Just a Taste.

Yeah, you know what I mean. It’s that sticky situation you get yourself into when you think you’re strong enough to take a little and leave the rest alone. We’ve all been there once or twice, maybe even three times. I’ve been in this situation too many times to count, and I’m not proud of it, but I can’t say I regret it either.

Why do I get tangled into this crazily weaved web time and time again? I’ll tell you why; it’s because I remember all-too-well the times I walked away from a good thing and slapped myself for it later. I guess I figured, “why not slap yourself for consequences now rather then for the not knowing later?” It’s a flawed philosophy, I know, but I can’t really say I missed out on much anymore.

This evil temptation seems to be a two-way door; you can even tempt others, rather then being the tempted. Sly little invitations like “just one time” or “just a little bit” can seem so innocent when you know the deed is wrong already, but somehow the implication of a brief encounter or small morsel of tribute can seduce even the most righteous individual; and in that “little bit” or that “just once” can span an extended encounter of grief and guilt sure to follow.

Oh, but it is the tempter who already understood this from the beginning. They savor the entire “dessert” when requesting only the cherry on top. In principle, they become “the beggar who only wanted a nickel who in the end received a fortune”. The person who let their guard down pretty much knew what was going to happen; they secretly just hoped they could escape the consequences that came afterward. However, there are those strange instances where there is no guilt, and both the tempter and the tempted are both left grinning.

It is these rare occasion that I dwell in, not because they are few, but because they are invigorating. It’s the idea of two individuals doing a very wrong and immoral thing, enjoying it, getting away with it and not feeling guilty about it. My oh my, things can really get messy when a taste-test becomes a binge, and it’s even better when it tastes so good you suck your fingers and lick the plate.

But, when it makes your mouth water… to the point you want to share what you taste with the other person, as if they couldn’t possibly understand any other way, that’s the point of no return. Expect life to throw a lot of sour lemons at you for a very long time. I guess you make lemonade after that, right? Good luck! [Laughing]  -streetPoet007

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It's on Record (Part II)

It’s always the same, first you hide your face and giggle like a little school-girl, and then you throw things at me telling me to “turn it off”. After that, you try to pretend like its not even there, and then I play right along. Suddenly you fall in love with the lens and then you can’t stop staring into it. If the timing is right, you do amazing things for the lens that you’d normally never do without it. What is this phenomenon?

I swear I don’t understand you at all. You’re the most complicated creation on earth, you know that? I really had to learn the hard way that “no” really does mean “yes” sometimes. Trying to figure out when those times are ain’t easy at all. I admit, I kind of feel guilty from time to time ignoring a blatant “no”, but shouldn’t it have turned out bad with a rejection? You played right along anyway, so I guess you meant yes?

I pray the day never comes when you say no and really mean it, if that day comes; I might never recovery from the guilt. I just want to have a good time, and I want you to be a part of it. I hate having to drag you to places all the time, you seem to enjoy yourself once you get there, so what’s the problem? Are you determined to be a boring person? Is your phunometer broken? Why is it you can’t simply be where you say you’ll be? Should I even bother calling you when I wonder where you are, it’s not like you’ll answer.

I have to be honest with you; this is getting quite bothersome my dear. Having to force you into having a good time is becoming very old. It’s only when I watch you on film am I convinced you are more fun then I give you credit for, but these moments are few. I smile when you smile at me, but I have to realize you are smiling at the camera, no me. It’s not so special anymore. It was you I cared about a long time ago, I really did, but you didn’t like to come out and play with me as much as I did you.

So now, all I care about is the girl on film. She is everything I wanted, everything I hoped you would be, but you and she are not the same. Beyonce understands; she even made a song about it. I’ve never been a fan of Beyonce until that very day, but I admit I loved her as “Foxy Cleopatra” in Gold Member. What am I saying? She knows, as much as I don’t truly care for her music, I do appreciate that she truly understands “me”? It was always about you, but you made it about “you”. Still don’t get it huh?

Well, I guess I can never have you back. Maybe you’re gone forever, but at least I have it on record.

-streetpoet007

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She’s got skillz!

Ever since I started doin’ book work, I don’t exercise like I used to. Ma’ goal was to get cut-up for da’ summer; ‘cause dem college gals was always askin’ me to go swimmin’ with em’. I just didn’t feel right about it bein’ outta shape and all. I was just thinkin’ about how much fun it would be to have the girlies at the pool ooglin’ ove ma’ body. I gotta say though, it all came back to me when I started hangin’ out with this one athletic chica who could run faster then me, for longer then me, and probably do anything else better them me.

I was kinda embarrassed that I was bein’ outdone by a girl, but it was a good lesson in humility. She motivated me to go to the gym with her and her friend every-so-often, and it was fun for a while, until the fatigue started to set in from all the long hours from work. I had to start takin’ vitamins and $#!t like that to keep ma’ energy level up, or I was gonna crash. This chic did everything, from stair-steppin’, to treadmill drills, to yoga (which I liked watchin’ er’ do); she was a machine. The best part of the week was when I started to actually be able to keep up with her, and she notices with a nice grin.

I was starting to like how ma’ arms looked, and I started to show off ma’ tats more. It’s funny how I never noticed that the gym was a pick-up spot until I started takin’ ma’ shirt off. It got even funnier when I started to realize that the work-outs me and ma’ friend where doing was a sort of bonding experience. To be honest, I thought it was just innocent fun; really, I’m not jokin’. I met some nice young ladies there; all of them where probably stronger then my newbie @$$.

As summer time came closer, the girls started tak’n off more clothes and I was close to the build I wanted, things got a bit more interesting with me and ma’ new buddy. I don’t know when it is a girl becomes comfortable with doing questionable stretchin’ while your lookin’ dead at ‘er, but gawd bless those types. Seriously, the type of ways she could bend her body was just… WOW. There where times I wanted to stop what I was doing and just tamper with the routine, but in all my strength I didn’t.

I have to admit, the more time I spent around this girl, the more attracted to her I became. It had gone beyond the “yeah, she looks good” phase, this was different. I wasn’t ever gonna ask her on a date or anything; I guess I had just gotten too intimidated by our supposed friend barrier. I was comfortable with that idea, even though I still wondered what she would say if I had ever asked. It was just an odd day that she just stopped workin’ out and told me she was going to her room; with a discouraged voice I said “alright then”, that was until she asked if I wanted to come with er’.

God bless ‘er soul.

-Shaum

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Girls who like girls.

I was always curious as to how this worked, do girls look at other girls like I do, or do they look at em’ differently. I mean, if a sexy lady with a nice @$$ walks past, do they look at her like I would look at er’, or is it somethin’ else to this. I just had to know, and when the opportunity came up to give a lesbian lady the 3^rd degree, I didn’t pull any punches. Now keep in mind, ladies tend to speak in code, it’s like they can’t just say what they really want to say unless they’re tipsy, so I had that part taken care of.

So I start to ask her a list of question off the top, makin’ sure to sit next to er’ in a nice and comfy barstool setting, a few drink in er’, and some serious game. I know she didn’t like guys the same way she would moisten up to a fine lady, but I know every woman has a mode, so I had to bring er’ there to get answers. Most of it was layers of bulls**t about emotional attachment and metal sex, blah blah blah, but as she got more liquor in her veins, the truth game out hard.

I couldn’t believe half the things she was telling me, I mean, I know the types of things I would love to do to a sexy dime piece, but I wasn’t nearly on the level she was wit’ it. I had to take mental notes because I was convinced that the s**t she was on would definitely turn a b**ch out. I was always under this impression that dudes where nastier then girls where when it came to “gettin’ it in”, but holy f**k was I wrong. I mean, she really started feelin’ er’self… like literally.

Really, I gotta admit that she kinda drew me in with the detail she was droppin’, and the drinks seem to make her forget I wasn’t her type, if you know what I mean. I was too close to throwing morality out tha’ window, but ma’ boy snapped me back into reality and reminded me that her girl was just in the next room. I didn’t want to break up a perfectly good relationship just cuz I got caught up, but I can’t say I don’t regret it either; at the same time, I kinda feel like I cheated ma’self out. I don’t know.

What I do know, is that girls that like other girls can get down and dirty on a level I never thought possible. I even found out that they have their own sexy s**t, like porn collections of girls makin’ it clap. I was like, WTF? You always find something good when you peel back that fake layer girls like to floss in da’ public eye; but when you pull dat’ curtain back, you better be ready for what comes at you. Dem types of girls go hard as s**t, and it’s no wonder I like em’ so damn much.

Too bad it can’t ever be more then just a fling, and I’m so serious right now.

-Shaum

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Cookin’ witcha’ boy.

There was a lot that needed to be done that day, I was on a roll, shakin’ this, bakin’ dat; it was like clockwork. There’s no tellin’ what I might do when I’m in the kitchen, but I hookz it up er’y once in a while, just ask around. On one occasion I was told how good my cooking smells by a cute young thing, a bit taller then me by a couple inches; supreme in stature. I particularly liked her because she was straight forward, honest, and an all-around good girl. I promised er’ I’d let her share the kitchen with me one day, and I did.

Most people might not know this, but cookin’ is a very sensuous act of recreation, if not done properly in both initiation and completion, some things just might seem a little off. You see, me, I put love in ma’ cookin; I take ma’ time, let things marinate, season ever so lightly and allow the food to take a life of its own. The smell that comes from what I’m cookin’ is created by the constant state of one ingredient try’n ta absorb the other, even ‘hough they’re two different things.

That day, the smell was like an aphrodisiac, I could see er’ sweatin from the heat of the stovetop, and rollin’ er’ neck around like she was feelin dizzy. I swear every time she did that, I wanted to just go over to her and rub ma finger over it. I wanted to ask her the universal question “er’thing alright?”, but I was feeling the effects too, and when I rolled ma neck around, I saw er’ look at me in a way that made the kitchen seem warmer then it already was. She bit down on her lip and tuned away from me to grab the colander.

I couldn’t help myself, I felt ma’ body glide’n over to where she was at, and I just scooped her up in ma arms; I could feel her fall into me like she belonged der’. When she showed her neck to me again, I just had to bite it, so I did, but just a little. It was like she was makin’ a special sauce of ‘er own, I could taste it off ‘er throat; it was mild but yummy; a flavor I had never come across before. I could feel er’ tremble with starvation for something more heavy on her stomach and when she push’d her backside into me, I pretty much knew what it was.

Have you ever tried to entertain a lady an’ stir marinara sauce at the same time? If you haven’t, you should.

-Shaum

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I'm in love with a stripper.

No not really, but I must say that these kinds of girls seem to gravitate toward me. I don’t get it; all I ever wanted was a nice classy girl who is as crazy about me as I am about her. All I seem to run into are heartless, shameless women who only want one thing. It’s so common now that I don’t even bother trying to hook up with a classy girl anymore; it always turns out the same way. I mean, I have good conversational skills, I compliment in the best ways, and I’m a good listener. Where the hell did I go wrong?

I really miss middle school and high school, those where some of my most bittersweet years. I admit, school did suck, a lot, but the girls where pretty awesome at that time. I always ended up hooking up with a girl from a different school then me, but it was still a great time for me. Unfortunately I never had the best luck, so something horrible would always happen before I could enjoy the rewards of a good relationship, but the fact that the girls where so much more aggressive back then was great. I mean, I really hate feeling as if I’m making some random girl miserable by trying to get to know her when she just wants to be left alone, but I mean, it’s not like she’d come to me yourself right?

I guess I’m just not selfish enough to be with a classy woman, and maybe I want certain ingredients to mix that just won’t in real life. Strippers are aggressive, they move in ways that make me snake hiss, and they just know what to say, when to say it and how to say it. They tend to be the most gorgeous creatures alive, but their hearts are practically made of stone. You can forget about getting them to open up their hearts to you; that shit just won’t happen.

I can’t really say I’ve been hurt by a stripper girl, but I do tend to get attached and have to remind myself that there is nothing there but a good time for as long as it lasts. I want more then that, and these sexy divas from exotic dancers to runway models are just too coarse. Does this mean that all the girls who have the smallest ounce of interest in me are only the ones who are beyond loving? Do I only attract the heartless harpies of the earth or what?

I just want to feel free to be crazy about a girl and know it’s not a feeling that is misplaced. Any girl who might actually be wife material doesn’t seem to want to have the least amount to do with me. So what do I do? I can’t make someone love me. I guess as a Jersey boy, I take some getting used to, but I don’t want to be an acquired taste. This is bullshit, and my heart is just lying in my chest being unused. It would be cool to have a nice girl who is just crazy about me, and I can be crazy about her and have it grow to something amazing.

Until then, I’m just some guy who certain types of girls want to f**k and we go our separate ways, be someone’s cougar bait, or just be some poor girls rebound. “I want to be the guy”, is that too much to ask for? Until then it’s strippers, models and fast @$$ girls for me, until I somehow get better pheromones workin’ in my favor; such a sad existence for a guy who just wants to love someone, but simply isn't allowed to.

So I guess I’ll just have to settle for something more exotic, and not in a good way either.

-Shaum