Archive | sexuality RSS feed for this section

Unexpected Betrayal

18 Mar

I just woke up. Three hours sleep in the past two days is actually really good given what I discovered and the emotional roller-coaster I rode and still continue to ride.
I rubbed my head, it was pounding. My eyes hurt, they were puffy from crying. I cleared my throat, it was scratched and hoarse from all the yelling. More importantly, my heart….my heart….well….I don’t think I no longer have one as it’s now shattered.
I glanced around the apartment. There was glass everywhere and sentimental objects of mine were now broken, but I didn’t care. On the surface one might think the apartment which my boyfriend and I shared was ransacked and robbed. I only wish that was the reason for the disorder.
I glanced at my phone. I had received many texts from friends asking:
“Priscilla, I am worried. Are you okay?”
I appreciated their concern but it was now a topic I no longer wanted to discuss or think about. I now pleaded the heartbreaking flashbacks from the past two days would only disappear. I shook my head still in disbelief and shock despite the proof that proved otherwise. I laid my head back on my pillow, repositioned my back on the uncomfortable couch that I recently made my new bed and draped the blanket around my shivering body for comfort pretending it was a friend holding me to reassure everything would be okay.
My mind was still clouded by all the questions and emotions that I still pondered. I could ask myself again and again the questions I wanted answers to such as:
But instead of trying to make reasoning of everything, I had to face the truth…. and the facts.
I had to ask myself, “Priscilla what are you going to do?”
I didn’t yet have an answer. I still wasn’t thinking clearly. I pulled the blanket over my face, closed my eyes when the first tear fell, then another and another.
Now I know how it feels. So….. this is what it feels like when the one you love betrays you.
My boyfriend and I just finished hanging a heavy mirror in the entryway I brought two months ago when I moved in to “his” but now “our” residence. When I saw it hung steadily on the wall, I sighed and finally felt at home. We were both exhausted and hungry so we began to prepare dinner.
We were in the kitchen preparing fresh vegetables when my phone lit up, it was a text from my cousin. I responded when my boyfriend said “Stop texting your other boyfriends,” a phrase he used at least once a day. I laughed as usual and shook my head as we proceeded to cook.
He was frying meat and I was chopping lettuce for our taco dinner with our Maltese , Abby, (the new addition to “our” family) who was lurking at our feet searching for scraps when my boyfriend said:
“I meant to tell you the other day, my friend Kristen is best friends with your friend Tucker. What a small world,” he said with a chuckle.
“Who’s Kristen? Do I know her,” I asked casually?
“Don’t think so. It’s a chic I met on the dating site we met on. We went out once but NEVER slept together,” he said in addition to mentioning they were Facebook friends.
I was curious if I knew her since we had a mutual friend who I hadn’t talked to in six months. I pulled up my boyfriend’s friend list on Facebook and asked:
“Which one is she,” as there were four Kristen’s in his friend list?
He pointed to a specific woman with a profile picture of a landscape.
According to the picture and limited information on her page I couldn’t confirm if I knew her so I clicked the “add friend” button. I disregarded my phone on the counter and returned to my boyfriend to help cook dinner. A few minutes later my phone lit up and at a glance I noticed it was a notification she had accepted my friend request.
I skipped looking at her pictures and immediately started to message her when the messenger window revealed she was already typing to send me a message. I continued to type when I received her first message:
“You need to talk to your man, not me!”
I was a little taken back by this comment but didn’t read anything into it. Instead I replied:
“I did, Chris told me you guys met from the site and your best friends with my friend Tucker. I was wondering if I knew you,” giving a smiley face symbol at the end.
I put my phone back on the counter to finish chopping lettuce when she replied:
“Why did you send me a friend request?”
I felt slightly attacked and was unsure why. My boyfriend was beside me stirring meat with his ears plugged with ear phones listening to music when I wiped my hands, picked up my phone and said:
“If you’re a friend of Chris and Tucker then you’re a friend of mine.”
Seconds later she sent the following message:
“Again, why did you send me a friend request?”
I was still slightly confused. Why did I feel like I’m being interrogated?
I repeated my previous message to her question but this time I added:
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal. If you don’t want me as your Facebook friend then unfriend me. Sorry for the bother.”
I laid my phone yet again on the counter about to walk to the refrigerator when she wrote back:
“Want to do lunch?”
What, I thought?
Now I started to have serious doubts about this woman. I scrolled up to reread the series of texts wondering if this woman was bipolar when I replied:
“I guess but I’m a little hesitant now lol.”
She quickly replied:
“There’s a lot you don’t know. Call me, Chris has my number.”
Instantly I knew I wasn’t going to ask Chris for her number as he would ask a lot of questions, questions that I didn’t know so instead I replied:
“He’s dozing off and not going to wake him,” I said lying. I ended the message with supplying her with my number.
Moments later she messaged:
“Chris just texted me.”
She gave her number and insisted I call. I announced I would after dinner.
For the next twenty minutes I was antsy and curious as I wondered if something had happened to our friend Tucker. I excused myself from my boyfriend and went to our sunroom to smoke when I pressed the send button on my phone to call the woman I had not yet met.
When she answered I couldn’t help but notice her tone of voice wasn’t as perky as mine and it sounded as if she had something serious to say, so I remained quiet and listened. There were several pauses in her voice before she proceeded to say:
“I don’t know how to tell you this.” It was then I learned when someone starts a conversation with this sentence it’s never good.
My eyes started to burn, the only thing that came to mind was Tucker had passed being the last time we spoke was when he learned he had cancer. I listened to her stumbling again when she told me what I had LEAST expected to hear. The more I heard the less I could see, followed by loss of hearing and an overwhelming numbness throughout my body. Finally she concluded with specific details, followed by sending me picture texts and a recording that supported her accusations.
I heard enough. I saw enough. I then entered a state of shock. She was still talking when I interrupted her and said:
“Let me leave and I will call you back.”
I pressed the end button on my phone before I waited for her to reply. I walked back into the apartment where my boyfriend was sitting on the couch watching TV. I went into the bedroom and grabbed my purse with one arm and scooped our dog in the other. Thankfully my car keys were visible on the dining room table instead of me searching for them as usual. I had no plan other than to quietly leave and not say a word. I knew if I opened my mouth I wouldn’t be able to control what I might say and thereafter. I was three-fourths from the front door when my boyfriend asked:
“Where are you going?”
Calmly, I turned around, looked my boyfriend in the eye trying to fight back tears when I said:
“Kristen told me everything. Don’t deny it, she showed me all the proof.”
I had no expectations as to how he would or should react, but this was the moment my heart shattered.
You see, he underestimated how well I knew and understood him including the meaning of all his facial expressions, laughs and awkward silence. It was at that moment, he didn’t have much to say, and in fact he was speechless. He didn’t have to explain, his face said it all. He was guilty. It was a look I will never forget and still haunts me to this day. I started to feel faintish when I excused myself from his presence and continued to walk towards the front door as I originally planned.
I knew I exited the gates of hell when the door slammed behind me broadcasting a loud echo throughout the hall but I didn’t take another step. I turned around, reentered the apartment, laid my purse on the foyer table, carefully placed my dog on the kitchen floor and charged towards my boyfriend who was still sitting on the couch.
This was when I blacked out.
I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure I said something like:
“You fucking cheating asshole. You bastard, I hate you and hope you go to hell.”
I don’t remember if he responded or the following order of events. It was then when I remembered grabbing my first object, the granite stone statue my father gave me when I was five-years old. It shattered when it flew across the room hitting our apartment window leaving a large crack. Next was the picture of my grandmother and me, taken just before she died. The window now had another but larger crack. I continued to throw candle holders, vases, bottles of wine, anything that was breakable and would break that fucking window.
I was on a mission.
Finally the academic award I received in college went flying. It hit the window, glass shattered and it bounced back two feet from where I was standing. I paused when a gust of wind and showered the apartment not noticing my right hand was covered in blood. (It’s not good when you live on the 31 floor on the corner of a skyscraper and your walls are all windows from ceiling to floor)
I took a deep breathe when I realized I was the big bad wolf who huffed and puffed and almost blew the apartment down and would have had I not taken a moment to breathe. I was shocked by my reaction and I’m sure my boyfriend was just as shocked from what he too just witnessed.
I continued to scream at him before charging again to the front door slamming it shut to call the “woman” he obviously wanted to be with. To avoid waking up neighbors and preventing my boyfriend from easderopping, I escaped to the stairway. I sat at the top of the stairs and called the woman who should be my enemy but was now my friend. We talked for the next hour, the more questions I asked and answers I received, the more things started to make sense. My phone began to beep that the battery was low so I ended the conversation with a promise to call the following morning.
I decided to retire from the stairway and turned the knob when I realized it was locked. I had never entered the stairway so I was unaware I needed my key fob to exit. I started to call my boyfriend to rescue me but no answer. For the next ten minutes I walked down 13 flights of stairs when I saw a door that was slightly open which was my sigh of relief for an exit. I approached the elevator, the doors opened, I entered and the doors closed behind me. I pressed the button to the 31st floor when I realized I didn’t have my fob to travel back up to my apartment. (We live in a very tight security building which contains three different keys for different access and I didn’t have any of them) I pressed the button pointing in opposite directions to open the elevator doors….. but they didn’t open.
It was 2:30AM Wednesday morning and the chances of a neighbor entering the elevator to leave or return home was very unlikely. Needless to say my only option was to press the red “Help” button on the elevator.
“Are you in trouble,” the operator asked?
“Yes the elevator won’t open,” I proclaimed.
For the next fifteen minutes I followed the operator’s instructions in hopes for the doors to open but no work.
“I am sending the police and fire department your way.”
I sighed heavily. I plopped on the elevator floor and rested my back against the doors. I grabbed my phone from my pocket which revealed three percent of battery.
I hesitated before I re-examined the evidence. It was hard but I persevered. I wanted to make sure my eyes were NOT playing tricks on me, but they weren’t as I hoped they were. The first picture text revealed itself.


I sighed.
I scrolled to the second.


My eyes began to water. I scrolled to the third.


I closed my eyes when the first tear fell yet again.

I closed my eyes and shifted my thoughts back to earlier that day.
“I have a headache,” my boyfriend proclaimed to the sexual advances I was initiating, not including his distant behavior which shortly followed. I was aware he had a meeting with distributor at noon which was not unusual. However, I found it odd he got ready an hour before his so-called “meeting” when he usually waits till the last minute to dress. I now know his “distributor” was her. I couldn’t get her words out of my mind.
“We met for lunch today, that’s when he confessed he had a girlfriend.
“Damn Priscilla, what a fool you are. You couldn’t see the signs,” I asked myself?
Truth is now looking back, I still don’t think I would have…..he mastered the art of manipulation.
I glanced back at my phone to listen to the recording from their date earlier that day when my phone begun to power off. However, I remember the conversation percisely. Phrases such as:
“I don’t like her.”
“It will not last.”
“I don’t love her.”
It kept replaying in my mind as a broken tape recorder. What excuse does he have I thought?
It was then I really needed a tissue but my shirt was a substitute.
At the time I had nothing more to do but cry and think before I would be rescued. As a result I had plenty of time to ponder on what I would do next, but I was still confused despite the evidence that was very clear.
Then my thought process started to shift. What would I tell my best friend who would me the same story seeking advice?
Well….that was easy. I would give her a dumbfounded look if she even made an excuse to stay with such an asshole. And there I was….that woman who would be an idiot to those around her if she even considered staying.
I didn’t, nor do I want to be that woman.
The elevator doors opened. Police and fire personnel were standing before me. For a moment I thought about asking if they could rescue me from a broken heart. I was escorted to the floor of my apartment when I personally thanked the firefighter for his help when the elevator doors closed. I cautiously walked back to my apartment.
I briefly hesitated before turning the knob to my front door.
‘Priscilla, you have a huge decision to make,” I told myself.
I entered my apartment and the front door slammed behind me leaving another echo throughout the hallway.
The question is… I going to be “that” woman who accepts forgiveness OR will I be brave and persevere for a greater and brighter future?

I’m embarassed to tell this story

18 Jun

I got an email from a man this morning I hadn’t seen or spoken to in three years. It made me think of this story.

I was sitting at the breakfast table one Saturday morning with my ex-fiance (the doctor) as we waited for the live-in housekeeper (who I later found out he was fucking) to prepare us breakfast. Instead of giggling as I usually did, I sat in silence. I had caught him cheating the day before, and at this time I knew of only one woman, not the other six.

I was sad, hurt and speechless. My mind was wandering and he knew I was upset. He was looking at the paper and I stared out at the beautiful lake that didn’t seem so beautiful this morning.

I was premediating how to cut off his dick when he put his newspaper down and said:

“How about we buy you a new car today? What kind of car would you want,” he asked?

A car that would drown your bank account, I thought.

He knew I liked Mercedes but he was pushing towards the car he drives which is a BMW. I still wasn’t thrilled or excited but went along for the ride anyways.

When we arrived at the BMW dealership it was a disaster. Every car he liked I hated. Perhaps I wasn’t in a very good mood and certainly didn’t feel like car shopping. The car salesman was doing everything to please me but I wasn’t the nicest person in return.

My ex-finance’s opening line to the car salesman was “I want to buy my loving and beautiful fiance a brand new car. Show us what you have.”


For an hour I test drove a few different cars but nothing that got my pussy wet.

Then the car salesman said to me and my ex-finance:

“Your not very excited about getting a new car.”

Everybody went silent. There was only one thought that came to mind. For four years, I always kept my mouth shut. I never crossed my ex, even if I disagreed. Not sure why, maybe because of the power I thought he had but really lacked, but this day I said what I thought, and even after I said it shocked me. I said:

“It’s only a piece offering because I caught him fucking another woman last night,” I said pointing to my ex.

Ohhhhhhh, this did not go over well with my ex. But I didn’t fucking care, it was true.

My ex apologized to the salesman and we left.

“Why did you embarrass me like that,” he asked?

“Because it’s true,” I replied as my eyes are now starting to tear up.

He pulled into a restaurant and we had lunch. We ate in silence. Not sure if he was waiting on me or if I was waiting on him to say something. Then my phone rings, it’s my mother. I excuse myself and when I returned to the table he asked, “Who was that?”

My mother, I replied.

He took a deep breath, looked at his food and asked, “Did you tell her?”

“No.” (And I didn’t.)

A few moments of silence went by and I said: “She told me to tell you hi and she loves you,” I said looking down at my plate, picking at my food.

He put his fork down and asked if I was done. Yes I replied. I had no appetite.

We got in the car and he pulled into the Mercedes dealership when I thought we were going home.

When we pulled in, my pussy got wet, I was in love, I HAD to have that car. It was a brand new silver CLK. More importantly I was hoping it would be the most expensive car on the lot. Not the most expensive, but one of them.

A male and female car salesman approach us. My ex expressed we were interested in the car but I immediately interrupted them and requested, Tim, the car salesman who showed me some cars when I visited a few weeks prior.

They were kind to my request and said they would go get him. A few minutes later a tall, thin, well groomed African American gentleman started walking towards us. He was a kind, sincere man who didn’t try to feed me BS as most car salesmen do. Instead he was like a friend who came along for the ride to give me advice to make sure I wasn’t screwed over. Tim immediately remembered me and my name without having to reintroduce myself. He began to talk about the vehicle we were standing in front of when my ex interrupted him and said:

“Tim, is it?

Tim nods his head yes.

My ex continued to say, “Sorry for the inconvenience but we would prefer if the other two sales people would help us.”

Tim had a dumbfounded look on his face followed by sadness.

I was now fucking pissed and livid. My ex did not want to deal with Tim because he was fucking black. I watched Tim leave and the other two sales people walk towards us.

We bought the car, and I drove off in this stupid fucking Mercedes.

While driving home I really wanted to make a detour and run away. Driving back home instead of bolting was one of the stupidest mistakes I had ever made.

That night I didn’t sleep. While my ex was laying next to me snoring his ass off I didn’t think about leaving him due to his infidelity but rather how embarrassed I was at the dealership for the way he treated Tim.

The next morning I called the dealership, spoke to Tim and asked if he wanted to do lunch. Thankfully, he happily accepted.

A few hours later I met him at the restaurant of his choice. I smiled when I saw him, and he in return he grinned.

We talked, we laughed and then he started to get personal in a non-romantic way. I learned his wife had cheated on him and was confused about leaving her because of the kids. (I could completely relate, but I hadn’t shared my story.)

I asked him: “What will make you happy?”

His eyes lit up and he smiled. He began talking about this non-organization he wanted to start for abused kids.It was a brilliant idea and for the next 30 minutes he didn’t stop glowing as he went into detail about his idea.

“I just need to save enough money and trying to find investors. Hopefully it will be up and running in two years,” he said.

When lunch was over we went back next door to the dealership. He went inside to get my car plates and I went to my car, reached in the glove compartment for the card and check that was enclosed. It was the least I could do for my ex’s stupidity and him not getting the full commission on this fucking car. I opened the card, tore the check and wrote another. I had increased the figure.

Yeah, if my ex finds out I will deal with him later I thought. Besides, the second figure I wrote on the check still wasn’t enough in my mind.

Tim changed my car plates, I gave him the card followed by a hug and a thank you.

I called the dealership a few weeks later and they said he no longer worked there. I never saw or spoken to him again. Then today I get the following email from Tim:

Hi Priscilla,

I hope you’re doing well. I tried calling you two years ago but your number was disconnected. I was cleaning out my email when I came across an email you had sent me.

I am doing great, I am now divorced and have custody of the kids. My dream we discussed came true and it has really taken off.

Had it not been for you, it would not of come true. Thanks for your kindness and hopefully you’re not with that, well, I will stop here, but you know what I want to say.


Needless to say, my ex may have judged Tim based on his color, but really Tim is a real MAN!!!

Can you top this story?

12 Jun

When I lived in Florida the best part of my day was when I left for work, and HATED pulling into my driveway every evening as I entered back into the gates of HELL!!! My live-in boyfriend at the time DISGUSTED me and I don’t throw that word around lightly.

He didn’t work, couldn’t because he had just been released from prison, a small detail he lacked to tell me when we met. He was a slob, thief, lazy, lazy and lazy as he played video games all day while I was worked to put food on the table.

So how did he manipulate me into believing he was everything I desired but was really the EXACT OPPOSITE? It was a combination of my own stupidity and a powerful emotion we call “Love at First Sight.”

I was 1200 miles away from family and friends in Texas and I felt trapped!!! If I did leave he would have no means to survive, not to mention all my furniture was in Florida. I very well could not pack all my shit and furniture into a Uhaul and disappear before he woke up. Nor would I feel comfortable driving that far of a distance in what I would consider to be an 18 wheeler. One day I was about to say FUCK IT when he helped make my escape a WHOLE lot easier.

I came home from work one day to our dog jumping, happy to see me and a boyfriend who was high as a kite playing video games in the recliner.

“How was your day honey,” he said in passing still focused on his video game.

It was great until I got here I thought, but didn’t say.

My usual routine was to make dinner (yeah he was too lazy to do that too), take a shower and go to sleep until the most beautiful noise sounded which was my alarm clock, so I could yet again exit the gates of hell.

Except this particular evening things played out a little differently…..

“Come here,” he said as he put his controller down, moved to the couch and patted the cushion next to him.

Ehhhhh… I have to I thought?

I did as he wished but approached him in a less enthusiastic motion.

Then he attempted what I was afraid he would do……a kiss.

Ehhhhh…..and of course I played along.

He abruptly stopped the kiss and asked why I wasn’t into him anymore.

Ehhhhh……do you really have to ask I thought.

Then he said……

“I want to make love to you.”

Ehhhhh…..I knew this day was coming soon. It had been two months since we were intimate and I cherished every moment his dick was NOT inside of me.





He begged.

“Fine,” I said just to shut him the fuck up!! Except I was not going to fuck him, I would give him a blowjob instead because he came much quicker this way.

I swallow the chunks now arriving in my throat as I stick this disgusting person’s cock in my mouth.

I didn’t suck slow at first as I usually did, instead my mouth had become the energizer bunny to make sure this dick came as quickly as possible.


“Wait, wait,” he said.

WTF I thought? Now I have to get back in my “sucking a disgusting dick mode” all over again.

“I’ll be right back.”

I watched him jog to the bedroom then quickly reappear.

He kneels down in between the couch and coffee table, takes my hand into his, slides a gold band with a diamond around my finger and says:

“As you were giving me a blowjob I noticed something was missing on this finger. Will you marry me?”

I dashed to the bathroom.

Needless to say I didn’t finish the blowjob, I never wore the ring and I left him two days later.

He still wonders why I left him.

My Best Fuck EVER!!!!

11 Jun

I arrived at the parking garage of the hospital near the emergency room entrance about to visit my parents. I was anxious to visit them if only I could get out of the FUCKING car, something I’ve done thousands of times but NOT in this condition.

I swung my feet on the concrete pavement, lifting myself with my legs that were numb and arms that were about to fall off. The last time I couldn’t get out of the car was when I ended the night as my first day as a stripper wearing those six-inch stripper heels. Three minutes later I’m now standing up. I can somewhat breathe.

I cautiously walk towards the light exiting the garage. I am going to kill my Pilates instructor! I believe she hasn’t been hard enough on me. I follow the light, the sun beaming outside the garage if only I can get there.

Oh Shit!!! I dropped my keys.

Nice and easy, nice and easy I thought. My abs felt like rocks, my arms are swinging and my thighs are about to give out any second if only my nails would loop around my key ring that helplessly laid on the pavement.

I believe in GOD. There is a GOD, right? If so, please help me!!!! I don’t ask for much.

I slowly stand up and my back pops, ohhhh….I will deal with that pain later.

Now I am in the sunlight and out of the parking garage. The light gives me the “walk” signal and of course I walk. After about three steps into it the “walk” sign changes to “stop.” Yes, I know I’m a little slow but if I can survive last night than I think I can live another day if only I can make it across the street.

Horns are honking.

Shut your pie hole I yell!!

A line at the intersection is now forming waiting for me to cross the fucking street. Geez…you Texans really are horn happy, be considerate for someone who is hurt and making their way to the emergency room.

Yeah, I saw that asshole….there really is no need to flip me the bird!!!

Okay, I’m across the street. I made it. I’m alive…..still.

Now I have to walk across the side of the emergency room to the main entrance of the hospital. Alright….give me a second, I’m getting there.

Geez, grandma….do you workout, I thought as she strolled past me on her walker? Perhaps I should ask who her Pilates instructor is.

Ohhh noooo!!! Ohhhh nooo…. there are kids running towards me…..noooooo….noooo……don’t hit me!!!!! Please!!!! If you knock me down I won’t be able to get up!

Whew….close call but I’m still standing.

Now I am at the entrance of the building.

Awww…thank you sir for holding the door open for a weak and hurt young woman. I know your about 50 years older than I but one of these days I promise to repay the favor as I always do.

Ohhhhh nooooo!!!! Hold the elevator, hold the elevator!!!

Oh, your such a nice, kind young man I said to the five-year old boy. You are so sweet to your elders.

I think I need to write a thank you letter to the person who invented elevators!!

Five please, I told the young man.

Ohhh….okay so a few pit stops. People off, on, off, on….okay…I’m leaning against the elevator rail now not sure if I can make it to the fifth floor just standing still. Then….the light for the fifth floor lights up. FINALLY, I thought NOOOOOOOO…..hold the elevator doors please! Moving a little slow but I will make it.

I enter the floor and the doctor and nurses are looking at me. Hey guys, I brought you 50 pizzas yesterday, the least you can do is DON”T ASK!!!.

They smile and look away.

Only twenty more feet and I’m in my mother’s room.

Now five, four, three, two, one….. and I plop into the chair next to my mother’s bed. Yes, if one didn’t know better I had just ran a 10k marathon. I huff and puff, relieved to finally be sitting down.

My mother turns her head towards me and says:

“Priscilla, what happened to you?”

Huh, I asked?

The bruises on your right arm she said nodding with her head in a weak voice.

I look down and well……OH FUCK ME!!!!

So what did happen last night?

Well….a few weeks ago I reblogged a post from the MLF Diary titled “Pin Me.”

Oh was it ever smoking HOT and made my pussy wet!!!

The night before, I told Mr. WordPress Blogger:

“Remember that post I sent you?”

He replied, “Yes!”

“Well…I desperately need and want that done to me.”

He was a little hesitant at first and said:

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

I cried out…… NOOOO…..PLEASE….PLEASE….hurt me……I BEG OF YOU!!!!

So here’s what happened……

Pin me down, (Oh you did and hard.)

throw my legs over your shoulders, (Is that the reason why my thighs are numb?)

choke me out, (I yelled more, more, more…..okay I died and you brought me back to life when you teased me with your cock.)

call me your whore, (Well….you said that amongst other words I had never heard.)

slap my ass, (Yeah, your hand left marks.)

grab my wrists, (Is that why my wrists are red?)

shove your cock in me, (Well I feel like you shoved it, grinded it, swirled it and other descriptive words that aren’t yet in the dictionary.)

fuck me hard. (Oh….is that why I feel like I gave birth to an unborn child?)

bruise me, (One, two, three, four, five…..and still counting.)

beat me, (The bruises are proof you did that.)

hurt me, (I think you all know I’m in enough pain to believe that happened.)

make me not walk. (What should have been a 7 minute walk from the parking garage to my mother’s hospital room was actually 45 minutes.)

fuck me till you cum, (Oh you did and it dripped out of me STILL two days later.)

pull out and shove it in my mouth, (Yup…you were shivering and about to stick it in my mouth.)

cum in my mouth, (My mouth, face, chin and hair.)

in the back of my throat. (And….my best part…..yes, it was the best fucking desert I ever had.)

I was interrupted….

“So what happened mother asked?”

“I’m sorry mom. I was a bit distracted,” I said.

Oh, that I said nodding to the bruises on my arm. That’s nothing. I just slightly fell down the stairs,” I said without thinking.

Mother’s head slightly jerked upward.

“You fell down the stairs,” mother yelled out?

Oh shit, now she’s worried.

It was either that or tell her the night before I had the BEST FUCKING SEX EVER!!!!

Mr. WordPress Blogger: I love you dearly 🙂

My Dumbest Moment Ever…..

8 Jun

I’ve done a lot of stupid ass shit in my life but haven’t we all? Live and learn, right?

But there is one incident I did that makes me the dumbest fucking idiot of all and should have been broadcasted on the T.V. show “Cops.”

(NOTE: Please don’t drink and drive it kills, AND makes you look like a fucking idiot.)

Two months before my 21st birthday a friend bought me a six-pack of Budweiser beer. Half a beer made me tipsy so you can imagine what a WHOLE beer did to me. (Yeah those were the days.)

The list of my stupidity…..

1. I was STUPID for drinking and driving at 4:30AM

2. I was STUPID for traveling at 65mph in a 35mph zone

3. I was STUPID for jumping the curb and not paying better attention to the road

Now I have red and blue flashing lights behind me. Great, I thought as I pulled over. And of course my stupidity continues…..

4. I was STUPID for not hiding the six-pack of beer that firmly sat next to me in the passenger seat since I was under age

5. I was STUPID for not disregarding the beer bottle I was still drinking that sat in my lap

But what makes me the BIGGEST FUCKING IDIOT EVER was when…..

The officer approached my window, requested my driver’s license and insurance card and INSTEAD of reaching into my purse to give the officer this information I……..

Grabbed one of the beers sitting next to me, popped off the top, handed it to the officer with my dashing smile and said:

“Relax, have one on me,” as I cheered the bottle he was now holding with mine and chugged the rest of my beer.

Yeah, there was only one plea for me……FUCKING GUILTY!!!!

***Again, please do not drink and drive****

My Tits are a Legend in High School……

3 Jun

The auditorium was packed, the band was playing and I stood amongst my fellow high school cheerleaders during a pep rally. I was performing a cheer when I saw one of my classmates imitating me by stuffing tissue paper down his shirt. That was it, I had enough!! Some women may think I am blessed to have a small frame and LARGE natural breasts but I have always thought I was cursed with natural 36DD and it goes back to elementary school.

The curse of my large breasts began on my mother’s side whom have all had breast reductions. Yes, they may look great to you men but really they are a pain in my ASS!!! It’s hard to find a dress that accommodates both your waist AND breast size, a bathing suit with an underwire and you can never wear the cute strapless tops because you ALWAYS HAVE TO WEAR A FUCKING BRA!!!!

I was in the 6th grade when my male home room teacher approached me after pulling me aside beside from the rest of the class and said:

“Priscilla, you need to wear a bra.”

I was wearing a white turtle neck that day so perhaps my early development revealed too much. Then in middle school a rumor started that I stuffed my bra, also due to my cursed tits. One of my junior high teachers again pulled me aside after class and suggested I not wear a padded bra.

“I’m not,” I said lifting my shirt to show her.

There was a lot of heartache, pain and tears about these rumors in middle school and as a result, my mother transferred me to a different school in the middle of the year. In high school I tried out for the cheerleading squad, don’t know why, but I did, and made it. Some of my former classmates remembered the rumor in junior high and continued to carry out the legend. It was not a very good time for me in my life, it’s not like I could prove I DID NOT stuff my bra I thought.

Then that day, during the pep rally was when I had my breaking point. There is only so much I could take, and when I saw him in the stands stuffing tissue paper in his shirt I threw my pom-poms down, backed up to where the band was standing in front of the entire school and……….

Yes, I lifted the top of my cheerleading uniform and flashed the ENTIRE school.

Yeeeaaahhhh…..I was kinda expelled but at least I proved my point!!!

Is the wife PISSED? Hand her bleach and pine sol!!

20 May

I think I should change my blog slogan to, “What’s wrong with you women?”

I’m a woman and I don’t understand the female gender. I get a call from a male friend who needed a someone to talk to as he walked out of the house and the wife screamed in the background:

“You fucking asshole” and “Where are you going?” and “You always run from our problems.”

Don’t worry the wife wasn’t pissed because she thought I was fucking her husband, THANK GOD!! Instead this particular wife was mad because he left the lid of the milk carton on the kitchen counter before he put it back in the fucking refrigerator.


And she wanders why he’s leaving the house? Who would want to stay and listen to this shit for leaving the top off the milk carton???

In unnecessary and nonsense fights like this almost always the man leaves the domain to clear his head and to give the wife time to “cool off”, when he really wants to strangle the bitch and hit the “divorce” button that is if one were to exist.

An hour later the “wife” is texting him saying she’s “sorry”, begging him to come back home and when he does she’s still giving him the cold shoulder and the “fuck you” look.

Sound familiar?

Why do you need a doctorate’s degree to become a psychologist to figure this shit out? I don’t get it.

Women need to just shut the fuck up and walk away, or leave the house and come home a few hours later with 10 new pairs of shoes that the husband would normally complain about but would not at all care if it successfully shut the bitch up.


Women need to adopt MY mind-set and ask themselves, “What would Priscilla do?”

In every live-in relationship I have had the “spouse” would make sure the “back-up” supplies of bleach and pine sol were well stalked.

I may push men away before we get to the “relationship” stage but after the committment has been made, I have learned to shut the fuck up.

When pissed, and I mean ROYALLY pissed, no matter what the circumstance and reasoning may be, if the “spouse” comes home and or seeing me with bleach and pine sol in my hand aggressively cleaning the house he knows to leave me the fuck alone.

After a few hours of deep cleaning and sweating my anger away I am now too tired to remember what the fuck I was mad about in the first place. I will then lay in the arms of my ‘spouse” tell him I love him and probably fuck his brains out to relieve any excess anger I may have

The result:

1. He didn’t leave the house.

2. I didn’t bow down and say “I’m sorry”


3. No hurtful words were exchanged.


Oh, yes I forget….because us women are fucking drama queens!!!

The only reason to bitch at your spouse and piss him off is if your sole intention is for the ‘make-up” sex. That I can’t argue with, it FUCKING GREAT!!!

What happens if you send me a picture of your dick…..

11 May



(Sorry but I’m in a fiesty mood)

Six months ago if a guy sent me a picture of his dick on POF, I would immediately block him and delete the worthless small dick I wouldn’t have fucked anyways.

A month later all dick photos entered my “Dick Hall of Shame” and referred them to (I was curious to see how many dicks I could accumulate and who knows when I may need visual aid.)

Then three months ago all dicks continued to enter my gallery but I would send the following picture and tell them this is my mother:


But now when I am honored to receive another picture of a dick I do the following:

I accept his invitation to dinner and drinks, flirt, rub my hands on his thigh as I work upward in the direction of his cock, grope him, blow and whisper how bad I want and need his cock inside of me. He gets the check and pays, we walk out of resturant and he asks, “my house or yours?” I drape my arms around his neck and in a sad face I say:

“I can’t tonigt I’m in outbreak.”

Him: Outbreak of what?

Me: Herpes

Him: We can use a condom

Me: No its not safe

If he continues then I say:



In three months 194 dicks have entered my “Dick Hall of Shame” and I don’t want another!!

If you don’t want blue balls, don’t send me a picture of your dick!!

This man needs a CUSTOM-MADE glove for his DICK…..latex is NOT enough protection!!!

10 May

I have learned through trial and error during my dating adventure to think outside the box when asking the “getting to know you” questions.

For example, I ask every guy:

1. Are you bi-sexual and or have bi-sexual tendencies?

2. Have you been to prison?

3. Would it turn you on to drink my piss?

4. Do you desire to wear my panties?

Most men laugh and think it’s humorous that I ask such “ridiculous” questions as they call it but if only they knew the shit I have been asked, witnessed and propositioned.

I have now added the following question:


What’s your sex number?

A good guy friend of mine recently gave me some VERY wise advice. He said:

“Every man you date and definitely before you sleep with them, ask how many women they have slept with.”


What’s the pont, I though? Men are going to lie about it anyways. Yes, I know to multiply the number a guy gives me by 9 which will reveal the ACCURATE number of they’re sexual partners but shit, that’s too much math I care to calculate.

Before I continue I will go ahead and tell you my number. A year go it was 5, when I turned 30 and adopted the sex drive of a 17-year-old boy, my number is now 5+35.


Go ahead all onlinedatingjournal haters whom are all women, voice your opinion in the “comments” section of this post that I’m a “whore” OR how “Disgusting” I am. (I do strongly suggest you wait until you read this ENTIRE post before making your judgemental comment.) Bitch, your “whoring” days are just around the corner because most of us are grateful to experience the “sex phase.” Guys you know what I’m talking about. Wink. Wink.

Back in the day when my sex list consisted of one name, it was VERY important to me and asked every guy:

“How many women have you slept with?” I got the following answers:

Guy 1. Nine 9X10=90

Guy 2. Fourteen 9X14=126

Guy 3. Forty 9X40=360

Guy 4. Hundred 9X100=900


(I did not continue to date Guy 4 because his number was WAY too high without the calculation.)


I recently met a guy from POF for a few drinks and dinner after three hours of texting back and forth. He wasn’t the greatest looking guy that has escorted me but definitely was not ducking and dodging to uphold my image. Aside from already being a very blunt person, he too wasn’t afraid to honestly speak his opinion.  He was also very easy to talk to which is why I didn’t hesitate about asking him questions 1-4 as stated above. (Note: When asking these questions I always observe body language, hesitation, stumbling words, or if he looks away when answering the question.)

“Fuck No,” he proclaimed to all of the above. My observation when asking these questions did not give me a reason to think otherwise.

Then I asked the question my friend recommended I ask:

“How many women have you slept with?


I obviously struck a nerve I thought. I sensed hesitation when he took a deep breath, appeared to be uncomfortable when he looked around thinking of what to say and his body language became very jittery.

He takes a deep breath, takes a few gulps of his beer, leans back in the booth, looks me dead in the eye and says:

“I’m not going to tell you just yet.”

“Why,” I asked?

He is now starting to get a little fidgety and is becoming irritated that I’m being so persistent that he answer the question.

“Can’t you get to know me first before asking me that question,” he pleaded.

I told him it was a fair and appropriate question to ask and reminded him we all go through the “whoring” phase.

He takes another deep breath and chugs the half filled glass of beer until it’s empty and points to the glass for the waiter to see he needs a refill. He leans forward in the booth and says:

“When I was in the military, the pay was horrible making only $1200 a month.”

Okay I thought

“For extra money I started working in porn.”

Okay…..this is getting slightly interesting and or scary, not sure which just yet. I had never met a man who was in porn or one who openly admitted it.

“It was excellent money. They paid 2k a session and you could have four or five sessions in one day,” he said.

Okay……keep going I thought giving him the look………..

“In Korea alone I probably slept with about 4,000 women”

Okay, I was thinking around the ball park number of two-five hundred but……

4,000 women in Korea ALONE?????


Hell I’m an armature if not almost a virgin when I put my 40 next to his 4000!

Okay, so let’s do the math:

4000 X 9= 36,000


I didn’t bother to ask his TOTAL number, preferred not to know!!

I may be a little” horny whore” these days and hesitant to reach the three digits but NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER will the number of my sexual partners get to the four digits!!!

Someone needs to invent a HEAVY DUTY std glove to put over this man’s dick because latex is NOT enough protection!!!

I wanted to tell him if he ever wants to get laid don’t reveal this number to ANYONE, on the other hand, WOMEN NEED TO KNOW AND BE WARNED!!!

I want to thank my guy friend for suggesting to ask the question that turned out to save my life. I also want to thank this man for giving me an HONEST answer.

I was polite throughout the rest of the date, afterall I owed this man my life for his honesty!! After dinner he walked me to my car and asks:

“Can I see you again?”

I gave him the “Are you fucking serious” look. He got the hint and then asks:

“Do you have any hot, single girlfriends you could hook me up with?”

All you onlinedatingjournal haters, NOW you can tell me I’m how I’m a DISGUSTING WHORE!!

I want to file a restraining order against one of your police officers, I told the Chief of Police. HELP….HE’S STALKING ME!!!

4 May

I first want to say, I am not an arrogant woman, nor do I think my pussy is made of gold, but apparently some men do.

When I walked into the office of the Chief of Police with my boss as my witness, I feared the police officer I had met from n online dating website would soon rape, kill and butcher me, leaving my remains undiscovered and me forever being a “Missing Person” rather than a murder victim.

The Chief of Police asked why I wanted to file a restraining order against one of his “noble” and “well-respected” officers among the small community in which we both worked.

I gave the following statement with a detailed log of events, texts, missed calls, voicemails and pictures, which clearly explained why this “noble” and “well-respected” DEMON is mentally incapable of wearing a badge and carrying a gun.

I met the angelic 31-year old police officer at a bar/restaurant one evening after work. Like me, he has never been married, no kids, and we had both recently moved to Dallas from Orlando.

I walked into the restaurant, spotted the man at the bar wearing a black shirt, jeans and sitting next to two ladies as he accurately described. When I tapped him on the shoulder, he swung his bar stool in my direction and I was pleasantly surprised that the military demeanor his pictures portrayed really did him no justice.  He was smoking HOT!!! Now my only obstacle was keeping my hands to myself and not leading him to the bathroom so he could fuck the shit out of me. He welcomed me with a hug and smile.

“You are absolutely beautiful,” he said pushing my bar stool closer to him.

I blushed. (I could foresee it will be a fun and pleasurable night.)

I ordered my first mixed drink when he confessed he was on his 6th Red Bull and Vodka. Sixth, I thought? Wow!!!

For the next ten minutes the following was our dialogue:

9:04PM Him: You are beautiful.

9:04PM ME: Thank you, I said blushing

9:05PM Him: Wow, hmmm….hmmmmm….hmmmm, you are a pearl, he said looking me up and down and undressing me with him eyes

9:06PM ME: Thank you I said yet again still slightly blushing

Between 9:07PM-9:15PM I counted 16 times he said “You are beautiful,” which averaged every 30 seconds.

The fifth time was enough, the eighth was annoying, the 12th I needed another drink and the 16th time he told me”I was beautiful” he quickly moved from my HOT radar to DESPERATE. Is he drunk? I couldn’t tell. He appeared to be functioning normally, no slurring words, eyes not red, good posture. Either he is exaggerating about his alcohol intake or he has a high tolerance.

Now he wanted to do shots. He was already on his 7th red bull and vodka and I didn’t think that was such a wise decision given his career. I politely declined and explained how I already had two very stiff mixed drinks and have a 35 minute drive home in severe thunderstorms that could result in tornados according to the weather. Surely being a cop he would understand, but nope.

“Come on, please, have fun,” he begged.

After ten minutes of listening to his pathetic plea for me to do a fucking shot I surrendered to shut the asshole up.

“Here’s to us,” he saluted as he downed his shot of tequila AND half of my shot that I did finish.

He wanted to continue taking shots but this time I didn’t surrender.

“NO, I have to drive home,” I said.

I quickly learned the word, “no” was not in Officer Smith’s vocabulary. He was quick to come up with a solution to get me drunk, have meaningless sex, which he wouldn’t have to do if he only acted SANE!

The following was his brilliant plan:

“You only have fun once right? So how about we do this; don’t worry about your alcohol intake, drink, have fun and I will drive your car back to your house and take a cab back to me car”.

Okay, back up. Let’s think this through

  1. The way you want me to drink, I will still be drunk when I go to work in the morning.
  2. You think I am going to let YOU drive my car now that you’ve had 12 vodka and red bulls and 1 ½ shots of tequila?
  3. I live 35-40 away which would easily calculate to $100 cab ride EACH WAY.
  4. And you think I am that stupid to not realize your hidden agenda of getting me drunk and fucking me when I’m half conscious???

He continued to explain his logic was reasonable, but I had a different theory.

A. He was already stupid drunk

B. Highly desperate to get laid


C. Just a stupid fucking idiot.

I ignore he silly logic, pick up the menu which was staring at me for the last hour now. I was starving. I started browsing the menu when he said, “What are you doing?”

ME: I’m going to order some dinner. Are you not hungry?

HIM: We already ordered he said with a confused look on his face.

Okay, now I’m confused and a little worried.

He picks up my glass of vodka and cranberry and says, “Your cut off, you’ve had a little too much to drink.” He said laughing.

This guy is delusional. It was my first time at the restaurant, hadn’t picked up the menu until now so how could I have already placed my order, I thought?

After ten minutes of arguing about how we hadn’t ordered food, I waved the bartender over.

ME: Did we order food

BARTENDER: Not with me you didn’t

HIM: Yes we did

BARTENDER: Ummmm…..I’m the only bartender, did you place an order with a waitress?

Silence……he scooted my drink he had confiscated back to me. He changed the subject and we never ordered food.

For the next 35 minutes he talked and talked and talked. I never got a word in. For example, he talked, asked me a question, continued to talk, asked me another question and talked some more.

Finally there was a pause and I began to answer the first question he asked 35 minutes ago.

ME:I think…..

Him: EXCUSE me I was talking, please don’t interrupt me, it’s very rude.

He said this in a very loud and stern tone that the people sitting beside us at the bar stopped and turned our direction.

Whoa, this date is over I thought.

He excused himself to go to the little boy’s room. I had already started gathering my purse and keys ready to sneak out. The man sitting beside me at the bar asked if he wanted me to walk to me to my car referring to abandoning this psychotic drunk ass.

“No, I’m going to make a run for it,” I told him. It was too late. I spotted the demon walking back to the bar. When he returned I told the officer I was tired, slightly buzzed and needed to go home.  He said he would walk ne to my car. When we got outside I hugged and thanked him. But no he wanted to escort me to my car and I said no. We stood in the pouring rain and argued about this stupid conversation, meanwhile the guy sitting at the bar next to me was watching us from the glass door of the restaurant. Finally officer Smith gave up went back inside and I got in my car and drove off

“Is that all,” the police chief asked in a very condescending one?

NO ASSHOLE THAT’S NOT ALL!!! (I wanted to say but obviously didn’t.)

Now I whip out my phone and SHOW him the proof.

Day 1 After the Date

I get the following text:

Him: I’m sorry about last night I was a little drunk

ME: It’s okay. It was nice to meet you good luck J

HIM: So you’re not going to give me another chance

ME: No, sorry, you’re really not my type. (At least I didn’t give him a bullshit excuse.)

The remainder of the day he sent me the following text messages:

“You fucking bitch” (14)

“I’m sorry” (8)

Missed calls (9)

And three voicemails that said “Call me now.”

Day 2 After the Date

I woke up to the following text message:

“Good morning my luv, call me when you can”

My response was:

“I thought I made it clear to you yesterday I am not interested. Please don’t call or text me again. Thanks”

For the remainder of the day I received the following:

“Bitch you don’t want to fuck with me” (13)

“Talk to me” (24)

Missed calls (14)

“Hello anyone home” (30)

“?” (154)

I am now getting worried…..

Day 3 After the Date

At 12:00PM I get the following text message:

“I’m going to grab some lunch, care to join me?”

I don’t reply

Then the next two hours and yes it may be just a coincidence but my work phone received over 50 hang up calls.

At 1:30 when I returned to my office from lunch my supervisor said I had a cute police officer with flowers waiting for me in my office.

Of course it was him. I thanked him for the flowers, told him I would talk to him as I walked him out of my office and to his car. My main priority was getting him out of my office, away from my nosy coworkers incase it got ugly.

I rehashed what I already told him, he called me a bitch a few times, sped out of the parking lot in his patrol car and I closed my supervisors office door and began to explain why he is never allowed back in this office building and the numerous hang ups we had received that she had commented about the day before..

Day 4 after the first date

Nothing. FINALLY, he got the hint I thought.

Day 5 after the first date

12:30: He walked into the restaurant my boss and I was having lunch and sat by himself at a booth adjacent from us.

For the remainder of the day his patrol car was spotted driving around the parking lot of my office building and with the help of coworkers pictures were taken. (This was not the beat he patrolled)

630PM: He was behind me while I stood in line at the grocery store. (I asked a nice and huge African American man who was walking out in front of me if he would walk me to my car, he did….thank you.)

Day 6 after the first date

No calls, no texts and no voicemails.

4:00PM: I walk outside my office building to smoke a cigarette. I felt someone grab my arm behind me. I turn around and it was him. “Please talk to me,” he said crying.

“No,” I said jerking my arm away.

My supervisor had just pulled into the parking lot from a brief work errand. She runs over to me and tells him to leave or she will call the police. He leaves.

Now 20 minutes later I am sitting in the office of the Police Chief telling him the exact events as they happened with pictures, text messages, voicemails and a witness as evidence as to why this psychotic government official is not mentally capable of wearing a badge and carrying a gun.

The police chief leans back in his chair and says, “I am sorry, he will be reprimanded.”

“Reprimanded? How so,” I asked?

The police chief now leans forward and says, “He will be given a very stern verbal warning.”

VERBAL WARNING??? Are you fucking kidding me????

So you’re telling me I cannot utilize my first college degree as a forensic scientist because I made a horrible mistake 11 years ago when I drove drunk and got a DWI, but you will continue to allow this mentally and psychotic man wear a badge and carry a gun who is suppose to make sure the law is followed and serve as a role model to society???


Officer Smith did however teach me one valuable lesson in the event I get pulled over for speeding.

If I get pulled over and an officer asks why I was speeding I say;

“Because one of your friends fucked my brains and pussy dry last night and I’m in desperate need to get to the chiropractor.”

This excuse has worked twice so far.

Thanks Officer Smith!!

%d bloggers like this: