What These Bitches Want From a Nigga? (What @itsmscoco2u says)

Well I guess that depends on who you ask. As for me it depends on which day you ask me. I will admit to being one of those Women who really doesn’t know what she wants. I like to attribute my indecisiveness to being a Gemini. Helps me feel better about it. Part of me wants a Rich man with a Big Penis and a Monster tongue to travel around the world with Eating, Drinking, watching strippers and having sweaty sex in wild places. I want him to blow my mind, body and soul. I want to fuck on the beach, dine at the RITZ and bathe in Champagne. I want someone who can take me places even my imagination hasn’t dreamed up yet. Someone who brings all the naughty out of me. Rock my world….  Then take his ass right back home until I summon his presence again.

Another part of me wants a strong, loving, dependable Southern Man to come home to everyday. I want a man who makes me feel secure in giving all my love only to him. A man who takes out the garbage and mows the lawn on the little piece of property we saved up to buy. A man who’s idea of a night out consist of Drinking with his friends and playing poker. A man who forgets occasionally that he still has to date me, but never forgets my birthday or our anniversary. A man who loves his Mama and fears God. I want a Man who calls me on my bullshit and caresses away my pain. I want to come home to a man who knows how to fix the kitchen sink and is willing to clean out the gutters. A man who I can put a 3 piece suit on and the outside world would never guess his past. A man willing to love me despite mine…

So… to answer the Trillion Dollar question: What these Bitches want from a Nigga?

EVERYTHING!

brought to you by @itsmscoco2u 

Waking at the Westin

*Stretches and yawns* I begin to adjust my eyes to the darkness. The first thing I realize… I have clearly drunk a lot the previous night. Wait is it morning? My vision begins to clear. By the looks of this room… I am definitely at the Westin. I’d recognize this room décor in the dark. Well this is either a good sign or a really bad sign. Waking up in a strange hotel? But hey…. At least it’s the Westin right? Am I alone? A voice from behind me whispers “Are you awake Baby?” Nope, clearly not alone.  I take a deep breath and roll over. Do my eyes deceive me? Am I lying next to the MAN himself? Visions of the previous night begin to hit me like a raging flood.

            A simple business conversation turns into “let’s go to happy hour”. That Happy Hour turns into “Go Home and get dressed, I’ll have my driver wait for you and bring you to the club” A few drinks in the club, relaxing in VIP. He’s no major clubber; he’d rather drink and watch everyone else act a fool. I’m with that plan. We attempt small talk over loud obnoxious music. This is no upscale lounge, we are in Hood City. Nevertheless we are determined to enjoy ourselves. And like a flash of lightning I see a shiny stripper pole beckoning my attention from my right peripheral. The desperate and disillusioned women in this club begin to shake and gyrate in hopes of getting… phone bill money… I suppose. Before I know it, I’m given a $100 bill and instructed to turn it into 100 singles. I am much obliged. I myself am quite a big fan of Women taking off their clothes for money and I have no problem helping “Chocolate Thunder” pay her metro bill. After visiting 4 different Bar Tenders I finally have made this 1 bill into 100 bills. I stuff the money into my bosom as make my way through the thickness of the crowd back to the safety of VIP.  After consuming one more drink he grabs my hand, leads me through what feels like hell for broke people and up to the stage where the stripper pole awaits our 1’s. One hand on my waist… the other continuing to hand me one dollar bills to rub up and down “Chocolate Thunder’s” ass. Keep in mind this is NOT A STRIP CLUB. But hey what do you expect when you have a stripper pole, Hennessy, Waka Flaka Music and a bunch of Horny men drunk and willing to spend all the little money they worked so hard for 2 weeks to get? The crowd is in an uproar. They are elated to see this little Woman (me) making it rain on the biggest ass any of them have probably ever seen in real life. A few of them get out of control and begin to grope MY ass…. Now it’s time TO GO!

We spend some time cuddled in a corner and finally decide leave. He beckons the driver and informs him it’s time to go. I’m instructed to find a hotel. *Siri, find the nearest Westin* 

                           ************ INSERT MEMORY LOSS*************

Yes! It is the MAN that I have awakened to. I peek under the covers. Not naked…. But definitely NOT full dressed. He wraps his arms around me and as I look down I spy a sparkle . I'm reminded of what I already surmised in the back of my mind. We talk about business for a while then its gets personal. Something is genuine in his admissions of his inability to resist me .  After further conversation it is made clear that we did NOT enter into horizontal polka during the night. The relief I felt is indescribable. 

Exactly how Lucky is this Lounge?

I have spent a considerable amount of my 20’s intoxicated. I’d like to think that’s normal… but either way I couldn’t care less. This particular evening happened to fall right smack in the middle of my “Drink till you Drop Days.” Not that drinking to oblivion is something a person should take pride in, but Hey I’m still here… so I couldn’t have been THAT bad right? This is a time in my life when most of my interesting stories begin with… “So… I was drunk… and” or “So… I was drinking” this story is no different.

It’s a cold winter night in Atlanta. It’s rained all day, so the air smells fresh and the wind is a bit strong. One of those nights that demand you wear a coat. A night when most people would stay in the comforts of their warm house, unless it was absolutely necessary to leave. But tonight nothing will keep me from hitting the town. It’s been a long stressful week and I deserve the release! I chose to unleash my fury on the infamous “Lucky Lounge”. I’ve never been before and besides I’m newly single and ready to mingle. The night starts out like any other, over-crowded club, few drinks… and a little bit of tail-feather shaking. I excuse myself to the balcony to indulge myself in a Moore… the only thing that used to keep me sane and away from the porcelain while drinking. I spark up and start a conversation with a fellow Balcony Dweller. We refill our drinks and before I know it… we’ve been talking for an hour. I have NO idea what we talked about for over an hour… but it must have been good! Next thing I know, Her boyfriend has joined our conversation and he’s refilling our drinks. We’re sitting on one of those plush leather couches with the big pillows facing the busy streets of downtown Atlanta. She’s on my right chatting and every so often, she playfully places her hand on my thigh. Now at the time I had no idea she was coming on to me. I didn’t even really realize how square I was until I began reminiscing on this night. Now her boyfriend is to the left of me, watching…. Waiting. He occasionally pretends the music is too loud and starts to whisper in my ear. Making sure he nibbles a piece of my neck each time he departs from his devious attempts at seduction. All of a sudden, it’s not so cold outside. As a matter-of-fact, it’s feeling a bit steamy on this Balcony. I want to run, but I can’t. My curiosity won’t let me move a muscle. I’m paralyzed by the thoughts of “what’s next?”

            

So I’m drunk and I ‘m sitting on the balcony of this club. I’m wedged between the desires of a Man to see his Woman with another Woman and the yearning of a Woman who wants to taste my sweet spot. ME…. a square little sexually in-experienced prude left to make THIS decision. And this couple has invited me back to their house! No way in the world do I even posses the… BALLS necessary to go through with it. I politely decline, but these people are persistent. This woman begins to tell me how she can change my world with her lips and expand my horizons with her tongue. All while her boyfriend has taken the liberty of “warming me up”. He’s nibbling on my ears and kissing on my neck. I’m starting to squirm. My feet are crossed and locked in a feeble attempt to keep my legs closed as tight as possible. I can feel the heat radiating from between my thighs. I feel like my insides may combust if I don’t let some cool air in. I’m afraid that I may come bust right here on this leather couch, if I don’t keep it together (literally). But resistance is futile. My legs begin to part and her hand finds its way to the heat between my legs. She’s caressing me so smoothly through my apparently thin leggings. I feel like she’s touching me, finding my essence. All of this teasing is literally driving me insane. I keep telling myself to run but my body won’t cooperate. She reaches her hand into my leggings and she finds what I’ve been fighting to hide. My pool of excitement. She takes her time, like she trying to commit the route to memory. I’m ashamed and excited all at the same time. I can’t believe a Woman is giving me this much pleasure and I’m allowing her to. Her man is whispering how sexy I am and how he can’t wait to get me home. She’s exciting herself by pleasuring me. And I just remember staring out into this city that had stolen my heart from the moment we met, thinking THIS is where people re-invent themselves. I want to let her take me there. I want to give in to my apprehensions and let her give me the release that my body seems to be demanding. I want to pretend that social stigmata don’t exist. I hope that I’m the type of person that seizes the moment and indulges themselves in all types of pleasurable acts. I don’t want to wonder anymore if Women really do it better..... I want to know. I want to watch the mist fall over the city I love while my body spasms from an unexpected orgasm and rains in pleasure. But I’m not yet that free and I can’t do those things. And in an instant everything turns cold again and my fire dies. All my desire dissipates and all I’m left with is shame. Decision made… motor skills returned. I collect myself and begin to walk away. Before I could complete the “walk of shame” I turn back for one more glance at what could have been… if only I were someone else. My temptress places her fingers into her lover’s mouth and they begin kissing. The only concise thought I can put together is… I need another drink.