Cum Catcher

I did not know it was going to hurt the first time nor the second or third time for that matter. I did not know I was supposed to feel good when it was over either. No one prepared me for either, the beginning, what should occur in the middle and definitely not the end.

What I learned about it, any of it, was from books and first hand experience.

My first hand experience over time showed me it wasn’t about me. In all other aspects of my existence I was being shown (programmed) to accept that “It wasn’t about me.” No matter how expert my techniques—you came to this with your learning and programming too.

A European brotha saw an African brotha’s penis and the envy started, because it was bigger. i.e. bigger house, car, diamond, bank account, friends list, followers, et cetera and so on. In the process of man being his human self; not considering the woman he went about teaching the rest of the world things about sex and women that do not apply to all of us.

Boys taught to believe that a big dick was needed to satisfy a girl. Grab those big breasts and give them a hard squeeze. Boys were also taught that the clitoris is her “spot”. Touch it and she gets wet immediately. Stick your finger inside, stick more fingers inside her—she likes that. He was taught that she loved hard thrust into her vagina. Get as far up in there as possible, yes. Add the girls that told him he has good sex and you have the Ego.  

Is the head of your dick not the most sensitive part entering the vagina? There is a reason for that.

While a boy is squeezing my breast hard and digging for gold in my vagina trying to reach my Uterus he is bypassing my G-spot. The G is for Grafenberg. It is a small thing easy to miss really because it is only a couple of inches inside me. It is the spot that makes the orgasm flow through my entire body like a warm wave of water. Slowly from the top of my scalp down around my forehead, eyes, temples, sinuses, ears, cheeks, neck, shoulders, arms, wrist, palms, fingers, down my chest and back to my stomach and hips through the center of my being, down my thighs, my knees and calves, through my ankles around my heels, circling the tops of my feet slowly moving though all of my toes at the same time removing all stress, leaving me refreshed.

It is the orgasm I never get to experience because the boy has been programmed to believe some shit that ain’t true.

My Girl said to me, “first he takes care of me, then…” I have found often the “takes care of me part is rushed so that orgasm isn’t all that it could be, on my end I’m forcing because I feel him rushing. I feel him rushing to get me off so he can shove his dick in and out any way he wants to for as long or as short as he wants doing his business. Most often though the boy does not bother with “taking care of me first” leaving me with the mental fuck of remaining active and seemingly attentive, somewhat vocal the entire time waiting, wanting, privately begging for this violation of my body and my spirit to end.

I cannot talk to the boy about the sex he’s got us missing out on because of the “big dick, let me shove it in her vagina and make sure it reaches her stomach or put my finger in her and move it around or try to insert my hand—her clitoris is her Spot myths. Add the ego and leave me to continue to experience the boy rolling over and falling asleep while I suppress the feelings of arousal and cum catcher. 

Laying there in the dark, able to hear his loud breathing, I think about all the little girls in other parts of the world experiencing the horror of having their clitoris vulva cut out in some sick ritual because someone somewhere along the way told the boys it was the spot; not possessing it would keep them from cheating because they lack desire. The lack of desire comes from the mutilation itself. The real “Spot” is a couple inches inside her in a hollow.

I lay there and realize that boys should realize porn is the movies and like many movies, a lot of things are hype. A boy being taught that licking the vulva is the only way a girl can cum and then only having intercourse with her night after night after night. I wonder how many beds in America this happens in as I tell myself I will try to talk to him about this matter tomorrow…


Wonderful happenings

I BELIEVE something wonderful is about to happen!

Safari for the Soul

Jan Boal


Listen more

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Oscar McClure, Doonie

Friends offering benefits
Oscar McClure

The fall

Have you every fallen, and the impact not hurt?

Nope; me either.

Some falls hurt less than others.

Sometimes we can break the fall,

Sometimes we brace ourselves for the fall.

Sometimes we can roll on the impact…it still hurts.

Some falls will have you laying in the rocks unable to move for a moment easing self up, shaking inside.

Other falls allow us to jump up survey the damage, brush self off and keep moving, yes.

Feeling the pain, seeing the scars, watching the blood drip; the soreness, the hurt the morning after.

Why the fuck would you fall in love when you can walk into it?

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Dentist visit

After my dentist looked at my x-rays he began to tell me what his plan of action is to fix the problem. I said, “I appreciate all that you are going to do; however, do not put anything in my mouth that is going to affect my oral skills.”

Remaining quiet does not

mean I have nothing to say.

It means I do not feel you are ready to feel my thoughts.

I am selfish, yes.

My in box

I got a in box from my sister last week.  The reaction of my action.

She called me a “drama queen”.  From that moment to this one I search for the drama queen in me.

I do react to hurt rather loud.  Probably because I take so long to react.  It has taken me 48 years to react to her abuses.  I search for a different word but I cannot come up with one.

I am having a learning experience as I write.  She leaves me feeling abused.

The part I hate the most, the part that makes me so angry.  What the fuck is wrong with me that I took so much for so long?  All I come to is Richard and Alice. 


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New York

Headed to find a pair of shoes for a wedding on Thursday. Exit the highway , enters into my view the Statue of Liberty, the East River, Manhattan on my right.

It occurs me, I live in New York.


A man child’s view

Michael and Michelle are two-year olds; playing in the yard.

Mommy calls them to her.  Michael and Michelle run; both fall.

Michael begins to cry.

Michelle begins to cry.

Mommy runs to Michelle grabbing her up in her arms; holding her close to her breast wiping her tears and calming her.  Mommy looks at Michael and say’s “Boys do not cry.”  “Man up.”  “You are not hurt.” 

Michael’s chest and head jerk when he inhales and wipes his tears.  Michael takes his place next to Mommy; walking toward the house.

Michael is then sent into the world to love a woman and create a family.

End of a relationship

I would rather die

So I die

Die to Live

Appeared that I love You more than I love myself; just a fraction.



Faith—Then I saw Satan’s son.

Take your rightful place in the Universe.

Exhaling long/hard.

Heart pounds though my chest.


Everyday People in Columbus

Leaving downtown headed west on I70 is a dead-end street on the right side. There is thicket on the right side of the highway that provides privacy to the residents that live on that dead-end street. During the summer months this site is not so bad. Once summer ends and the weather starts to change and all the green things die, the residents of this dead-end street are exposed to the passers-by on the highway.

The residents of the dead-end street are Everyday People living in Columbus. The difference in these residents and many other residents that live near the I70 W highway is they live in houses, apartments, and condominiums. The residents of the dead-end street live in tents and boxes. They use many other discarded items like tarp and plastic too. Tarps are like gold to the residents of the dead-end street.

Upon closer inspection of the dead-end street it is clear the residents have been here for a long time. The residents have gathered concrete blocks and built an out-door stove and heating element. White discarded 5 gallon buckets used for many things—storage of personal belongings, used as an out-door toilet and washing clothes when possible.

The residents of the dead-end street are Everyday People. The residents are trying to find jobs just as well as the rest of the Everyday People. There are two major differences between the Everyday People of the dead-end street the rest of the Everyday People in Columbus. The residents of the dead-end street lost their battle to being one pay check away from the street. The other Everyday People those that live in the houses, apartments, and condominiums; they are still battling to stay ahead of the one paycheck away from the street.