounded strained.

Rolling my eyes, I told him “You know damn well I came here for more than a kiss!  I just want to start there, that’s all.”

“You want more?”  His eyes dropped to my lips.

“Yes.  I want more.”

“It’s been more than two weeks since we …” he paused and for the first time since I arrived, he seemed a little unsure of himself.  “I haven’t been with anybody else, either.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m more than a little on edge, here.”  Langston’s breathing was erratic now.

“I know you are.”

“I don’t want to be too rough and hurt you …” His voice was a little softer.

“I know.  And you won’t.”  I reached up and put my arms around his broad shoulders.  Langston is pretty tall, so even in my heels I had to stand on my toes.  “That’s why I want us to start with a kiss, Baby.  Please?”

Sighing, Langston leaned down and softly kissed me.  And it was sweet and gentle, just the way I wanted it.

But, as soon as our tongues met, sparks flew!

Moaning, Langston grabbed my waist and pulled me close as he attacked my mouth.  It would have been so easy to surrender to his passion, to give over to his demanding kisses and let him set the pace.  But if I wanted romance instead of a bang-fest, I’d have to stay in control a little longer.

I slowly ended the kiss.  Langston looked at me hungrily and leaned in for more.  But I stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest.  “Lie down, Langston.”

He only paused for a moment before complying.  With a small smile, he watched my reaction as he let the towel slide to the floor before climbing onto his bed.  And one look at that gorgeous cock had me licking my lips in anticipation.  It was so hard, it looked angry.  It seemed bigger than I remembered, and was thick and throbbing.

“You have too many clothes on,” he complained, reclining on his bed.  With his arms folded behind his head, his biceps bulged and my knees buckled.

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” I told him, tearing my gaze away from his muscles to meet his hungry eyes.  Kicking off my shoes helped cover the fact that I was so aroused I could barely stand anymore.  “First, I need to get me a little taste of what I’ve been missing.”

As I crawled onto the bed, he asked “You been missin’ me, Baby?”

“Oh yes.”

“Tell me what you’ve missed most.”

Kneeling at his side, I grabbed his thick, brown erection and said “I’ve missed everything about you, Langston!  And yes, obviously I’ve missed the sex.  But right now, the only thing I want is that giant dick of yours in my mouth.  Okay?”

Not that he would have declined my offer, but I didn’t wait for an answer.  I greedily took him into my mouth and then settled into the pleasure of sucking my man.  There’s just nothing like giving head to a guy who turns you on and who appreciates the effort.

Langston hissed with pleasure as soon as I started.  Then he moaned as I found a pace that worked.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that his arms were stretched out to either side, with his pillows tightly fisted in both hands.  I was glad it wasn’t my hair he was pulling like that.  But, I knew this first time would be fast and rough.  It needed to be.  In order for him to be gentle with me, we needed to take the edge off, first.

I quickened my pace, adding more tongue action and some moans of my own.  Langston loved it, and his moans got louder.  “Damn, Baby … that’s so good!”  I could tell by the tremor in his voice that he was going to pop soon.  Normally, I would have slowed things down and turned my attention to his balls and beyond.  But he needed to get off, so I kept at it, sucking harder with each stroke.

“Sophia, I’m close!” His voice was almost a growl, now.  I ramped up the suction and added even more pressure.  That’s when he finally grabbed my head and started thrusting his hips wildly.  He was just about there.  All I needed to do was bring him on home.

And so I did just that, moaning with him as he shot his load into my mouth.  Then I sat back and watched as his body continued to quake and tremble for a few minutes afterwards.

He pulled me into his arms as his breathing slowly stabilized.  He softly kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose and then my lips.  Then he looked into my eyes.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

I smiled at him and said “You’re welcome, but we’re not done yet!”

Smiling, he agreed.  “We’re not even close to being done.  But why are you still dressed?”

“I want you to do it.”

“Do what?”  Clearly the blood hadn’t quite made it back up to his brain, yet.

“Undress me.”

“Your wish is my command!”  Now that’s a much better attitude!

And so, Langston slowly removed my clothes, kissing me where ever and whenever my skin was exposed.  When he finally took off my bra, he spent several minutes licking and sucking my tender breasts, careful to give my hard nipples plenty of attention.  I closed my eyes and gave over to the pleasure of his lips and tongue on my skin.

Then, he pulled off my panties and moaned when he finally saw his prize.  “Damn, I’ve missed you!”  He gently kissed the top of my mound.  My thighs trembled with anticipation as his kisses slowly ventured lower.  When he finally swiped at my aching clitoris with his firm, thick tongue, I gasped.

“What’s the matter?  Does it hurt?”  He looked so concerned.  I shook my head.  “You’ve just missed me, haven’t you?”  His voice was low and very sexy.  All I could do was nod.

Langston kissed and then licked me again, this time a little slower.  “You like that?” He asked.

Again, I just nodded.

“Good, ‘cause there’s a lot more where that came from!”  This time I didn’t even bother to respond.  I just surrendered to his masterful tongue.

Langston proceeded to lick, suck and nibble with the expertise of a cunnilingus connoisseur.  Knowing what I liked, he prolonged my pleasure into extensive, tantalizing minutes of pure bliss.  He worked me like a pro, bringing me right to the edge, and then pulling me back again.  Soon, I was begging for release.

I could tell when he was ready to let me cum because his tongue literally battered my clitoris into submission.  I clutched his hair and squeezed my thighs around his head.  His hair was still damp from his shower and it tickled.  It didn’t matter, though.  My destination was at hand and I was desperate to get there.

Finally, a powerful orgasm ripped through my body, making me arch my back and curl my toes.  Even to my own ears, I sounded like I was speaking in tongues.  But the relief felt so good, so complete I didn’t even care.

I was still panting with my legs shamelessly spread when I heard Langston grab a condom from his night stand.  I opened my eyes and watched as he rolled it on and crawled back between my legs.  Even though I was still tender, I wanted him inside me so badly I could taste it.

There’s nothing quite like that initial penetration, especially after having gone so long without it.  Yeah, I know two weeks isn’t really that long.  Lord knows I’ve gone much longer!  But that night, it felt like it had been a lifetime.

Having already released some tension, we were able to relax and take our time.  Our bodies fell into a natural rhythm and we rode wave after wave of pleasure together.  Langston has this thing he does when he’s on top where he angles his body a certain way.  It’s hard to explain.  But when he started that rapid-fire hip action at just the right angle, he sent me to the moon!

We ended up going at it two more times that night before finally falling into an exhausted sleep.  And I have to admit, even though I still don’t condone withholding sex during arguments, there is definitely something to be said for “Make-Up Sex”!

Now it’s your turn!  Share your “Make-Up Sex” stories here!  Come on, don’t be shy.  We don’t judge anyone here at Suzy Knew!

*You know the drill: Langston isn’t his real name.  I always change the names and a few details to protect the not-so-innocent!


By Sophia Ned-James

Let’s be honest, ladies.  Not every encounter with a coveted “crush” ends well.  Sometimes we build these guys up in our minds into the men of our childhood fairytales: a dashing Prince Charming with whom we’ll live happily ever after with just one kiss.  Our expectations are often ridiculously high – too high for any mortal man to reach.  And that’s why sometimes, it’s best if we just let our “crushes” remain just what they are: figments of our over-active imaginations.

Because often, even when we’re lucky enough to “get” our crushes, we end up disappointed.  How could we not be?  No one could possibly live up to the impossibly high standards we’ve set in our own minds.  And even when it isn’t a matter of expectation vs. reality, sometimes the guy just doesn’t measure up to even the most basic standards.

Has that ever happened to you?  You’ve been lusting after a guy because he seems perfect for you.  But you only know him from a distance or as a friend, so you can’t really get a read on how he’ll be romantically.  So you fantasize about him, creating different scenarios where you end up together, dreaming about what your kids will look like.  At the very least, you spend way too much time picturing all kinds of steamy, sexy encounters where he ravishes you with his enormous … um, equipment!

And then somehow … maybe by luck or some superior maneuvering on your part … you get your shot with him.  And you’re totally devastated to learn that he’s a horrible kisser with slimy hands and a teeny weeny … weeny!  Or he’s an immature jerk, or emotionally unavailable … you can pretty much insert any disappointing scenario, here.

Ugh!  What a letdown, right?  All that wasted time and energy, all those long nights fantasizing about him, and for what?  A great big nothing!  And you promise yourself that you’ll never get carried away with a crush again.

But here’s why we still pursue our crushes and remain hopeful, daydreaming and doodling his name like some besotted schoolgirl: sometimes, albeit rarely, a crush does turn into Prince Charming.  (Okay, maybe not Prince Charming, per se.  But you get what I mean.)  Sometimes the fantasy becomes the reality!

I was still in college and I’d had a crush on Simon* for about a year.  I never acted on my growing feelings for him because honestly, I thought he was out of my league.  Over the course of that year, we’d gotten to know each other pretty well.  In fact, he often turned to me for advice about his different girlfriends.  I was a good friend and always advised him according to what I believed were his best interests.  It wasn’t easy, though.  Watching him date other women while my feelings for him grew was more than a little painful.  But since I didn’t think I had a shot with him, I dealt with it.

I had my own share of dates and flings, so it wasn’t as if I were sitting at home pining for him.  But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t compare every guy I encountered to Simon.  And every single one of them fell short.

Anyway, after a year of lusting and fantasizing, I finally had my chance with my crush.  At the time, we were both between relationships and found ourselves alone in his apartment one Saturday night.  After a few drinks, I was thrilled to learn that Simon had been crushing on me for about as long as I’d been crushing on him!  I was on top of the world!

Then came that moment of truth: do we risk our great rapport by crossing the line from friendship to relationship?  What if we tried and it turned out horribly?  Or even if “we” worked for a while, what if we broke up later and ended up hating each other?

In the end, curiosity, lust and a little too much beer won out over caution, and we agreed to share our first kiss.  The sparks flew from the moment our lips met!  It’s many years later and I can honestly say that was the best first kiss I’ve ever shared with a man.  It was perfect … kissing Simon felt like home.

But should we go further, we breathlessly asked each other?  Yes, those first kisses were spectacular.  But maybe we should quit while we were ahead.  At that point both of us could have walked away unscathed and our friendship would remain unchanged.

I don’t know whose idea it was, but we decided to go into his bedroom.  “Let’s just lie next to each other on the bed and let whatever happens happen,” we said.  Ha!  I don’t think we were in his room for more than one full minute before we were both naked and going at it like rabbits!

If our first kiss generated sparks, our first sex-capades were positively nuclear!  I mean, we went at it all night long!  (Ah, youth!  What I wouldn’t give for that kind of stamina now!)

But it wasn’t just the fact that we did any and everything to and for each other.  Fuelled by youth, beer and pent up lust, we were like circus acrobats!  It was so much more than that, though.  In fact, it was honestly one of the most sexually pleasurable experiences I’ve ever had.

I think our strong friendship made it easier for us to tune into each other’s desires and responses.  We could reach other’s bodies well.  And because of our genuine respect for each other, we eagerly did what we could to please.  It was a truly unforgettable night that was the first of many unforgettable nights.

So that’s my story of a crush that had a happy ending.  Simon and I aren’t together today, but we are still friends.  Our relationship only ended because our lives after college took us in different directions emotionally, professionally and geographically.  It’s all good, though.  Like I said, we’re still friends.

And that’s why I still believe in crushes.  Yeah, a lot of them turn out to be huge disappointments.  But every once in a while, you encounter a crush like Simon …

*Nope, Simon isn’t even close to his real name.  You know the rules: I always change the name and a few details to protect the not-so-innocent!