Divas Command

My boyfriend is currently in jail. No correction, he's in prison. We've been together a year and six months. He's been in prison eight months. For eight months I've been holding things together at home. Overseeing his bank account - now depleted, taking care of his business - keeping state paperwork up to date, calling and checking on appeals, making requests for medical care and on and on.

Lately he's been on a tear about reestablishing his business; wanting to have things in place when he's released in late January/early February. So he's been sending me lists of things to do; "honey do" lists. And since I'm mostly off during the summer months, I've been spending my time getting way too intimate with the trucking business.

Don't get me wrong, I applaude what he's trying to create. And I believe he will be successful. But I also have my own responsibilities. For eight months I have in essence been overseeing two households; managing two lives. In the midst of all that I've made every effort to visit him twice a month, make sure he has some comforts while he's incarcerated (thus his depleted bank account), speak to him on the phone once or twice a week, write him letters two to three times a week.

In return I've gotten... more "honey do" lists. Exhaustion. Depression. Hurt. Anger. Disappointment. Then the final straw the other day. During a phone call last week (collect, by the way) he says "I guess that shows I'm not a priority in your life..." all because he didn't get a packet of information in the mail on Friday. I'm killing myself managing two households, two sets of responsibilities so he has something to come home to and he's not a priority in my life?! What-the-f*ck-ever! Let me show you what it means when you are not a priority in my life!

Meanwhile I just got my latest phone bill... $95.22

AKA Larry. My row dogg before I knew what a row dogg was. My heart. My confidant. The one person who I trust to know me better than I know myself. One of the few people (What up, Ray?!) I trust to love me as I am unconditionally and without ceasing. My heart.

We've been through so much together (Oak Knoll Park, Divinity 6 etal). We know each other's dirt (man if there was ever someone who could do an expose on me - it's Larry), triumphs, and hurts. And although we are separated physically, no one and nothing can break our bond. He's my heart.

I don't tell him nearly enough how much I love him and I don't tell him how proud I am of him. But am. He has done and will do great things; I know it like I know there's air to breathe. And I am proud of him and proud to call him brotha-friend.

He's always there for me. Sometimes before I even know I need him. And I am blessed to have him in my life. I look forward to the day I make him an uncle because I want my child to know him and know his strength, caring, kindness, crazy humor, gentleness, wisdom, and love. No child could be more blessed than to have Larry in their life.

He's my heart. He's my Zakee.

Mmmmm shoes...
I got a fetish for shoes
High heel
Calf working
Black
Grey
Leather
Patent
Strappy
Ornate
Make me walk taller
Make me feel more powerful
Make me stride longer
Steve Madden
Jimmy Choo
Carlos
9 West
Nothing better than finding sexy shoes at a sexy price
Nothing better than the look on a man's face when he's liking your shoes
Nothing better than having your lover love you in (and out of) your shoes




Pumps
Boots
Sandals
Hey even sneakers and Doc Martin's sometimes
Mmmm shoes
I got a fetish for shoes

Ever heard the saying, "Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to?" Most of us practice it every day. We actively avoid what we know to be the truth because if we acknowledge it then we just may have to act on it. And that's really the problem. That's where all our insecurities come to play.

It's the same reason we don't speak certain things. Words have power. Once you've said it out loud then you've got to deal with it. So we don't say it. Hey, if it's only in my head then only I and God know.

What he asked:
Him: "Are you going to marry him?"
Me: "Probably."
Him: "Do you love him?"
Me: "Yes."
Him: "Are you in love with him?"
Me: "Yes."

What he should've asked:
Him: "Why are you going to marry him?"
Him: "Do you love me?"
Him: "Are you in love with me?"
Him: "Will you marry me?"

But he didn't ask the right question... and I didn't say a word.

June 13, 2005

Hey honey,

I’m sorry, babe. I tried. Really I did. I know you wanted me, have asked me for a while now, to write you a story. An erotic, wet story like the ones I was writing when we met. I know it was those stories and poems that initially attracted you to me...
You were so disappointed your early evening meeting ran into late night and you missed coming home for dinner. It was one of your favorites but honestly you were more disappointed because all afternoon you’d walked around with a partial hard on after our brief lunchtime phone call. However I was asleep by the time you made it home so you settled for a shower and hand massage. Padding into the bedroom, towel wrapped around your waist you were surprised to find me sitting on the bed in your favorite silk purple chemise. I reached out and pulled you to me by the knot in your towel. Replacing its soft caress with the softness of my lips, I inhaled your clean scent before running my tongue over your balls. Your head fell back as you briefly wondered, “Is she trying to dry me off or make me wet?”
…Stories from the mind of a woman you hadn’t met but felt you knew intimately. Felt you were meant to know intimately.

I don’t know what happened - what’s wrong. I mean I know I’m still the same woman. I have those same stories inside me. I feel those same urges…
My nipples are tingling from rubbing back and forth against the rough wrought iron headboard, but I can’t do anything about it because you’ve got me trapped on my knees, pressed against the headboard as you fuck me with your lips and tongue. My hands are held behind me, gripped in one of your fists while your other arm is locked around my right thigh pressing me down onto your face. No matter how hard I try to pull away you hold me in place, drawing orgasm after orgasm from me. I feel spent but they keep coming; hard and fast – slow and long.
…I see those same images. But I’m blocked. I can’t write them down.

Maybe it’s the new position. All my time seems consumed with work. Every time I sit at the computer it’s to write a report or grant or lesson or… whatever; it’s work. So whenever I can get away from the computer I run as fast as I can…
I know I should have left you alone; you had so much work to do on your latest job but I couldn’t help it. Seeing you sitting at the desk in only your boxer briefs was so damn sexy I just had to distract you. So here we are, lights dimmed, Juvenile’s “Slow Motion” playing and your working being ignored as I give you an impromptu lap dance.
…And that’s just my day job. Add to that my consulting work, all the goings on at church, the company I started – it’s a wonder I can find time to sleep, let alone write.

I’ve even tried writing long hand, like I did in college. That’s an art I’ve totally lost. I mean here I am writing you a letter and I’m typing it on the laptop…
Not fair! You tricked me! You said you wanted some ice cream after our hot, sweaty love session and dragged me out of bed to come with you to the kitchen. You said we’d scoop out a bowl and return to bed. Now here I am, bent face forward over the kitchen center island, the cool marble top amplifying the heat of my naked breasts and stomach. My feet are spread shoulder width apart and I have warm caramel sundae topping spread over my ass cheeks, dripping down my crack, onto my pussy lips. You are on your knees between my feet using your mouth and tongue to make sure none of the topping drips down onto my clean kitchen floor.
…Huh, I guess that’s what happens when you get your master’s in technology; you forget the old technologies of paper and pencil. Everything is digital in my world now.

But I gave it my best shot. I determined that tonight as I sat in my hotel room I would block everything out and just let it flow. Try my old trick of sitting at the keyboard, closing my eyes and letting my fingers glide across the keys putting down what images played behind my lids…
Why are you teasing me? “Please” I moan, gripping the pillow by my face. You’ve got me lying on my right side, left leg bent so you can watch the head of your dick slide in and out of my wetness. My lips are swollen and dripping, I want all of you inside, but you keep dipping just the tip in and out slowly, teasing me; making me beg. “Not yet…” you whisper back, kissing my shoulder. “Not yet.”
…Unfortunately nothing came. Nothing but this letter.

Perhaps I have too much trying to get out. Perhaps my block is because I have a whole bunch of images and stories rushing around trying to be first in line, but instead they’ve caused a log jam in my creative center and nothing can get out. Or perhaps I just need to take a vacation, really and truly rest and relax. Forget about work, church, and more work and just do nothing. Maybe then I’d be able to get some things down on paper.

But for the life of me, I can’t get anything out right now, honey. I’m sorry. But the first thing I do write I promise will make you so hot, you’ll have no choice but to jump me after you read it. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Another reason to take me to bed and keep me there as long as possible…
“Turnabout is fair play,” I whisper in your ear as I tie your left wrist to the bedpost with a second silk scarf. You make a show of trying to resist but when I pull back I can see the twinkle in your eye and the smile you’re trying to hide; you like this, you think it’s fun. You can’t wait to see what I’m going to do to you and you look on eagerly as I stick my finger into the strawberry sundae syrup then bring it to my lips to lick clean. Intent on the play between my tongue and finger you’re caught off guard when the warm syrup touches your erection. Your eyes follow as my head lowers to your lap.
…Actually maybe that’s the reason I’m blocked; your loving is soooo good, I have nothing else to write about. What do you think? Could that be it? Could you be the cause of my creative void? Hmmm…I like that – it’s your fault!

Okay it’s not your fault, although your loving is very, extremely very good. I’m going to beat this. I’m going to find a way to get unblocked. I like writing. I like being creative because if I can conceive it in my mind then we can work on making it a reality in our love life…
Your mouth makes love to that spot at my lower back that makes me crazy whenever and however you touch it. You’re currently feasting on it, pushing the button that makes my hips rotate, my pussy tighten, and my clit pulse automatically. It seems you’ve spent a couple of hours just loving my spot and now you’ve added the friction of your finger sliding in and out of my canal. As a reward my silken cum has coated your hand repeatedly but you continue your feast seemingly oblivious to how many orgasms I’ve already experienced.
…That alone is enough incentive to make me work around this block. Another huge incentive is how much I enjoy seducing you. And my words do seduce you; make you hot. And making you hot makes me hot and wet. So I’m going to apply myself to this problem and make it go away as soon as I can.

However for now, I need to get to sleep so I can be at my best tomorrow. I can wait to come home and sleep in our bed. I hate these long business trips. And you know hotel rooms make me horny. Yea, maybe you should meet me at the door naked Friday night when I return – I’m gonna want to wear you out!! Anyway, good night, honey – I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

Yours always,
T.

tonee c. copyright july 2005

My sista-friend says that the "Y" chromosome in men is at the root of all male/female issues. It makes them do things that just don't make sense. As women we are constantly asking "Why?" Why did he leave the wet towel in the middle of the bedroom floor? Why will he spend $200 on video games without thinking but get upset when I spend $200 on a pair of shoes?

I'm frustrated right now. I'm angry right now. I'm asking "Why?" He's damaged (who isn't), I know this. And I've exercised much patience over the past year and half. But now my patience is being strained. I am frustrated with the back and forth. The go then no go. The "let's do this" followed by "wait."

Throughout our relationship I would say he's been the pursuer, the aggressor. He's pushed for the next level. I've been the practical one. Encouraging patience and taking our time. While I've never allowed him to push me too far, too fast, I have coasted along not putting up too much resistance. I have not committed to anything, no matter how often he asked, until I was ready. So after months of his asking I finally said "yes." And although I said "yes" I negotiated a later date than he originally proposed.

Therefore imagine my surprise when during a conversation yesterday he says, "I don't like the pressure you're putting me under." Huh? For 8 months you ask me and I say "Let's wait. Let's see what happens. Let's not rush." and I'm pressuring you?! Why?!

So what I am I going to do? Let me tell you what I'm doing - I'm sitting in the middle of the floor, arms and legs crossed. I'm not moving. Not another step. I don't want to say we're going to do things my way, but his way ain't working. Something has got to change. It's time to renegotiate terms. Time to clear the air; establish expectations and guidelines. Time to de-mystify the "Y."

Yeesss

Slip up behind me

Quietly

Let your body pause

Just a whisper away

No-don't touch

Yet

Linger

Let anticipation grow

Allow me to get used to the feel of your breath

Your heat

Now, just when I'm about to moan

Just when my eyes slide close from the want of you

Touch me lightly

Run your strong hands through my hair

Down my nape

Across my shoulders

Over my back

Until

You hit my spot

Stop

Hold

Don't move

Don't squeeze

Just rest

Breathe in my scent just below my ear

Let your lips linger there

But don't touch

Yet

Now I'm torn

Do I want you to kiss me or caress me?

I don't know

So I wait

Wait for you to

Fall down on your knees

And do both

Touch me, caress me with your hands, your lips, your tongue

Just in that spot

That spot

Right there

Where my spine meets my, my, my...

Yeesss, right there

You know where

tonee c.

Copyright 4.23.03

My father called me on Father's Day. He called me. It wasn't that I'd forgotten it was Father's Day; I'd spent the morning in church with my Papa, then gone to lunch afterward with him and Moma. But this was my father calling me on Father's Day. And it was strange.

I stammered out a "Happy Father's Day" and then went through a five minute conversation. It was the first time I'd actually spoken to my father on Father's Day in over 20 years. And he called me.

I had just spent seven days at "home" visiting family. I didn't, however, get a chance to see him or his side of my family. It's a new experience for me - including them in on my annual visits. For so many years, they were out of touch. All because my father decided to disappear from my life. As much as I missed him, that was his choice. I could accept it. But with him he took a half-brother, a niece, a nephew (both born later), an aunt, four cousins (one I never knew until now and one through marriage), and two second cousins (children born during my absence). A whole other family. He made the decision to cut us off from each other. Because without him as the link, we couldn't connect.

My brother suffered the most, I think. He's 10 years younger. I remember from the time he could walk whenever I would come to my father's for weekend visits, my brother would follow me everywhere. He never let me out of his sight unless he accidently fell asleep. (I think that's actually why he started crawling and then walking so early - to keep up with me.) We would even wait for him to go to bed on Sunday night before my father would return me home. From roughly the age of 2 until he was 16, my brother and I were separated. We reunited at 16 and 26 respectively when my mother and our father began dating again. But when that went sour, as I knew it would, my father disappeared (heartbroken no doubt) and took my brother with him.

Last year my father's sister called, out of the blue, and initiated a reunion for everyone. Not my father called; my aunt called. So after so many years of neglect, why do I feel guilty that my father called me on Father's Day?

Let's face it... I'm fat. Yep it's true, I'm fat. I could put a but here (not to be confused with a butt)... but I'm 36 years old... but I had surgery a year ago and just started working out again... but I'm so busy with work and other things I don't have time to workout... but I've always been the amazon woman type (at least in my own mind)... but I... but I... but I...

But I'm fat. And I'm fat in a place I just can't take it - around my middle. I've always been busty. Always had an ass. Finally developed hips in high school. But I (there's another "but I") have never had a thick middle. A full waistline. And it's an obvious waistline. Today while facilitating a teacher training, a participant came up during break to thank us for the job we're doing and to somewhat apologize for some of her colleagues' behavior. Anyway as she was wrapping up she said, "And I really don't know how you do it being pregnant. My sister... blah, blah, blah"

What? Huh? Pregnant? I look pregnant to you?! Oh my Gawd! I do look pregnant. I look like I'm 6 or 7 months pregnant. And the tops I wore, yesterday and today, don't help matters! I'm fat.

But here's the real deep seated issue. I'm engaged to be married. And he wants a baby right away. So you know what that means... there goes the waistline. I want a baby. I want a family. But I never knew I was so vain about my waistline until now. What am I going to do when I do get pregnant? I might need therapy. I might need drug therapy. I'll definately need prayer... because I'll be fat.

There's a new phenomenon brought about by the outrageous growth of internet communities. Groups, blogs, web page hosting etc. People get online, get into a group and suddenly everyone's "sis" and "bruh." "I love you's" get thrown around willy nilly. People attach to each other quickly and, dare I say it, wholeheartedly. Only to be betrayed a week or two later.

Then come the complaints. "I can't believe s/he did that to me! I trusted him/her! Whoa is me!" And thus begins the drama of internet friendship breakup. And don't get me started about internet romances... Whatever happened to good old fashion building a friendship? You know. You meet someone via a shared interest and/or person. You spend time together. You get to know each other slowly. You come to care for each other's welfare and interests. You build a relationship. A r-e-l-a-t-i-o-n-s-h-i-p. Based on time tested faithfulness, loyalty and care.

What happened to make us stop listening to our grandmother's advice, "Babee, not everyone is yo friend...?" Hmmm, so just because I chat with you, email you, IM you, text you, and/or speak to you on the phone for, oh say, 10 days in a row, you may not be my friend? You may simply be an acquaintance? Hmmmm, now that's a thought!

So let me tell you about one of my best friends. And when I say best friends, I mean best friends. Brothers of the heart. Not to be confused with brothers in blood. Those you don't choose. I mean these guys I would literally give my life for. If given the opportunity and brought before God I would say "take me instead Lord." And I know they would do the same for me.

But you know what's funny - he wasn't always one of my boyz. Actually I tried to limit him, relegate him to roadie for the band. I was not feeling him when he first came on the scene - at all! I had MY nice established circle - everyone had MY approval - and then here he comes. Hanging out. Trying to get in where he fit in.

Oooh, wee the things I did to him! The trials and tests I tried to put him through. But you know what? After all this time, he remains while the majority of the band is... who knows where, doing who knows what. Man I love me some Ray! He's in my top five (and there are only 10 at most) favorite people. I couldn't imagine not having him in my life.

He's goofy ("Why do I always look crazy in your pictures?"), intense, passionate, moody, brooding ("If I don't get THIS job, I don't know what I'll do!"), rigid (One word - Greybar), frustrating, loving, warm, loyal, strong, insane (Why did you make me laugh so hard I threw up at the restaurant table? You just couldn't let it go.), blunt, obtuse, ditzy ("Yes, my eyes are blue.")... He's my Ray. "Got fucgg, don't make me hit you..."

I love me some Ray!

At some point, to your surprise, you start to see the adults in your life differently. You no longer look at them from a child's point of view. You start to see Grandma as a woman, Mom as a woman, Uncle so-and-so as a man. And sometimes you are faced with the fact that you don't like them as a person.

While I went through this process years ago with my mom, this summer I was faced with it again on a bigger scale - the whole of my maternal family. It was difficult - seeing the people I most depended on growing up in all their human frailness. I got to glimpse my grandmother's pain - regret and loss coming from her own lips. The woman who raised me having a vulnerable woman's moment. Coulda, shoulda, woulda...

And the lashing out. "If I can tear you down, then I look better. Then we're not so far apart. Then your life isn't so great and mine isn't so horrible." Why? Why must we be in perpetual competition? Why must it be about who's thinner, lighter, has longer hair? Why must it be about how big is your house, how new is your car, how big are your diamonds, is your designer purse authentic?

So what do you do with this new found information? What do you do when you realize the people you looked to for support and unconditional love, the ones who shaped who you are - your strengths, weaknesses, triumphs, fears - aren't so nice? What do you do when you feel attacked and scrutinized by some of the very sources you look to for strength? What do you do when your feeling of joy and blessedness is trying to be stolen by people you love?

What do you do when you see through adult eyes and you don't like what you see?

A blog, huh? What to do in a blog? I have no delusions of being a great writer, great thinker, or great philosopher but I know I have much bottled up inside that needs to get out. But where to put it? So I'll try this thing...

I admit I've never been good at keeping a diary or journal. I've started many but find myself too nervous, too anxious to keep it up. Anxious someone will read it (so a blogger, huh?) and know... know what goes on behind my eyes... and if someone knows, then someone can hurt.

Which is probably what brings me here now... Someone knows. I let someone in and he used what he learned to hurt me. You've heard the saying, "If something seems too good to be true..." Oh but wait, I don't believe in sayings - I believe in God. I believe that everything happens within His power and that we learn from all the things He allows us to experience. If only we stop to listen to what He says to us.

So, lesson learned? We may have our lists of desires, but He knows what we need. For years I fantasized about my Adam. So God brought him to me. And I loved him but he wasn't for me. Didn't love me. Of course, it's not the whole story. Before He brought me my version of my Adam, He introduced me to His version of my Adam. He loves me and I love him. But I seriously thought about putting him aside for the other.

So, long story short I sit here now dealing with a tumult of emotions. Hurt, pain, anger, love, sadness, guilt, hope, humbleness, self-doubt, gratitude, anxiousness... and on and on.

Months ago I put a dam on my feelings by putting my pen down. Now I feel so full I'm paralyzed. Maybe this will be a new place for me to free myself again - to reclaim not who I used to be, but who He intends me to be.