birthday peen.

Bear with me here as this is my first foray into writing about sex.

When I hit thirty-two, the urge to have sex nearly everyday was so overwhelming that I contemplated calling up the guy who cant spell, the one who doesn't hold the door open, the guy sure to smother me if I ever gave him even a whiff of my drawls, and even the guy with seven kids and no car. I'd contemplate it heavy. Lean on it. Think and think and think some more. I'd never call, but the thought would linger because the urge was so great that lowering my standards just for a few hours didn't seem so bad.

This feeling was new to me. I'd never been very much into the act of sex itself. I loved kissing and intimacy, but rarely cared about reaching the Big O. The sudden urge to need it all of the time threw me for a loop. To top it off, it'd been so long since I'd had some soul stirring, "Girl guess what just happened?" kinda loving that I was almost open to anyone.

My last serious relationship was four years ago and featured the most lifeless, boring, inconsistent sex I'd ever experienced. He was a wonderful guy though, and I reasoned that I'd enjoyed enough great sex in my previous relationships. Instead of harping on our terrible sexual chemistry, I focused on his other strengths.


When I look back on that experience, I feel that my intentions were good, but extremely unrealistic. There I was, in the prime of my life dealing with sub-par dingaling because my boyfriend was a good guy. That was absurd and had the potential to lead to cheating had we lasted longer than our year together.

When the relationship ended, I spent a long while celibate. My heart is directly connected to my loins, so avoiding heartbreak meant sleeping alone. But after a few years of that (yes, YEARS), the lack of loving pushed me into a very dysfunctional sexual situationship. We weren't compatible, and he was one of the most annoying men I'd ever dated. It was hard to let go though because the things he did with his mouth took me to every magical place on the planet: over the rainbow, though volcanoes, swimming with dolphins in the Pacific Ocean, talking like Joseline Hernandez (Why yew dew dis to me, Steebie?). I'd forgive his flaws nearly every night because he turned my pannies into Sea World.

Unfortunately, those bits of heaven can't last long if you don't get along. I eventually ended it because we had too many issues outside of the bedroom.

It's been a year since then, and even though there was one or two escapades with The Man featured in all of my earlier blog posts (who should be referred to as the Head Doctor for the rest of his life because, "YAAAAAASS!"), that didn't last past the 90 day mark.

The serious urge started rearing its head (literally) again a few months ago. I'd pout about it often. It's not fair to have to deal with a sexual awakening while single, especially when the urge intensifies as the years roll on. Year thirty-three was much worse than year thirty-two.

So I had a conversation with a girlfriend of mine about one night stands. I wasn't advocating for weekly soirees, but a (protected) romp in the sack every few months cant hurt. With my heart-to-loins connection, I figured it might be best to select someone I'm not dating and not interested in who is out of my reach. That way, I won't get emotionally attached (I'm a Cancer...it happens often).

Instead of one night stands, I call it "self-care". Because you have to take care of self on every level to live a happy, healthy, satisfying life, right?

Right.

_______________________________

I met this guy at a huge 4th of July party. He was 6'4, thicker than twelve snickers and dark as night. My girls assumed he might have just been released from the penitentiary because while women and men danced all around him, he did an awkward sway to the music that screamed, "I am out of place and haven't been on the dance floor since Naughty By Nature's 'O.P.P.' ruled the airwaves". I'm a little better at deciphering body language and figured he was just a corny guy with no rhythm. I was right. When we met later that night, everything about him read Carlton Banks. I like corny, smarty arty Negroes who look like NFL fullbacks...so *ding ding ding* looks like I hit the jack pot.

Until he told me he didn't live in my city. "I just moved to [insert city six hours away]. I only came up here to kick it for the 4th."

"WOMP!" was written all over my face. "But I come here every few weeks because I have a lot of friends here. And now I'll have a reason to come more often." He winked

Ok, I think. Keep hope alive.

A little time passed and we talked every now and then, but he was a little too corny for my tastes. Is oon realized, though, that I'd be kind of in his area for my birthday. I'd made plans with friends, but texted him to see if he'd be open for lunch or dinner during my stay. "Of course," he said. "Just let me know the details, and I'm there."

A day or two before I arrived, a tiny, red, demonic angel appeared on my shoulder and whispered into my ear: "You haven't been gifted with birthday dick in YEARS. Here's your chance, girl. GO GETCHU SOME."

When we finally hooked up, he met me at my hotel, looking tall, thick, and corny once again. He'd driven two hours to see me though, so I brightened up, hugged him and put on my fake smile. We headed out to dinner and a movie and had a semi-lame time. His jokes and conversation made me sleepy, but I pushed through it.

On the way back to my hotel, he mentioned getting his bag out of the trunk of his car to bring to my room. I was stunned. He'd prepared to spend the night. Who told him he could spend the night? He doesn't know me like that, I thought to myself. Granted, the plan was to have him stay over, but he didn't know that.

He quickly explained that it was late, and he didn't think he would be able to make the two hour drive home. I told him, "I understand. You're a big guy, but I think you'll still be comfortable on the couch." He chuckled, but it was a "You must be out your damn mind I didnt drive two hours and pay for dinner drinks and a movie to be sleeping on a couch in your hotel room" type of laugh. So much for trying to be coy.

Because we're both old, we fell asleep before we could turn off the lights. But then the tiny, demonic, red angel reappeared on my shoulder and whispered "Don't forget about that birthday diiiiiiick". I woke up, woke him up, and it was on.

At least I thought it would be. I wasn't too excited about kissing him to be honest, but we did a lot of rubbing and touching and other fun things. Soon, I was ready to get it on for real, for real... until he put my hand on my birthday gift and I cringed and drew my hand back like I'd been tazed.

It was the largest penis I'd ever felt in my life. And by large, I mean thick, wide, and no earthly good.

That is NOT going inside of me, I thought to myself. No. No. NOPE.

But then he launched into the most severely intense foreplay I'd ever experienced, which convinced me that maybe I should give it a shot.

Wrong decision. His penis should be outlawed. It felt like he was taking my virginity, and I am too old to be going through that again. I tried to take it like a real G, but I punked out soon thereafter. "You're going to impale me, I don't want to be split in half," I whined into the pillow.

He noticed I was distraught and tried to comfort me. "I'm sorry. I'm a big guy, though. What did you expect?"

"I surely didn't expect... THAT," I whimpered. "Can you call the ambulance, please. I think I need stitches."

I was being dramatic. Instead of calling the ambulance, we went to sleep. He tried to hump me again in the morning, but I was so traumatized from the previous night with his Guinness Book of World Records schlong that I rolled off the bed and onto the floor in an attempt to get away from him. "Put your gargantuan penis away. I want no parts of it!"

I told my close girlfriend about this incident later that day over chicken and waffles, and she pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side with a "You have got to be kidding me" look in her eye. "You don't understand. My fingertips barely touched my thumb when I grabbed it. The girth was stupendous."

Her eyes grew wide. "I still think you should have manned up and got you some, though," she said while buttering her waffle. "But I understand."

"A gigantic peen is just as useless as a little peen in my book. Plus, I'm not about to stretch my walls out for some guy I'll probably never see again. I'm still sore. And not the good kind of sore." I fake cried into my biscuit. "I have the worst luck in the world."

Only I would get birthday penis that I can't handle. At all. Not even a little bit. We laughed because I do have the worst luck in the world, but at least it's still quite entertaining.