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Give It Up, Gimme Gimme... or whatever Morgan Parker said

I think about sex more than I probably should... I am 20, soon to be 21 and sex is ALL I think about. Sometimes I wonder if maybe this is all the years of repressed sexuality smacking me in the face. Or maybe after years of feeling like my body was not my own, but a sexual entity for men to take, I have finally come to grips with what is mine being mine. I could go on, the list is long but I digress. Sex. It is on my brain, my every day dream; every blink leaves behind an explicit mental picture. I am disgusting. Plain and simple. I am HORNY. Plain and simple. In the gracious words of Morgan Parker, "ALL THEY WANT IS MY MONEY MY PUSSY MY BLOOD". The sad part is I have no money to give. But pussy? Blood? Whew, if I could offer it up on a used napkin, courtesy of allergy season, I would give it away in droves.

Writing sexual poetry does not help. Reading erotica does not help. Lord knows having dirty, wet dreams DOES NOT HELP. And to make matter's worse. I have officially entered the dating world. Yes, awkward girl, has discovered the passions of genuinely liking a man regardless of how terrifying the thought is. I like a man and are you ready for the kicker? Apparently he likes me in return. The heavens are open. The gods (if you believe in that kinda thing) are rejoicing around me in heavenly tune. I have been given the fruit of Eve... except, less about knowledge, more about emotional openness.

Have you ever been held by a man who genuinely cares for you? The kind of warmth and affection that emanates from that embrace is one of pure satisfaction. It just feels so right, you know? So, peaceful... so, wonderful. I never thought I would experience it. The ecstasy that vibrates through your body when a man that you care for is touching you, caressing you, planted firmly inside you? That is an ecstasy that finally rings bells for me. I can finally read poetry and understand the love spewing from exaggerated words.

I recently talked to one of my closest female friends, we both have this tendency to run away when we start growing attached to men.

"He must really be dickin' yo smiling ass down," She said.

I shrugged. Anyone who knew me, knew that I was the queen of "situationships". Men would come into my life, seduce me, fuck me and never commit. I was so used to seeing this kind of relationship in my everyday life that I thought it was normal. I thought I wasn't worthy of anything stable.

But, not to overly romanticize this, it's fairly new, I mumbled, "That's not it."

She raised a brow. And like any black, young adult, female, she popped her lips, rolled her eyes and leaned forward. Her body language silently screaming biiiiiitttttcccchhhhhh, what's the tea?

And of course, like any stereotypical scene from a BET college rom-com, we had a long talk about not only my issues with dating but her's as well. Why we were both struggling to not only maintain but accept genuine feelings from the men who approached us. We were jaded. Young and jaded.

In that moment, I decided... Well, shit. If I'm gonna be horny, conflicted, and traumatized, why not open up a little and experience what I was lacking?

We shook on it. She made me promise not to run away. To give my heart a chance to prosper a little. The analyst in me came to a screeching halt. All functions of logic in my brain malfunctioned.

"You're asking for a lot. Whew, chile... I mean, what if I feel like he doesn't like me back? Then can I run?" I asked, suddenly scared and feeling trapped, "Because, you know... technically I'd be wasting my time?"

She picked up her phone, proceeded to answer a facetime from a guy she was currently friend-zoning, and cut her eyes at me. That was all the answer I needed. I sighed, picked up my phone, clicked my Kindle app and the first thing that popped open, "I am free with the following conditions. Give it up gimme gimme. Okay so I’m Black in America right and I walk into a bar. I drink a lot of wine and kiss a Black man on his beard. I do whatever I want because I could die any minute. I don’t mean YOLO I mean they are hunting me. I know my pussy is real good because they said so. I say to my friend I am broke as a joke. I am Starvin’ Like Marvin Gaye. I’m so hungry I could get it on...."

I cackled, my friend looked at me questionably, I shook my head. Morgan Parker, huh? This was a sign, right? Or maybe I was just horny...

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