Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Friday, January 27, 2006


Every now and then a man needs to feel good about being himself. Some of that can be done internally, a closer connection, a deeper understanding, meditation and exercise. But honestly the easiest most effective (for the short term) ego booster is an external natural remedy. New PUZZY!

Now all new pussy aint good puzzy, but all new puzzy is…well…new!

Now a discussion of this nature has to be framed with these things in mind.
I am not saying men are dogs and have to have new puzzy.
Most men can wean themselves from the new pussy phenomenon with a little maturity and the help of some consistent good puzzy.
New puzzy does not equal good puzzy!
And you all been with or been new puzzy before!

Ok, now that you have that in mind lets press on!

The mystery New Puzzy Phenomenon (NPP) has yet to be explained by scientist. But you best believe in some lab under the desert in Nevada they are working feverishly to break down the genetic formula that makes new puzzy so powerful. What is it about new puzzy, well maybe it’s more of the feeling of conquest. Maybe it’s the level of acceptance and love/like a woman must feel in order to let you near the puzzy. Either way it’s something magically delicious.

When I was a younger man I could only escape the blu-blahs of life with one thing, NPP.

This time being like most others I found myself in Da Club. I ran across a young lady whose name was adoring, loving, zealous, and fanatical. But she was so new, so inexperienced, so unprepared for my onslaught. Oh, but she was a young stepper, a seriously ridiculous body, with a cute innocent face. She actually approached me and told me to buy her a drink.

The upfront strong woman thing doesn’t really work. Yeah it takes balls to come up and ask me to buy you a drink, especially with her being so new, but I will tell a nigga hell no, and not even sweat it.

I obliged her and asked what she was drinking. She responded by proclaiming that white zinfandel was her ‘drink’.

I watched her after several rouge stained sips from her glass. Her eyes followed all the action around her while still making furtive glances in my direction. I decided not to push the issue; I would let this girl develop her own comfort zone with me. The hunt was on!

I motioned her onto the dance floor and gauged her rhythm. I really wanted to get a full look at her body this crowded dance floor was vexing my every attempt. By that point I wasn’t really feeling the place or the crowd and the attempt at competition from the other brothers was filling her head faster than the cheap drinks.

I don’t compete. Either you roll with me or you don’t. I don’t beg, or ask twice.

She watched me from the dance floor as she participated in some brothers vain attempt to impress. Making sure her eyes were on me, I stood and moved towards the door,

She quickly excited the dance floor and met me near the entrance/exit.

“You leaving me!” She asked this while subtlety exposing her delicate cleavage.

“Yeah, my time is done, besides its to packed in here already, and getting worse.” I yelled my reply as the DJ found this the opportune moment to suggest that there was no party like this party cause this party didn’t stop.

As she pondered her next move I slipped her my phone number and walked out the club. That move was a calculated risk. Some more impressive brother could step in and steal my prize. But from the looks of the brothers coming in on my way out, I had nothing to worry about.

I reached clumsily for the phone, anticipating an emergency or an old flame booty call. The mysterious voice on the other end puzzled and delighted me. My adoring, loving, zealous, and fanatical girl had chosen me to call at the end of her night. The red flash LED of 1:30am shined from my nightstand. Umph, she even left the club early and I was her first choice out of all the numbers she received that night.

She requested a visit. A visit at 1:30 in the morning. As tempted as I was I wanted to put more into this than a night after the club thrashing. I needed her to be impressed by me. I had more planned than the one night stand.

I really don’t like one night tryst. I prefer to develop intimacy. Intimacy allows women to let the freak out. Intimacy changes turns a girl who wont give head to a girl who will swallow.

I invite her over the next night, but I happily talk to her well into the night. I am not usually a phone person but I had to make sure some other guy didn’t pollute these waters I planned to swim in the next day. So I talked well into the night/early morning hours. We agreed to meet at my place that next night, so I could cook for her. In her sternest voice she cautioned me that no sex was going to happen. I assured her that that was the furthest thing from my mind.

There are 3 things about me that I am really proud of, one is my ability to cook. I can really cook up some dead shyte in the kitchen. I can be fancy with plate presentation, candles, and napkin rings, to paper plate and white bread to help catch the gravy. Yeah I know I left out the other 2 things but that is for another post.

She arrives early, with a bottle of white zinfandel. I thank sit her down thank her and quickly place the white zen in the bottom back of the frig. I wasn’t really into wine back then but I knew white zen wasn’t my gig. In fact I think we either had tee or kool-aid with my menu…brother aint perfect.

My Menu:
Beef Tournedos
Cream Potatoes
Asparagus Tips

The meal and the conversation flipped her. We sat long after dinner and talked. I gave her a tour of my small apartment. I stopped short of going into my room, suggesting that it was dangerous.

“Why, is it that junky?”

“No”, I replied, “The lights just get a little dim and the music plays just right. It is too easy for things to get started in there so it is off limits.”

She stepped back in disbelief but accepted my warning. Proclaiming with unmitigated gall, “We not doing nothing anyway!”

Sorry for all the sidenotes but some shyte has to be explained. Anytime a girl comes to you house and explains repeatedly that sex aint on the agenda that means that she has been thinking about sex the whole day. She has thought about how it would be. How good or how bad. She has planned strategies to thwart attempts at sex. So after a day of planning and thinking about sex, she is easily excited and any good reason to have sex can be legitimized in her mind

We go back down stairs and listen to music and try to drink her bottle of zinfandel. Her posture relaxes and opens up to me more and more. Her conversation is good for a young woman and I am able to stand her for some time. Music is her interest and she expounds massively on the topic.

Eventually conversation falls to my mystery room and sex. She ask about particulars, of course which I can’t discuss. I calmly explain I don’t brag, not for fear of disappointing, but out of common decency and respect. Her next statement was as expected just a little early.

“SO … Lets go into your supposed mystery room of doom!”

With feigned objections I oblige her. We plod upstairs and sit expectantly on the bed, each with a glass of white zinfandel. I laugh as she imitates being overcome with passion. A poor imitation, of lust and passion is soon followed by the real thing.

I settle her clumsy kisses and ease her onto the bed. She whispers to me, “I thought we should get this over with so we can be friends.”

I pause, and ponder this admission, but continue with my orchestrated plan. Her smooth skin feels almost silky in my embrace. I kneel over her enjoying her smell, her scent imbues me with additional desire.

Not her puzzy scent but her smell. Females have a scent, a subtle feminine scent it is a wonderful thing. Smells humanly clean and neat. Fresh yet feminine.

I tease her breast with my tongue, enjoying their response to my attention. Her soft moans urge me to continue but we stop at the stomach. At her urging I release My Man.

I relax her vice grip on My Man, and explain to her the joys of slowly making love. As she kisses my body she sings/hums softly. I am going to enjoy this! I relax and float on the NPP.

She lies on her back and invites me and My Man. I remember uncharecterisctly fumbling for a condom. This fumble creates tension in the air, and causes that most dreaded conversation. The “Are We Really About To Do It Conversation”, is only seconds as I finally find a condom. She accepts me and we go at it in earnest.

Sorry my interview is at 12:00


  • At 11:02 AM, Blogger P said…


    Poor girl didn't have a chance. You already knew you had her, didn't you. You stroked her mind before you stroked her behind, and for us, that equals a done deal.

    LMAO @ "Anytime a girl comes to you house and explains repeatedly that sex aint on the agenda that means that she has been thinking about sex the whole day. She has thought about how it would be. How good or how bad."

    :P Shaddup! You don't know us!

  • At 12:44 PM, Blogger Honest said…

    Hilarious. Reading this is like talking to my boys about how they wooo young women into their beds.

    Good luck on your interview.

  • At 3:03 PM, Blogger Georgiapeach said…

    You ain't right. yes, good luck on your interview.

  • At 8:00 PM, Blogger Msnhim said…

    Awwww. we were just getting to the good stuff!!!

  • At 10:01 PM, Blogger "N" Search of Ecstasy said…

    I hope your interview went well. Can't wait for the continuation of this. Man you are a trip (smile).

  • At 6:25 AM, Blogger Brotha Buck said…

    I'm gonna have to book mark this place. It keeps gettin hotter up in here with each visit.

  • At 7:12 AM, Blogger muffin said…

    bwaaahaa i want to hear the rest!

  • At 3:17 PM, Blogger African girl, American world said…



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