May 28, 2023

A couple of weeks ago, I was in a kind of state. I was worried, and distressed because not only was my date to leave creeping closer, it seemed as though things between myself and YMK had cooled off.

What I didn’t tell you is, more than once during that period, when he said he would come and didn’t, although I didn’t cry or lose my composure, I really missed him acutely, and felt more than once as though things were going to end prematurely between us.

He had taken to staying away for days on a stretch, showing up and hanging out for an hour or two before taking off again. For about three weeks, sex was scarce and then when it came, it was perfunctionary on his part. Not bad, but you could tell his mind was in other places, dealing with other things and well I felt it was inappropriate in a couple of instances, especially when he needed a friend more than a lover.

For me it was like track five on Missy Elliot’s genre busting “This Is Not A Test”:

Is This Our Last Time

I remember when we first made love
It was so good
Nigga I was whipped and all into it
Off a that good wood
And if I could I would pursue it
But you won’t let me do it
I like the first time around
But playboy you keep putting me down

I can’t keep running away from you
But the sex don’t feel the same
You don’t hold me or kiss me like you used to
I can tell your feeling’s changed
It must be some other bitch that’s taking up your time
If it is, then let me know
So I won’t call you over to taste a piece of this good pie
Why you don’t fuck me like before?

I like the first time
Talking about the second time
I like the first time
Talking about the second time

I remember when we first made love
You felt so good you made me cry
But now you rush to get it over
And it don’t feel like the first time

I like the first time
Talking about the second time
I like the first time
Talking about the second time


Why you dogging me out?
Is this our last time (say it again)
Why you dogging me out?
Oh what shall I do?
Tell me what I’ve done to you?


Since then his girlfriend’s mama shut down their programme and he’s told me he doesn’t want to give up on her and he still has feelings for her, and well I can understand that. I would think him inhuman, unfeeling, cold if he didn’t. I respect that and when I think about things, mulling over all the factors and influences and all that is going on between us, all the information, old and new, I remind myself not to underestimate or overestimate any one factor more than another.

Despite it, despite all that, over the last couple of weeks he’s been in my house almost every night. At first I wondered if it was just that I was providing him with comfort during his ‘agony’ and shit. But in reality I realise that it’s been more of a release for him, for both of us. Although I’m still leaving, the guardians of emotional restraint has been relaxed, and for both of us it was like we could allow ourselves to actually feel something for each other without feeling either guilty or hopeless.

We’ve been making love, all out fucking, and other such similar sport right through, with one night breaks in between at most. I’ve seen him every day without fail. This is part of the reason why I haven’t been able to write more over the last few weeks. I have no ‘alone time’ and haven’t actually wanted any either. Being with him, is the most fun I’ve had with anyone in years, bar none. I’ve been blessed, no matter what happens. (More on that later.)

I’ve been working on this entry for more than a week, and everytime I get to dig a little beneath the surface of what’s going on, he knocks on my window, I jump up to go and let him in. With him around, my ability to sit down and work through all I’m thinking and feeling, becomes non-existent and impossible.

The only reason I’ve been able to focus and put all this down, is by stealing time to type out a few paragraphs at work, or like today, all out not going to work, ostensibly to work on packing and sorting out my apartment. I’ve built this entry (now 5000 words plus) out of stolen moments, and boons of time. Making strong mental notes, and typing what I could down.

I’m trying to remember everything, but know I can’t relate it all. Once he’s here though or we’re together, how could I concentrate? When YMK is in the room, he cannot keep his hands off my breasts and he’s forever twiddling my nipples. He says when he was little, that he played with his mother’s breasts until he was about five, and that if every woman he came in contact with let him play with their breasts he’d just gorge himself. It doesn’t matter how big or small, they just have to be female breasts.

My breasts, at any case, he is fascinated with. Apparently the sensitivity of my nipples, and all round jiggle-ability is compelling. He’s ruthless though, we’ll just be there talking, and all of a sudden, warm lips and tongue and sucking ensues, and I just can’t talk, can’t focus on anything other than the connection between my nipple and my clitoris. Fucker, he whispers, “Sorry, I know how close your blood is to your skin,” yet he doesn’t stop. Let’s face it, I don’t want him to stop. I can’t stop kissing him and touching him either.

It doesn’t always lead to sex either, but it’s become one of the constants in our relationship, his fingers and tongue inciting and worshiping. I know he does it to comfort himself, but it keeps my pussy wet and open for him. As long as he is in the room, he will play with them so I’m wet almost all the time these days. :deepsigh: It’s not a bad state, but it does make for an interesting… ah, twist to things.

Sexually, I have entered a never heard of before glut, and I am revelling in not just the regularity of the sex, but the quality of it. With my lovers in the past, I found that I would hit this wall in the relationship very early on, either the sex became too predictable, or in some cases, the emotional connection frittered and spent itself quickly. With YMK, the sex is getting better, and our emotional connection seems to be getting deeper, and naturally that fuels our orgasms and makes the sex better. I know my pussy is good, but he’s told me that I make him make noise when no other woman has before, and his orgasms are so intense with me. At the very least, we’re satisfying some very strong, primal and base need in each other.

I am consistently amazed how my pussy and his cock behave like old friends. One time, as we shuddered to a close, and his head dropped to my shoulder, both of us running rivulets of sweat, both of us panting he whispered, “Can I tape that?”

I point blank refused. “Nobody is getting video tape of me sexing, no, no, no!” I vehemently protested.

“I’ll double the amount of sex you get,” he offered, too knowingly for my own liking. I started laughing, I couldn’t help myself, he’s the devil! In the end, my kitty reared up and decided for me. Pushed all my ‘good girls don’t do that’ protestations to the side, and well, if we find a working video camera, I do believe it will be on. Besides, I have is assurances that no one else will see the tapes. (You should see my face when I type that…)

Although sex is definitely a major factor in our relationship, there’s more than that going on. We treat each other well. We share, we care and even if it’s an outward manifestation and temporary, is a pure, real thing. One we’re both giving freely and receiving without reservation right now.

Last week Friday night, after working like a dog all day, and making it home without actually eating anything, come about 10.15pm, ya girl was ravenous. We were waiting to watch Spiderman (YMK’s favourite show,) and I got dizzy and was feeling awful.

He sounded a little annoyed, “Why you didn’t tell me you were feeling bad? You want me to go get something for you?”

I didn’t want him to leave, or go out into the night, or for that matter miss his show, but I really needed to eat too, so I said yes, and off he went. He missed the first ten minutes of the show, but it meant a lot to me that he walked down the road and got me something to eat.

That night, we made love for hours, and he spent the night. In the morning, after our coffee, he fucked me again while I panted and screamed, calling his name and him whispering, “Yes baby? Yes baby?”

Our ‘thing’ is becoming more compelling. It’s not my imagining either, he tells me this. He just volunteers information, telling me what’s happening inside of him, even if he can’t make sense of it. I can’t help but do the same, it seems only fair.

This is entirely new terrain for me. I’ve never seen this place before. I am like a child in a candy store. If it was just sex, that would be one thing, but neither of us can pretend that all it is any more.

He’s started to stare at me. I mean, I look up and he’s laying there, just looking at me.

A few days ago he says, “You know, I never realised how beautiful you are.”
“What do you mean? Before now you thought I was dog?”

“No, I always thought you were pretty. It’s just before, when I was with my girlfriend, my heart was for her and I felt really guilty about liking you as much as I did. Now that it’s over with her, I see you in a way I didn’t before, wouldn’t allow myself to see. There’s like this light that shines out of your skin. You’re always glowing, always radiant. Before I’d been seeing it, and could ignore it. Now I can’t ignore it anymore.”


He just gets more and more beautiful to me. I love his mouth, the clearly defined line, and how it always looks like he’s pouting a little. I’m told I have the same quality in my own mouth. I love his bald head and how it shines, I love the creamy, dark chocolate quality of his skin. He has beautiful hands. His head has such a beautiful shape. I know it’s crass, but my kitty is completely enthralled by his dick too.

Speaking of his dick, I realise I’m not good with distances, or measuring, (I can just hear UT guffawing over this one,) because I know I said his dick wasn’t the biggest I have had, but I believe I was mistaken.

Like all men, he doesn’t think his dick is big enough, and after one particularly playful argument about the matter, where I was asserting my completely and constant satisfaction with his penis, and in fact my growing state of affection for the same, I decided to measure it, so we could know definitively what we were talking about.

We couldn’t find a tape measure, although I know I have one somewhere. So instead, I grabbed a piece of embroidery thread, and laid it against his dick, tying a knot at the point his dick ended. I had no ruler at home either, so the next day, when I got to work, I measured the length of string against my ruler at work. Ya girl near fall through the fucking floor! 9.6 inches! You see why they say women are no good with distances? Me, all I can say is, “Long Live The Size Queen!” (Check out this thread in Tribe Life.)

He has told me, I am one of the few women he knows that can take it all, and to that all Big Mami could reply to was, “I’ve been running with big dogs a long time, baby….” and grin wickedly.

For me, one of the most empowering moments in our relationship was finding out precisely the motions to make so he shivers and gasps when I am sucking his cock, and as big as that bad boy is, I’m almost getting it all in my mouth. That’s how it is, we’re trying to outdo each other, and every experience, sucking up the moments slipping away, putting other people and things on hold to drink in the hours we have free with each other.

This week, he’s started coming in the morning to have coffee in the morning. I make the coffee for him, and we sit on my bed, drinking and talking. Planning out the day, talking shit, watching early morning music videos then he goes and gets ready and goes out to handle his stories, and I do the same.

He holds his coffee cup in one hand, and twiddles my nipple with the other, his beautiful fingers idly inciting, me just feeling blissfully overindulged and greedy.

A night earlier this week we watched two porno flicks. One I remember from my brother’s collection, and the other one was all new.

We sat there, both watching, but non-stop talking as usual. He played with my nipples as usual, brushing kisses across my back, and the back of my neck and shoulders.

About three quarters of the way through the flick, he says, so soft I could barely hear him, “Baby, I really just need to fuck you.”

So both of us stealing glances at the TV, session one begun.

After, we sat cooling off under the fan, and continued to watch the tape. He says to me, “You know you’ve been getting a lot of sex.”

“Yes….” I sighed contentedly.

“You know you can get some more,” he said so softly, I almost didn’t hear him.

“I deserve it,” I whispered back. “I’ve really, really suffered.”

My pussy clenched, and the heat in my stomach got hotter, my pussy already glowing with the attention.

He got up, got another condom and came back inside to play. Damn, I am becoming dick obsessed! Who am I? Who is this person I am becoming? I crave it, think about it when I am work.

He whispers to me on Tuesday night, “I want you to do me a favour when you go to work tomorrow.”


“I want you to slip your hand down and finger yourself, make yourself come at work.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Just do it under your desk, no one will see. Think about me fucking you.”

“Everyone will see, I work in an open plan office. It’s like a fish bowl, everyone can see you and what you’re doing.”

“Does your boss have an office? Do it on his desk.”

“Yes, but it’s got glass windows and I don’t have access to it.” I replied laughing.

But I actually thought about doing it in my mind and he bagan playing with my nipples. While he was playing with them, I told him I could come from him sucking them alone, and he didn’t believe me, so I dared him to do it. So said, so done.

“Did you just do what I thought you did?” He asked once he released my nipple from his mouth.

I nodded, “Yes sir!”


I turned towards him, melted over his frame and whispered in his ear, “Because it feels as though you’re licking my clit when you do that.”

“Your body is so weird!”

“Don’t say that! It’s just you know, it’s alive and aware,” I protested.


I am kind of scared. I have to admit it. I’m afraid that I’ll go to England, and this good thing between us will evaporate, or he’ll go and beg at his ex-girlfriend’s door, or that he’ll meet someone else.

I know there’s a part of him still inlove with his ex, and for that reason alone I’m glad I’m leaving because really, I don’t think I could handle that. See it was fine when they were together, and there was no hope for he and I developing beyond what we had, which was a purely FWB situation. However, I could never be a full time mistress, or a second wife. It’s just not happening.

That’s unfair though, because things were getting sorta serious, even in light of his relationship with his girlfriend. Now that she’s not in the picture, it’s like both of our hearts have just lit up where the other is concerned. If I was alone in it, I think it would be easier to deal with, but he has told me that without the guilt of having feelings for me while with her now gone, he’s able to really open up more to me.

I’m afraid of falling in love again, but I can see that even if I leave now, if we stay in contact, and he really does come to England, or I come back and visit, and these feelings continue to develop, that’s the direction I’m going in. I can already sense this isn’t a non-mutual thing like PHG, it’s not like the feelings between RBB and I, it’s not like KSS and the emotional eunuch business.

This is exactly what I said, unfamiliar terrain.

I’m afraid of all that it means: Being vulnerable and open, letting someone inside and giving myself completely. I’m afraid, because I won’t be able to keep enough for myself, like I have with all my lovers in the past, and this relationship.

He’s the kind of man who will demand everything I have to give, but I can see also he’s the kind of man, if he’s properly loved, will give back everything he takes — amplified.

It’s not that I can’t stop thinking about how he always seems to know what I’m thinking, without me actually saying anything. It’s not the way he pulls things out of me, confessions, the truth about how I feel, even when he doesn’t like what I have to say. It’s not how he calls me on my game playing, as much as I call him on his. It’s not the way we strive against each other, playfully jostling each other intellectually, emotionally, sexually, spiritually. It’s not the challenging of one another’s held perspectives, and how we listen to each other when we talk, and respect each other. It’s not just that we are so comfortable with each other, I find it hard to ignore and neither can he.

It’s not just that he’s physically my type. It’s not that he remind me of the Nigerian babalawo I met last year. It’s not just that he’s intellectually sharp even if he’s not very well read. It’s not just that he’s a little black boy from San Juan who loves rock n’ roll and listens to many of the same bands I do. It’s not just that our sexual intensity and compatibility is unparalleled in my experience…. shit, I’m sure I’ve said that before. Or at least some of this stuff already.

It’s none of those things. It’s the feeling in my stomach, the balls to bone knowledge that it good be very good between us. It’s the knowledge that, if he can meet me halfway, and the kind spirits of the Universe mean it, and we can both remain, and continue to open up wide, the seeds we’re sowing in each other can grow.

That’s it. It’s the potential of the relationship that is just so damned compelling. Even though he tells me he is as confused as I am, as afraid of forming strong feelings for me as I am for him, he is forever playing with these hypothetical situations and we also talk about the future, in this casual, fait accompli type of way.

“You can search the whole world baby, you’re not going to find a woman better than me.” I told him, “But go and search if you want to.”

“I know that,” he said. “I know you can and would make me very happy.”

He’s already said he’s going to come to England. I’ve already said that I want to come back for Carnival next year, and that I want to play mas. We’ve made a pact that we will both get into tip top physical shape between now and then.

I’ve talked about helping him to get a job up there, and what could happen once he got there. We’d be lying on the bed, and I can see he’s looking at me out of the corner of my eye, and then the question will come. Sometimes serious, sometimes playful, sometimes ludicrous.

“So what would happen if I came up to England, and I couldn’t find you at the airport?”

“I would go and find the first information booth, and have them use the wonderful paging technology, and you’d hear on every speaker in the airport, ‘Would Y M K please come to your nearest information booth,’ and you’d go and they’d put us together.”

“Suppose I went to the wrong airport.”

“It’s written on the ticket!! On the boarding pass!!!”

“Suppose I got on the wrong plane?”

“Do you have any idea how many security check points you have to get through to get on planes? Or how many times they check your ticket and boarding pass to get on the plane?”

“Okay, suppose when I got to the airport, you were late and I got worried and got tired of waiting and got into a taxi and when you got to the airport, I wasn’t there?”

“Well I’d just figure you’d have to come to my apartment and find me, so I’d go back home.”

“Suppose I didn’t have your address.”

“You have to declare the address you’re staying at before you even get the visa!”

“Well suppose I forgot?”

“What? Then I would say you were a damn ass, and deserve to get your ass lost! What de ass! Why wouldn’t you just stay there at the airport, and wait like all the other normal people in that situation.”

“Well suppose after three weeks, you hear they find a black man dead and they couldn’t identify his body? Then they found my info and find out I’m a Trinidadian, and publish my name?”

“I would cry,” I said.

A few days ago, it was “If you got to England, and you find out you were pregnant what would you do?”

“Have it.” I said, not even looking away from the TV. Then the question really registered and I turned to him and said, “I would have it,” and I looked back at the TV.

Several seconds later, I asked him, “What would you do?”

“How do you mean?”

“Most guys freak out.”

“I wouldn’t freak out. It would just mean I’d have to come to England sooner.”

I turned back to look at him again and just looked at him, let what he said sink into me.

“I mean, there would be no way my child comes into the world and I’m not there to catch the slippery little fucker. I want to be the first thing he sees. I want it to be like those ducks you know? Imprint myself on him forever,” he elaborated.

I said nothing for a bit, just watched him. “You know we always use condoms, right?” He nodded, and then he buried his face in my neck, and played with his obsession, my nipples and breasts.

At first, he’d say he’d only come to England for a visit, now he’s talking about coming and finding work and an apartment. We’ve talked about what we’d like to happen. He told me he didn’t want to hold me back, and wanted me to feel free to go and live my life, and didn’t want to suffocate me.

I told him I couldn’t be in a relationship that put me in a claustrophobic space, that I needed to feel free to do things. We’re both preaching to the choir.


I think that me leaving is the space we need to put our relationship in perspective. Once I’m gone, he’s going to have to face himself, decide what he wants, where he wants to go in life, and how he gets there.

He’s told me he’s made so many mistakes, and that he’s not living life the way he wants to. He’s so hard on himself sometimes and he’s protecting his heart as much as I am.

He says he wants so much, but doesn’t know how to get there.

I suggested that he spend some time getting know himself. I suggested he develop his spiritual life, because it is in that development and in that kind of growth that the richness and abundance of life is discovered and truly enjoyed. His mother is practising Ifa tradition, and I suggested to him this was no accident in his life. Told him about synchronicity and how coincidence works.

I suggested he could start learning from his mother about the tradition, and that she could help him to learn. He accepts this information, and I can see him considering it in his mind.

I told him I didn’t think chasing pussy and ignoring his malaise was going to help him get where he needs to go.

So after one of these conversations, he said to me, “Thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“Just thank you. I know I’ll have to tell you again in ten years, but you know, just thank you.”

I smiled, but you know all this is adding up in the picture.

I’m just doing my normal do, divorcing myself from the outcome and investing my energy in the moment we’re in.

The point is we’re discussing in practical and pragmatic terms what a deeper commitment in our relationship could and would mean in our lives. We’re not casting all good sense aside, but both of us are feeling the forces pulling us in the same direction, pushing us together and I don’t either one of us can ignore it.

I’m still leaving. I think if we can survive this separation, I’ll know for sure that he and I have a chance on a deeper level. However, when the moment comes, I can’t pretend anymore it will be a detached release. It will hurt, because I will miss him, really, truly, deeply miss him.

Then I’ll know. I’ll know then what he and I can take, what we can do, and if we can really hop up and graduate to the next level together.

I want to test this thing. I want to see if he has the balls to step up to the plate, I want to challenge him to cast off the weights and guilt trips he’s been living under and grow up to be the man he knows he wants to be.

I want to stretch the pontoon bridge we’ve built between his internal visionscape and my own. I want to see if it’s a bridge that can last or at least if there are any breaks and spaces that need stitching, mending, reinforcing. I want to see if we both have it in us.

I could never tell you all we talk about, or the resonance of our conversations, even the silly and inane ones that dissolve into tickling and giggling when logical and pragmatism fails. I could never put it all into words, because for me, this experience is one in how to hold on and let go at the same time.

In my mind, I find it’s impossible not to compare the spilling over, the abundance and the sweetness this relationship has brought to my life with the aridity, the morose morbidity and truculence of my non-relationship with PHG.

If PHG taught me that men can be a bitter horse tablet to swallow, YMK is teaching me how sweet and loving they can be. YMK has taught me the value of regular sex par excellence, laughter, non stop conversation, cuddling and playfulness. He’s also taught me how to hold on to my ideals without closing the door to someone, something.

I am beginning to want him, get used to him. He’s so familiar and comfortable. I am beginning to realise that Osun is a wonderful Mama, and I know She is the one responsible for him being here. She sent him to and for me. I’m just going to accept her gift for what it is, and not what I want it to be.

Whatever this relationship turns out to be, whatever happens after I go to England, I am glad to have had it, to have known him and have him in my life, and see this time we’ve had together as a blessing.

We may be in the early days of our relationship, or when I leave Trinidad that’s it, we don’t ever move past the point we’re at now, but come hard, come soft, I think I’ll be ready for whatever goes down. I didn’t go through my life to forget all I learned up to this moment. So I’m putting it all to good use, and I am well pleased with the way I’ve handled it up to now, and say what, he’s really been good to me.

So I’m still in a wait and see situation, but I have faith that it will work out the way it’s supposed to. I know I’d like to see more develop between us. I’ve also been getting good messages about the relationship, so my practicality aside, I am hopeful. However, I know I can survive and come to grips with whatever happens next.

He keeps surprising me.

Last night, I slept in his arms, drifting in and out of sleep. I came up from unconsciousness once, with his fingers trailing across my brow, and my nose, mouth. I opened my eyes for a moment and found him looking at me, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my mouth. I fell back asleep with him trailing a kiss across my brow, and playing with his other obsession on my body, my ears.


Hey Man

Hey man, what ya doing in here?
I don’t remember letting you in.
Hey man, how’d you get in here?
You’re in my heart
Without consent

Hey man, what ya doing in here?
I don’t remember letting you in.
Hey man, how’d you get in here?
You’re in my heart,
Without consent

I’ve always took pride in my self control
To my heart only I had the key
But something’s going wrong with my radar screen
How you slipped by
You captured me

Hey man, what ya doing in here?
I don’t remember letting you in.
Hey man, how’d you get in here?
You’re in my heart,
Without consent

I’ve done all I could
To keep my head clear
Logic tells me this should never be
There’s no mistaking the shape I’m in
Love has filled my every waking day

Hey man, what ya doing in here?
I don’t remember letting you in.
Hey man, how’d you get in here?
You’re in my heart,
Without consent

Now here’s the strangest thing,
A day has come I thought I’d never see
I walk smiling in like an old Hollywood romance
I’ve lost the battle
And I’m quite well pleased

Hey man, what ya doing in here?
I don’t remember letting you in.
Hey man, how’d you get in here?
You’re in my heart…..

— Sweet Honey In The Rock


What Astra Read For Me:

There is some guy you’re not noticing right now, but he is your deep admirer, what you would call your secret admirer, but you don’t pay him no mind. But he really loves you. He’s right after you.


dayo's mama, writer, web developer, orisha devotee, omo yemoja, dos aguas, apple addict, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, blog pig, trini-bajan, book slut, second life entrepreneur, combermerian, baby mama, second life, music, music, music!

View all posts

Add comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


dayo's mama, writer, web developer, orisha devotee, omo yemoja, dos aguas, apple addict, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, blog pig, trini-bajan, book slut, second life entrepreneur, combermerian, baby mama, second life, music, music, music!


Oshun Chant
Women of the Calabash
97 days ago