What’s The Point of Playing Hard to Get?

I’m walking out as he’s walking in, and I consider lingering for just a moment. But I stick with the original plan and head somewhere else instead so I can sit and sip on a cocktail with my girlfriend while I silently wonder if he misses me. He doesn’t. If he missed me, he would call or text. If he missed me, I wouldn’t have gotten away so easily. Maybe those few passing moments of, “Hey, wussup, hello,” were enough to vaunt me into his current thoughts, although I wonder how fleeting his memory is. How many drinks will it take before he forgets to text me again. I realize that I can’t be bothered with someone who can’t be bothered with texting me with any less frequency than the slew of male platonic friends I have out there who bother to check in with me at least twice a week. I appreciate casual sex because it’s casual, but when it becomes completely disinterested sex, I wonder what the point is.

Which is why I left the bar, even though I saw him walking in. Even though half of the reason I was at that bar was to see him, but that’s fine. I was with all my friends, and while part of me is concerned that showing up at that bar made me look thirsty, well, there’s something to be said for the strength of human emotion. And its manifestation as desire for another human being beyond all logic. Luckily, I have managed to dial it down from that extreme into the mere, “hope I run into him at a bar so I can remember exactly how much I enjoyed fucking him,” that went through my head tonight.

I do not head back to the bar where I know he is right now because that would be too easy. Not for me, but for him. It would be too easy for him to turn me down. And I would be standing there, feeling so tired but eager in a hopeless way, drinking too much and feigning pretty in the back of the bar. I don’t go to him, because he does not call me to him. And what is a woman who chases dick? Why, that is not a woman at all, but a girl. A monstrosity of femininity in an adult woman’s body. I leave because that is what women do when men do not beg to fuck. Beg to fuck me. If you don’t beg to fuck me, then we will never fuck. You have to fucking beg.

And then maybe we will sleep together.

How To Deal With Your Feminist Double Standards While Enjoying Misogynistic Rap Music

“We need to get away from this culture in bars where it’s okay for men to go up to women and grope them. It’s just not okay.” I’m talking to my friend who DJs in local bars in Downtown Oakland, and I completely agree with him.

“Absolutely. I can name a few bars that I never go to because I’m sick of this shit happening.”

“Yeah, we need to do something to train security so that they can prevent women getting groped. It’s bad for business.”

“Yes. However, it’s kinda hard to discourage men treating women like pieces of meat on the dance floor when we’re playing music by Too $hort and the Ying Yang Twins. If you’re blasting “wait til you see my dick!” to the crowd but telling men not to flash their dicks at women…it can be a bit confusing.”

“Oh. Fuck. You’re right.”

“Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m a sex positive feminist, through and through, but, my god, do I love listening to Mac Dre rap about pimping women. It’s just…it’s so good!”

“Do you think it’s hypocritical to tell men to not grope women when we play music that tells them to do the exact opposite?”

“Nah. Not at all. People need to be able to separate artistic representation from their current reality through critical thinking. Granted, when you’re drunk at a club, that might not be on people’s mind. But we can enjoy the politically incorrect music of Too $hort while simultaneously respecting women. Shit ain’t that serious.”

“Yea, but people who come to dance to this music are probably a part of the culture that spawned it. Local rappers talk about pimping women because that’s what the local culture is all about.”

“Totally, but this is bars. Pimping doesn’t happen in Downtown Oakland bars. The music gets played, but the culture isn’t present. People come to bars to socialize and also to experiment with what is and isn’t socially acceptable, especially on a sexual level. If we nip that kind of sexually aggressive harassment in the bud, then we create a culture that condones appreciating local rap music but condemns disrespectful behavior without creating too much cognitive dissonance within the audience.”

“Yeah, I grew up listening to Too $hort. Love his music, but, damn, I am not down for disrespecting women like that.”

“If you can wrap your head around it, then so can anybody else. And the people who can’t, the people who expect to be able to grope and harass women – they’ll know that these bars are not the place for them and they should leave, or, if they want to stay, they’ll learn to accept the social code that disavows sexual harassment.”

“Training security to deal with this problem, and also letting women know that they can speak up against men who do this is going to help change this culture. So many times, women don’t know that if they’re being harassed that they should go to security first to get the guy 86’d. Dudes go to bars to talk to women, but if women don’t feel comfortable at a bar, they’ll leave, and that’s bad for business.”

“Yo, I am all down for you, as a man, doing everything to make me, as a woman, feel comfortable hanging out in bars. I also hold my own and will beef with any dude who tries to touch me in bars. It’s kinda funny, actually.”

“Yeah, well, long gone are the days when a woman in a bar was a dangerous thing to be. Or even tacky. Women of all ages hang out in bars now, and it’s totally socially acceptable.”

“Here’s to the rise of the female alcoholic bar fly!”

“You’re just talking about yourself now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”


Coping With Day 1 Misogyny

I know he doesn’t know this yet, but his true colors are showing. In the small things he does and the off handed comments he makes. I don’t really know what to do about it, as he says things that make it obvious that there is something deeply misogynistic and homophobic within him. He’s talking to me, and I don’t know why, although I do know that all of this comes from his desire for sex. His desire to fuck. And he talks to me, and I know what he wants from me, and I can see his utter inability to attain it And his frustration at that.

In the moment, I’m not quite sure what to do with this. He says nothing explicit or telling, but his misogyny and homophobia are peeking out around the edges. He touches me on the arm, innocuously so, and I know what that means. I shudder slightly. This homophobic, misogynistic man is infatuated with me, and how am I supposed to let him down. How am I supposed to make him go away? It’s a trick question, really, because I can’t make him go away. Due to extenuating circumstances, I will be forced to interact with him for an unknown amount of time.

He doesn’t know anything about me, but he’s infatuated with me nonetheless. I couldn’t imagine what would happen if he knew about me existence on the Internet. Would he light up with surprise and delight if he knew that I’m a thot? Or would he be disgusted by me? I can’t even fathom which one it would be; I can only imagine that if he knew about me on the Internet, he would take it as a license to sexually harass me or be strangely violent with me. A man who hates women does not even know how to process his own hatred towards women, but, rather, acts on it impulsively and, even the face of reason, cannot be rationed with.

How do I move forward with this. And is it my responsibility to fix him? Because by fixing him, I invest in him. And when I invest my time and energy and emotion into fixing someone else’s broken psyche, I allow him into my life. I do not want him in my life, but I want him to be fixed. I want him to not be like this anymore, but I don’t want fixing him to be my job. Although, as he is broken now, and as he remains broken, how many other people will he break before he is fixed? Am I wasting precious time? I would rather fix society, and him in the process, than fix him and him alone, at the risk of so much of myself. Maybe that’s selfish.

How would I fix him anyways? What is the process for that? What kind of conversations am I supposed to have with a homophobic misogynist about feminism and sex positivity? Where do I even begin? How do I broach the subject gently and with tact? Isn’t there a support group I can send him to that will fix is messed up mind? An online tutorial? A YouTube video?

We converse like we always do. I laugh at his jokes, and I look away. Whose responsibility is to console this young man because he has no game and no pussy, and therefore treats me like this? Is it mine? Or should I just destroy him like I always do, mercilessly and ruthlessly. I am choosing the path of least resistance in a journey of pain.

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If You’re Gonna Be A Thot, At Least Do It With Grace and Style Part II

In Part I of this series, I spelled out how to properly conduct yourself with social grace while sleeping around various social circles in Oakland. While social grace is crucial to being a well liked thot among the secretly promiscuous, there’s the element of style that needs to be addressed while hoe-ing around town. Mostly because if you’re gonna be a thot, at least look good while you’re doing it. One bad thot makes the rest of us look bad, and we all already have a reputation for being dirty and mean. So let’s clean up that image a little bit so that people will know that we’re diplomatic, caring members of the larger community.

First off, if you want to be a thot with style, you need to shower. You need to keep your shit clean. Wash your clothes. Change your clothes. Your general appearance should be on point and well taken care of. We all know how petty and vicious all the jealous non-thots out there can be, so let’s try not to give them any ammunition against us. I know, I know, this seems fairly obvious, but some of you ladies out there are not up to par with your personal hygiene. Now, this isn’t one of those ‘you need to pretty enough to be a thot’ kind of statements, but, rather – yo, if you’re fucking around, you need to wash your pussy. You need to get a douche. You need to not smell like eight different guys when you’re on your date with #9. It’s unsanitary, it’s unhygienic, and while STDs are a big concern among the promiscuous, regular TDs that are transmitted sexually are also a thorn in the side of the promiscuous. Things like scabies, pink eye, bed bugs, bacterial infections from not properly cleaning are all things that you don’t want attached to your good name. So, ladies, wash it off. Nobody wants a gross smelling cooter in their face.

Second, okay, yeah, we all do drugs. It kinda comes with the territory. But, please: don’t become a ratchet junkie hoe. This is not a good look. Drugs tax your physical looks, they make you lose your mental clarity, and people who do a lot of drugs generally do not taste or smell super good all the time. Being addicted to drugs is pretty tacky, and it’s not pretty. So, in the interest of being a thot with style, make sure to ingest your cocaine discreetly, moderately and without being a total psycho fiend. Learn how to handle your drugs and booze. Don’t be the one at the party who has had too much and is now freaking out and getting escorted away from the party.

Thirdly, let’s look at what’s in your purse. A good thot has an arsenal of products and weapons crammed into a tiny purse. A few things that I recommend carrying with you everywhere you go: a toothbrush, for emergency sleep overs and opportune moments. Breath mints, kind of for the same reason you would carry a toothbrush. Eye drops, which are especially important if you wear contacts, but will also help you with the morning sleepies or drug induced dry eye. Vicodins, to toss in with your breath mints and for those rough mornings. Condoms, because duh, you know that dude is hella dirty and probably didn’t bring any. Lipstick/lip gloss/chapstick so you can keep your lips looking pretty. Phone charger, for when you need to call an Uber and your phone is on 1%. A knife, in case things get weird. Back up make up, for the morning after. Baby wipes, because they’re just useful to have on you at all times and will help with makeup/body odors/sweat/body fluids. Lube, if you’re feeling daring. Read more →

A Woman Among Boys With Guns Part II

“Did you…bring your gun here?”

The sun has started poking through my bedroom curtains, and I’m looking around at the decimated scenery of my bedroom floor. And that’s when I saw it. That’s when I looked over and noticed. I saw his back pack, lying on my bedroom floor, strewn among the panties and what not. But I know what his back pack contains, and I know that as we lie here, in naked, post coital repose, there is a gun in this room.


“What…are we gonna have a shoot out or something?” I ask, feeling only okay with the fact that his arms too short to reach twenty feet across my room to grab his gun.

But I’m a responsible gun owner. I have my gun. My gun is in this room. It’s not loaded. The clip’s not even in it. But it’s here, like I like it, and that makes me feel safe.

“Well, I have to go home eventually,” he responds as I’m clasped in his arms.

He’s dangerous. He’s naked, and he’s dangerous, with his gun in his bag in my room while we lie there. Read more →

A Woman’s Experience of Lust Part II

There are snakes in my eyes as I slither between these sheets to wind up the leg of some new beast, slurping up sins and sensation like a newborn Eve on her first night fucking Adam. And what does it feel like to eat meat, red, raw and dripping while white blankets carry the new stains of another night in heaven. I would like to know what it feels like to be good, but I am too busy being bad to ever stop and pause and consider any other alternative option. I just let my fingers do the talking, whispering sweet nothings to the buttons at the top of your pants, singing sweet songs to your zipper as I zip and unzip and pull down and around. We both know what kind of secrets are hidden therein, all those beautiful inches upon inches of – well, inches of you. Read more →

A Woman’s Experience of Lust

Lust, which is just how I like it. But this is my lust, not yours. This is my deep, red sin, not yours. This is my experience of lust, my singular experience. I cannot vouch for your experience of lust, but I am offering you mine in the hopes that it can illuminate and accentuate your own experience of lust. To make it better. So that we can all experience lust on an elevated level, fine tuned and tingling in the night. This is my experience of lust, gnawing raw through the night, while yours might be elsewhere, sipping tea in the sunshine on a vast, grassy field. My lust is a beast, but yours…well, what is yours? Is your lust a rabbit, soft and petting, or a shark, filled with teeth? Is your lust a car that goes fast and crashes through the median? Or an explosion in a coal mine, killing everything around it? Is it blistering and bright? Yellow and pretty? Or does it skulk around, alone through rooms, looking ugly and yelling loudly?

This is my experience of lust. This is my experience of that chafing, fast emotion. It is a dangerous situation that I wade through wantonly, and you are welcome, dear spectator, to watch me stumble down. But you? Well, I expect you to experience lust in your own way, and if you would like to laugh at me while you do, please be my guest. But if anything, make sure that you experience your lust as beautifully as possible, because I certainly am.

This is How You Use Her

I am a bad girl. I can’t stop wanting to fuck him every time I see him, which is why I have to look away every time he walks into the room. Even though every time I walk into any room anywhere, I look for him desperately because I want him to be here, now, and I want to feel a certain way. I want to feel my unstoppable lust like a train wreck until my crotch is crashing into his crotch, and things are on fire, and something has exploded, and there are people screaming and crying and gnashing their teeth while we are broadcast across Times Square on some oversized TV screen like an international crisis of utmost importance. This is the kind of thing that makes people wince and want to turn away, but they don’t because there’s something so fantastical about fatalistic self destruction. And that’s what he is for me: my own destruction. Read more →