My Sex Toy HERstory

Ever since I started my blog I’ve been contemplating doing a few sex toy reviews. Mostly for pleasure which is why I’ve wanted to tell this story for a while.

The legend

I got my first dildo as a teenager in high school. Yeah, funny story actually. My 18 year old boyfriend bought it for me as a gift. When he gave it to me I was like, “Oh,” but on the inside I was more like “What the fuck is this?” By now he had spent enough time with me to be able to read me. He saw the look on my face and immediately begin explaining what it was for and how it was used which I kinda knew, but I was still like why are you bringing me this when I have your dick at my disposal. 😈

It was pink and curved and jellied (yes unfortunately); those dreadfully toxic, jelly dildos. I didn’t know then what I know now about toxic toys.

It had a built-in vibrator with different pulses and speeds. We used it together once and I did not enjoy that at all, but I kept it to use when I was alone. I did not put it back into my vagina though and only used it as a clitoral vibrator. Mostly this was because I don’t really like toys that penetrate, even present-day so there goes that. I’m hoping to find a toy that will change that.

Remember when the rabbit was real popular

My mom usually kept a single dildo on deck. Her favorite was the Rabbit with the pearls that swirled around the dildo part that had the bullet vibrator with the rabbit sleeve to stimulate the clitoris. Y’all know what I’m talking about.

She usually kept it tucked away in the bottom drawer in her room. I know this because I am the one that usually put away her clothes. My mom would often sleep out on the couch; she just thought it was more comfortable. One day in particular my boyfriend and I decided to clean up as a surprise for her when she returned home.

He reached between the cushions of the sofa, grabbed some mysterious object and pulled it out only to discover that it was my mother’s dildo. I died of laughter. However he did not find it funny AT ALL. He made this face like he wanted to throw up, And he was absolutely done cleaning for the rest of the day. 🤣🤣🤣 I still laugh so hard when I tell this story.

So this is not necessarily my personal experience with sex toys but it is certainly a hilarious story. Don’t you think so. 😂

A story about vibrators and toxic dildos

Eggs aren’t just for the easter bunny

In my next experience, I find myself sitting in the dorm room of a college peer enjoying this magical, first time experience of simultaneous masturbation. She introduces me to a double, silver egg bullet vibrator; “One for you and one for me,” she says to me. Like I may have mentioned before, I’m an all hands on deck type of chick so at this point I’ve had very limited personal experience with clitoral stimulating toys or toys at all for that matter.

We both lie in bed beside each other moaning to the feels of our pleasure and the sound of one another’s pleasure. If you have never had an orgasm via what I like to call side-by-side masturbation you are missing out on one of life’s GREATEST ADVENTURES.

From then on, I kept bullets for masturbation. You can read my masturbation story, too.

Yes, I was a Passion Parties consultant….briefly

Fast forward to after the birth of my first child, I became a Passion Parties consultant. I do not believe they exist any longer and have been taken over by Pure Romance. That experience was largely uneventful except that during that period I got to try out a lot of different toys.

Bullets and vibrators and waterproof vibrators, G-spot simulators and yeah. All that good stuff.

sex toy party ecard

At this stage of my life, I was not very comfortable openly discussing sex and pleasure with strangers. So I wasn’t a great sex toy saleswoman. There was still a lot of shame surrounding sex especially because there was now physical proof that I had engaged in the act. As crazy as that might sound, it’s true.

Present day Victoria’s Vulva

Present day I own one large pink suction cup silicone dildo that I purchased at Wood Hull last year, a purple Calexotics vibrating dildo that has died so many times that I refuse to purchase any more batteries which brings me to my most recent toy purchase, a rechargeable Nu Sensuelle bullet. My very first rechargeable sex toy but oh no, it won’t be my last.

When I started this blog I was excited for the opportunity to review sex toys. I am not so easy to please when it comes to this toy thing. I am definitely a hard sale. I have to be convinced. I really don’t have too much experience in the area of sex toys, because a)they don’t appeal to me and b)I don’t understand what all the hype is about. I would really like that to change.

Can a toy actually bring me as much pleasure as the real thing?

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Being A Black Mother in America: A Recent Encounter with Law Enforcement

Disclaimer: This post is not about sexuality.

On Saturday, I experienced a very traumatic event. I was stopped by an officer and subjected to what seems to be a common experience between black people in America and law enforcement. At 32, this was my first and only experience with such a situation.

Of everything that I had gone through, the most hurtful things that I heard came from people closest to me. Some in the way of passive victim-blaming.

Thing one:

Did you record it? You should know better than that by now.

Yes, I certainly do. I know that if I attempt to record I could potentially record my own murder and that is not something I want the world and most of all my children to have to watch over and over again. In the midst of the situation, I was truly amazed at how at peace I was. Many things crossed my mind and each one so clear, clearer than ever. The Universe whispered to me be still a few times throughout the incident.

Thing two:

Well at least he acknowledged your son.

It is so sad how we’ve come to view the bare minimum as acceptable and I see this phenomenon everywhere, especially among our youth in school. “Well, at least I did something,” they say of their work assignments.

At least he acknowledged my son? Barely and this is not acceptable.

“You could have been dragged from your car, thrown to the ground, and held at gunpoint until we determine that you weren’t a threat,” the officer says to me in front of my son. “But fortunately that didn’t happen because you have your kid in the car and that would have been a bad thing for him to have to see.”

This would have been a bad thing for him to see? Not a bad thing for an officer of the law to do or not for an officer to even threaten to do within earshot of my son but just a bad thing for my son to have to see.

This officer caused me undue stress and psychological trauma; a memory that will dwell with me for my eternal beingness but we have to find someplace to give him some kind of credit so at least he acknowledged your son.

No, no, no! None of that shit is acceptable. NONE of it. You have no right to threaten a person of bodily harm, especially one that has shown no physical or verbal aggression towards you in anyway.

Thing three:

Be careful out here.

This comment wasn’t as hurtful as the thought that it invoked.

My response was, how does one be careful in such a situation, I wonder. I stopped without incident. I was calm. Yet he still approached me with an aggressive and threatening tone. The scariest thing was knowing that there is no way to guarantee my own safety in such a situation.

Even so, in the midst of this terrifying situation, I recognize this familiar feeling. That feeling you get when you know a person is threatened by you. As scary as the situation was, I felt so empowered by that feeling. Clearly it was not my skin that was threatening to him; it was not my demeanor; it was not my behavior; it was not my actions; it was not my tone, so he was clearly threatened by a presence that could not be physically observed. The presence of a great and immeasurable power.

This was a feeling that I could never figure out. I could never figure out what would possess a person to dislike or hate another person that they knew absolutely nothing about so much so that they would threaten them with physical harm and in the process cause psychological trauma. My mother would often try and help me make sense of this experience.

This officer is clearly threatened by my presence, by my Beingness, by my very physical existence in this world but why is a question I’d often ask my mother.

She’d tell me, it’s because you’re beautiful, because you’re intelligent, and because they want what you have. Those things, those beautiful things my mother taught me about myself are preserved in my soul, eternally. This officer recognize my power, he was intimidated and threatened by that power so he attempted to project them into the world and into me so that I might react in a threatening manner and give him a reason to try to stifle or even kill my power.

You can kill the revolutionary but you cannot kill the revolution. Fred Hampton

But I was on my way to see the Black Panther movie and I was so inspired and so empowered just by the mere thought that I was going to see this movie My Soul said to me, he will take nothing from you today and you will not give him anything. And with those words I mustered up all the apathy I had inside which is not very difficult, and that is what I gave him all while being 100% compliant to his direction.

You think that might help him calm down, nope and his partner’s support of his attempt to justify his behavior and state of mind didn’t help either.

Many questions cross my mind one was, Are police officers trained to subject people to such psychological trauma? Another question was, Would he do this to me if I were a white woman? Why is this even necessary? It certainly qualifies as excessive use of force in my book.

It was quite an interesting social experience that I am thankful to have lived to tell about as crazy as that statement is to me.

“Routine Police Interaction Turns Deadly.”

I don’t even watch the news so I certainly don’t want my own segment. This is just one of those things that just happens to other black people well it happened to me. #theotherblackpeople

This incident may have been racially motivated but it was not about race. It was so clear to me that this incident was about power, the power that that officer thought he had over me, but quickly realized that that wasn’t so and so he came at me in an aggressive manner. Perhaps half hoping to get a rise out of me; to get an excuse for what he might have done. Something that I think he’d certainly planned to do because he verbalized it quite well.

Why did he feel that it was necessary or even appropriate to threaten me in such a violent manner?

I’m still sorting through all my feels and affects. My son is unbothered by the entire situation because I raise him this way.

Thank you to everyone for your kind words and support.

Happy 32nd Journey Around the Sun

At the start of 2017, I was in such a crappy mood. I didn’t celebrate my 31st birthday. I just wasn’t feeling it and I gave myself permission to be in my feelings. I felt like something needed to change, and things were changing in that precise moment.

I was born on this day. It was Friday, January 17th 1986 at 22:26.

As we approach the astrological location of my birth, I’d like to take this time to thank year 31 for the many gifts it brought.

★Thank you for revealing my passion. My greatest gift in year 31. #WomensOrgasmsMatter

★Thank you for the magic of being able to wear my heart on my sleeve, and granting me the freedom to love without attachment.

★Thank you for my new found confidence and sexiness that gets on everything and everyone around me. Mommy bodies are STILL sexy bodies.

★Thank you for my subscribers, those who support my message, and seek me out for advice, support, and collaboration.

★Thank you for believing in me and trusting me with these gifts.

★Thank you for a healthier version of me. #vegangains

★Thank you for the magick.

★Thank you for guidance, peace, and the support of my tribe in the midst of a literal storm: Hurricane Harvey.

★Thank you for all of the wonderful friendship from those who were once strangers.

★Thank you for bringing me grand spiritual understanding.

★Thank you for my greatest income yet and more where that came from.

★Thank you for bringing me courage as I strut into year 32.

I am so grateful for this last year. There has been exponential growth in the most profound and unexpected ways. I have not felt more ready, more prepared for the things to come. Year 31 has inspired me so much in the pursuit of my purpose. It has shown me that I am my greatest discovery.

No, this isn’t a very long post. It doesn’t need to be. Besides, it’s my bearth day. I gotta go do birthday shit!

I encourage you all to join me on this powerful journey. I welcome you on this journey. I want you on this journey with me. As I approach 1k followers on Instagram, I invite you to witness my joy and excitement in year 32.

I don’t want to do this without you. All of the follows, likes, shares, comments, they encourage me so much. Although, I am mostly on Instagram, follow me on all of my social platforms and if you want to get the best parts of me…SUBSCRIBE!


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When did you first recognize you needed consent?

The first time I knew I needed consent.

It was May 2013. I had received a judicial order to return to my residential state that accused me of endangering my children and removing them without parental consent. In the months prior to this, my mother had ascended, I’d given birth to my second child, and found myself in a volatile domestic situation that had led to my homelessness.

The world was a dark place and I was ready to find my corner and settle in.

The dark place

I can’t remember the exact date I met Mike. Rewind to a few hours prior to our meeting, my mother in law had arrived to pick up the kids. She hadn’t seen them in a couple of months and I was exhausted. I scheduled the hand off and had planned to take refuge beneath the warmth and darkness of layers of covers: quilts, comforter and anything else I could pile on in order to block out the world and sleep away my existence.

Just as I was settling into my dark and warm, woman-made cocoon, a voice in my head said, “Fuck this shit.” I immediately popped out of bed. Not knowing how long I’d be displaced, I had tried to conserve the last $200 in my checking account knowing there would be no more coming in due to my inability to work the job I had recently secured.

I decided instead to go get a nice pedicure and temporarily forget about the fucked up situation I was in. And it worked, for as long as I was there.

When the Universe has a change of plans

As I exited the nail shop, I didn’t actually want to leave. I didn’t feel like going back into my depression. I don’t like it there. I thought of staying to get more stuff done because a girl can spend all day in the nail salon with great purpose. Then I had to realistically re-assess my money situation.

I walked towards my step mother’s red SUV digging around in my purse for the key when a voice in my head which had never been so clear before that moment said firmly, “STOP.”

I stopped and continued to search for the key in pockets and creases of my handbag. Found them and right next to them were my sunglasses. I pulled them out and placed them on my face. Then a voice said to me, “Is that what you were looking for?” Only this time it wasn’t in my head. It was coming from Mike.

Mister, Mr. Mike

Mike had been loitering in front of the barbershop next door, casually scrolling through his phone. I looked over at him, smiled from behind my sun glasses, made some brief statements and continued to the car. I sat for a moment pretending to answer a text that hadn’t actually come through silently asking the Universe to send him over. I felt like it was a long shot just because by now I was already inside the car, but I desperately needed someone to talk to.

Imagine my joy and surprise when the guy who had once been standing outside the barber shop was now at my window. I’ve never been a fan of small talk…not really. The conversations started with a bit of small talk age, place of origin, marital status, things like that, then quickly escalated to me spilling the contents of my current tragedy.

Mike decided not to join me on my pity party. Instead, he made light of it and that made me smile uncontrollably. Then to me smiling so much he responded, “That is why I had to come talk to you. Your smile is so gorgeous.” More uncontrollable smiling followed. He asked me for my phone number. I recall him say, “You said yes so fast I thought it was a no.”

When did you first recognize you needed consent?


I can’t put my finger on it but it’s different

I’d never met anyone like him. He asked me out on odd outings. He was extremely soft spoken. Often I had to ask him to repeat himself. He had a calming energy and the sexiest swag I know to date.

After several dates, conversations, and hand holding sessions, I wanted to take things farther. Actually I wanted to take it further days prior but I was still adjusting to my new self and trying to exercise some self-control. Which is not something I’d had to do in such a long time. Mike made it easy though.

One day he called me up and asked me would l like to go out…he listed off a couple of places to which I said no to them all. He then asked if I’d like to get a room. I promptly responded affirmatively.

It had been a while since I’d had sex with anyone besides my soon to be ex husband and it had even been several months since that had even occurred. I was a lactating mess and a nervous wreck. Mike did not care. His energy said so.

Insert Consent [HERE]

We sat on the bed beside one another almost as if it were our first time and in some ways, it was his first time with me, my first time with him, our first time experiencing such a CONNECTION which is something I would later learn.

It was so funny because I was pretending to be deeply entrenched in what was happening on the television when he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face him and he said to me, “Do you like to kiss; Would you like to kiss me?”

I SMILED so hard it still hurts my face when I think about it. I could not recall a time before or after that any person has asked permission to access my body. That was the most AWESOME kiss ever in the history of my life. He’d actually asked before kissing me! That was such a huge, “WHOA!” moment for me.

I love you, Mike!

Now, there is such a thing as nonverbal consent and I’m really big and obvious when it comes to this type of consent. However, it was at this moment that Mike asked me for a kiss that I realize how much validation, security, openness, and vulnerability comes with certain verbal consent. How wonderful to feel both VULNERABLE and SECURE as a simultaneous emotion!

I still have the best orgasms with him.

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Single Mother Sex

Me: So I met a guy
Relative: Oh, how nice. Tell me about him.
*Proceeds to spill with wonder and excitement*
Relative: How wonderful? Does he know about the kids?
Me: Yes, he knows.
Relative: Has he met the kids?
Me: No, not yet.
Relative: Do you plan on introducing him to the kids?

Yada, yada, blah, blah, blah

For the life of me, I still cannot figure out why one might think you would attempt to hide the fact that you have children who live with you nine months out of the year from someone with whom you have the potential to become seriously involved.

But anyway…

Rules, Rules, Rules

When I first became a single mother, I already knew that navigating sex would not be the easiest task. Along with the physical body changes came a full blown lifestyle change. Complete with a list of “single mother dating” rules to accompany. Mostly hetero-rules like:

  • Don’t bring too many different guys around your children.
  • Wait awhile before introducing a new guy.
  • Be careful of the things you do and say in regards to dating around your kids.
  • Be careful of PDA in front of your children. (You don’t want it to become a situation of a new guy every month; it confuses the child *INSERT SARCASM HERE*)
  • Bringing different men around your daughter presents the wrong ideals.
  • Bringing different men around your son leaves an impression

I kinda went along even though I couldn’t decide whether these were good rules for myself. After all, I don’t quite adhere to the hetero-normative narrative of society. My greatest dilemma became, so when do I get to have my time? As a single mother, I share a large chunk of my free time with my children. Besides when I am at work, where ever I am, so are my children.

As you may be able to imagine, single parenting can be extremely stressful. For me, sex is a huge stress release, and not being able to have regular sex can compound that stress and add frustration. Sex became a ritual of sorts, occurring only a few times a year when I could get the kids to sleep early enough and have my company out before they woke in the morning. These rituals turned into a full on sexual splurge when my children were away during the summer and winter breaks which contributed to how this blog was conceived, no pun intended.

I soon grew exhausted of this process and decided to reserve sex only for the breaks and sleep overs with my girlfriend. This was still difficult because, it takes some time to find someone you desire to have sex with regularly all summer long after not being involved with anyone for the entire year. A game of Tinder swiping, random hook-ups, and dating uninterestedly so you don’t seem too hoe-ish cause all you’re really looking for is sex is like shopping for the perfect pair of shoes to wear to the party of the year that you’d rather not attend.

It is certainly an equally exhausting process.

“My sex drive is way too high for the amount of sex I’m not having.”

Excuse me while I toot my own horn, but I am a great lover (with lots of valuable experience) who absolutely loves sex in its many facilities. Sex for me is like the study of the person with whom I am engaged.

But I digress.

Sex-Positive Single Parenting…I Guess

As my children grow older, I am more open with them about my sexuality as a single mother. Do I sit around having conversations with them about myself as a sexual being? In fact, I certainly do. Mostly with my nine and a half year old prepubescent daughter. I need my children to understand that having a partner does not validate or invalidate your sexual desires as a human person.

I’ve learned through the ascension of my own mother that understanding your mother (and other persons) as a human being is more important than understanding or following the rules of society.

The decision to meet your own physiological needs is nothing to hide, or be ashamed of which we have been conditioned to believe about many physiological needs, especially sex. I don’t bring many people around my children anyway, whether there is a romantic involvement or not simply because I’m not of that personality type. I’ve learned of myself as a single mother that it’s unnecessary to take all these extra-exposural precautions (Yes, I did just make that word up and it seems absolutely appropriate for what I need to say so I’m going with it). In addition, I am certainly the type to be involved with individuals who are just friends. So, how does that work? Do I then decide not to bring my friends around my children just because we’ve had sex?

I think not.

Sex with Friends- it can work

Although, there have been great debates online and abroad, I am a testament to the fact that sex with friends is absolutely and wonderfully possible. Some of my very best, most loyal friends are individuals with whom I have had some sort of sexual contact.

I can say that my participation in this little game of navigating single mother sex has brought forth a profound appreciation for the sex that I am able to have. I have become much more discerning about whom I have sex with and much more keen about cultivating the sexual experience that I desire with precision and intention.

I find that I need sex, in general, a lot less than I need AMAZING, MIND BLOWING sex which is much more likely than it may have been had I not been selective due to single parenting. It certainly takes you a lot further during times of drought. All things happen with purpose.

I’ve come to understand that simply having the opportunity to have sex is not always worth the efforts of having to create that opportunity; Paying a sitter, renting a hotel room, having to adhere to a schedule and not being able to sleep in to truly enjoy the experience. To have it only end up being a mediocre experience can be stressful in itself, and feels like such a waste of time that could have been spent well…writing which is never a wasted of time.

My theme for sex in the most recent two years has been the T.I. song, “I don’t want no mediocre.”


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Sin of a Double Life

If there is joy in being an educator, I can’t seem to find it underneath the stress, the anxiety, and the overwhelmingness of the burden of having to go it alone. That last one is indeed the most important part of it all.

You’d probably think it’s the students, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In fact, they are the best part of what I do, however I cannot truly appreciate them. I cannot appreciate this experience because I am not in my best place.

I don’t enjoy complaining although I find myself doing it way more than I care to these day. Instead I search of reasons to be grateful, to be joyful, to be thankful yet I cannot ignore this sinking feeling that I feel. I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s not at all as fulfilling as I imagined it to be. I never expected it to be easy, but I certainly did not think for a second it would be this difficult.

Psychologically and emotionally draining, desperation invades every cell of my body as I beg the Universe for a peaceful escape. It never comes. I rage over the tiniest little things. My children cry out for my sanity to return. I’m sorry. I’m sorry is something I say too often. I’m just doing my best to cope with this mania marked by intense moments of euphoria right before plummeting into the darkest place I’ve ever been in my life. I’m a Capricorn; naturally prone to depression. I just wish I could disappear.

Anxiety has become my best friend; an omnipotent companion. Patiently waiting to send my world into a tizzy of spinning rooms, shifting hallways, and dizzying blackouts. This isn’t safe nor healthy yet I can’t quite afford to do anything about it…yet.

Yet….this word is a constant in my life. I’ve come so far yet I have not arrived.

Do you know what it’s like to be a single parent with no help at all? And I don’t mean no help as in no other parent: no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or just a good friend to help out. When my children are sick or the daycare is closed there is only me. When there are places to be and things to get done, there is only me. Doctor’s, dentist, dance, and dinner…it’s all me. This society is by no means, single parent friendly.

My kids think I’m super woman. They believe I can do anything and everything. I plead for their help. There is no-one else to ask. I’m constantly on the brink of a break down as I try to get them to understand that I cannot do everything. It’s just not possible. They don’t understand. Perhaps one day they will. Until then, I grow resentful of the fact that my children handcuff me to my every promising word yet they do nothing more than make excuses for their father. I try not to say ugly things about him even when I know they are my truth, because it only makes me look bitter. I promise myself I’ll do better.

It not easy to not pass on your stress to the persons closest to you like flu to a weakened immune system. Everyday I tell myself, I’m doing the best with what I have and somehow that doesn’t feel true. Truth is, I’m afraid. Fear is an overseer; a slave driver and I am the slave. Everyday, I think of just getting in my car and driving away. Then why don’t I just do it. Nothing is stopping me…nothing but fear. Fear has me tethered to this life; bound under ball and chain; a cage bird, no locks on the door. Even as I feel how much I don’t want to be here.

I’ve been jobless. I’ve been car-less with two kids and no access to public transportation. I’ve been homeless. I’ve been dependent. I’ve been broke and broken. I’ve been in all these spaces, left feeling like I never want to be in such a place of vulnerability in my life. There is no rest for the weary. I’m afraid to go back to these places. I’m afraid of being a burden to someone else. The mere memory of it gives me anxiety. I just want to be able to do this without all these feelings of icky-ness.

Where is my tribe? Where is my village to help me raise brilliance? Why is the world so “every man for himself”?

I feel so displaced even as things finally seem to be falling into place. A little voice whispers to me constantly….spiritual blocks leave me with pain in my lower back, tightness in my chest, and labored breathing. My words come out jumbled. My vision is sometimes blurry. I reassure my body, I am listening.

Between being a mother, working this day job and the million things that each of those encompass, there has been so little room left to invest in my passion, my experiences….to invest in myself. Every fiber of my being is resisting this way of life. Everyday I have to coach myself to get through the day; cheering myself on at each milestone; celebrating the short lived victories only to begrudgingly wake up and do it all again tomorrow. I wish to meet my days with joy instead of dread.

I love this blog. I love doing this. I love talking about sexuality and all the things I talk about here. This is what I want to do. Summer 2017 was hands down, the best summer ever. For the first time I experienced what it felt like to find a sure thing; to discover something I’m truly passionate about. You have no idea. My personality oozes disinterest. I do not easily excite except when it comes to sex. It’s obvious why I never made this connection about myself before this stage of life. I had been too busy hiding and being ever so careful to separate myself from social stigmas I hadn’t been consciously aware of….conditioned to believe that I was the one in the wrong. I’m still hiding; still for protection, only now for a different reason.

Not being able to do this and feeling like I “have” to do something else instead in order to fulfill the basic human needs of me and my offspring has be feeling angry and defeated. Feeling like I have to choose this or that makes me feel sick.

The sin of a double life is such a fucking burden. I want off this rollercoaster.

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Are men conditioned to be predators?

As I am confronted with the knowledge of a truth I have known but was not always aware of, I find myself mulling over this question. And as I gather all of the supporting details from experiences in my own life, past and current, I grow more sullen and more frustrated with the answer.

In the recent guest feature “Why my sex positivity is not without fear shame or trauma,” Myisha talks about how even as sex positive or sexually liberated individuals, even as we are standing before you saying that I am a multifaceted person and yes this includes my sexuality, we are still being relegated to a singular objective form.

For reasons of being very sexually expressive, of being sex positive, sexually liberated and talking very candidly and sometimes explicitly about all things sex and our own sexual experiences, we become a target for predatory behavior specifically from men.

Unsolicited & Unwanted

Unsolicited dick pix and sexual advances fill my private messages inbox. Stalker behavior from men you’ve blocked for being inappropriate who continue to harass you even after you’ve asked them to stop. Even being blocked does not stop them. “Oh, you blocked me?” once message read, “I’m gonna show you something,” it continued followed by several notifications on other social platforms that this same individual was now following me.

It’s my own fault I suppose. Putting myself out there like that. What did I expect? **rolls eyes**

What the fuck!? were my exact thoughts.

Demands of “Why aren’t you responding to my messages?” It doesn’t matter. I’m not so just let it go. I’m not obligated to do anything I don’t want to do particularly if doing so makes me uncomfortable.

The fear and the trauma is real. You start to think maybe I should stop posting these photos.

A guy I know messaged me on SnapChat asking me out to lunch and offering fun afterwards. Of course, I already knew what he meant by “fun” right. I messaged him back, “Fun???” His response was, “Maybe movies and something else.” **ROLLS EYES**

I won’t deny the feeling of anger and disgust I felt; the desire to shrink myself so small that no one would recognize me. I felt vulnerable in the most victimized way; that feeling were conditioned to feel.

I know him. I know him in real life. He’s not just a guy who decided to follow a half-naked woman he happened upon on Instagram. He has never approached me in such a way before. What in the male psyche convinced him that it was suddenly appropriate or ok to proposition me in such a way now? Just because you saw a few revealing photos of me on the internet? So fucking what.

For the life of me I cannot comprehend how that translates into, Ok now I have the green light to say (or do) whatever I want, however I want to this person. Please, someone help me understand this logic.

Just last summer, I had a very scary predatory experience. I went out on a very public date with a guy I connected with on a dating site. The most he ever said to me was, “Want another?” referring to the empty glass sitting in front of me. After the third, I declined.

Once we were outside and saying our goodbyes, he pinned me against my car and tried to kiss me. I pushed him away and he grabbed my arm and attempted to pull me towards his car. He was saying something but because of everything that was going on, I don’t recall a word of it. As he continues to pull me by my arm, I grabbed his keys and informed him that he needed to let me go and let me leave.

He smirked as he released my arm. These instances of coercion are just too common for comfort. I’ve heard it expressed as, “That’s why I’m glad I’m married.” Women see marriage as a means to escape predatory behavior?

Some have argued that because I present myself a certain way, this type of behavior is to be expected. A very usual expectation, I’m sure, doesn’t make it any less predatory or repulsive and it certainly does not make it appropriate or acceptable.

My friends encourage me to ignore them. They are not aware of their conditioning enough to change their own behavior. It’s not a decision on their part to act on your representation, it’s a reaction.

They have very literally lost their god damn minds.

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An Analysis of Love

Love doesn’t hurt it is the things we associate with love that hurts us.

Monogamy = commitment = faithful = love

This is the assumed equation when it comes to love. However in my experience, it is an equation that is lacking dynamically. Can not one who is polyamorous also be committed, faithful, and in love…Indeed, they are the most loving that I know.

The truth is we, more often than not, use love to dominate, possess, control, and manipulate.

If you love me you would…

you would be…  you would do…
If only you loved me enough.

I assure you, love is enough.

Love is not property. One cannot just decide how it behaves, when it behaves, or who it behaves or mistakenly labeled “misbehaves” with.

Love cannot be possessed.

Love is whimsical. Love is wild. Love is free…Attempts to tame it will only bring you torment…Why torture yourself?

Love is not some physical entity that can be owned, bought, sold, or traded on a whim. Love is like the wind.

Love is a weightless sphere, an orb, with mass, surface, layers, depth, and diameter. At any perspective from which you are examining it, you are not seeing its entire part. Love is a whole we often use to fill holes. Don’t get me wrong, love is very capable of filling holes, thus making one heal whole, just not in the ways we seek to do so.

Love leads by example.

When we hurt the ones we love, it is not because we don’t love them. Perhaps it may be because we’ve had poor, poor examples of love.

Most times we are not hurt by any direct act at all but rather by our own expectations for the people we love, and by our lack of accountability for those expectations. It seems much easier to blame rather than take responsibility for the true cause of our self-inflicted pain.

Love is perfect…human beings  are not. Falling in love does not render one imperfect being suddenly perfect. Instead, it renders them capable of perfection through acceptance.

Accept love as it is, formless and fluid in its imperfect package.

Charlotte Kasl, author of “if the Buddha date” said that falling in love, which is kind of like falling out of your neocortex into your more primitive instincts, can feel euphoric.

She says that, “When we “fall in love” and project the image of The Perfect One onto our new love interest, it implies that we are incomplete the way we are.” She advises that when this happens, “Go inside yourself and ask, What crazy expectations am I feeding myself?” She encourages the reader to, “Bring yourself back to the present, peel away your expectations, and look at the mortal before you.”

Love without expectations, without exception, without exclusion.

It is the most liberating feeling in life.

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Women’s orgasms matter because

Women’s orgasms matter because

as I wore my #WomensOrgasmsMatter t-shirt down the aisles of my local Wal-Mart both men and women commented how awesome my shirt was and inquired about where they could get one, but one black man said to me, “That’s a hard shirt to wear.”

In the time it took him to read my shirt and respond with that statement, he had come to the conclusion that me being in support of Women’s Orgasms (and equal rights for women in general) was somehow in conflict with me being in support of Black Lives or better yet me making a mockery of the Black Lives Matter movement. With that, I can safely say, he misunderstands my message.

Women’s orgasms matter because

last night as I attempted to recount my experience of being a BLACK woman, a BLACK man begin to over talk and out talk me in what felt like an attempt to invalidate by experience under the guise of BLACK men have it worse instead of just listening to what I had to say about my experience as a BLACK woman, something he knows nothing about.

He was so enamored by HIS story that he didn’t even notice I had exited the conversation and was now scrolling through my Instafeed completely ignoring anything further he had to say. I wasn’t interested in arguing. There is nothing to argue. My experience as a black woman is valid.

He immediately turned an opportunity to listen and learn into an “us against them argument” and on top of all that, he dragged the white man into it and then blamed black women for our own plight because of the way we treat ourselves, the way we carry ourselves, the way we refuse to conform, and take control of the situation.

I still haven’t figured out what that has to do with the action of BLACK men and the way BLACK women are being oppressed by both white privilege and BLACK men. Like they don’t understand that oppression doesn’t just happen between races but within them as well. I mean, if you can understand the light skinned, dark skinned theory of racism why is it so difficult for you to just hear women out on the male female theory of oppression within black culture. This whole “But us first” mentality is weak.

The Great Debate of Sex and Race

I hear people argue that I’m black first and then I’m a woman. I am a black woman…those facts coexist equally. I don’t feel it necessary to choose. I cannot fully address the issues I face by choosing one over the other when we are being marginalized in both being black in this world, being a woman in this world, and being a black woman in this world.

Just the other day I told a friend of mine that talking to a (black) man about my experiences as a (black) woman is a lot like I imagine the conversation between a white man and black man in regards talking about our experiences and he agreed. I breathe a sigh of relief to know that he understood.

The way one feels like instead of working together for equality, you immediately label the scenario “Us against Them”. In the way that you feel like your experience is being invalidated instead of considered.

But I don’t have many conversations on the issue of black and white because the truth is I interact way more intimately with the BLACK man. Therefore, this experience resonates more with me. I have been oppressed more personally and on a more consistent basis by the men in my life than any other entity in this world. I feel the oppression of my feminine experience to a greater depth than that of being black. Though in large, I feel they cannot be separate. When someone sees me they see me as being both black and a woman. While others might disagree, I am only speaking of my experience.

Understand that I am for everything that I am and I am not against any of it. In fact I am not against anything at all.

Women’s orgasms matter because when I told him I had reached orgasm long before I reached puberty, his response was, “Wow, women can do that!?”

Women’s orgasms matter because I’d often been told to make sure I get mine first because once he came, it was over.

Women’s orgasms matter because we teach girls about their sexuality as it relates to men and boys when it can absolutely exist separately.

Women’s orgasms matter because some people believe that just because many women don’t reach orgasm it also means that they can’t.

Women’s orgasms matter because there are women who have experienced the joys of childbirths but have never experienced the pleasure of orgasm.

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To Be a Sex Positive Parent

I strive to raise sex positive children and as much as I strive for this, the reality is I don’t really know how. Contrary to what this blog may project…I am not a sex expert. The idea of being sex positive in general is relatively new to me so the concept of sex positive parenting is completely uncharted territory. However, it is not outside my experience and there are some resources like this piece by sex therapist Kristin Hambridge, Sex + Parenting. And this one, This Is What Sex-Positive Parenting Really Looks Like, that I can’t stop rereading.

My children are young, nine and four, as I write these words. Discussing anatomical names and physiological locations for body parts is easy, but what about everything else.

When I’ve asked people, mainly women, they tell me that sex education was largely absent in their upbringing. I believed I’ve mentioned before that my parents never talked to me about sex. Fortunately, I liked to read and had a keen curiosity when it came to my body and sex in general.

The first conversation I ever had about sex, I was in middle school with a group of high school aged girls who took it upon themselves to educate me once they noticed all of the attention I was getting from guys that were in high school.

Being a sex positive parent means giving my children the knowledge and experience I wish I would have had if I had it to do again. And taking all of the high energy experiences I appreciated having and gifting that to them as well.

when a flower doesn't bloom you fix the environment in which it grows not the flower

Confounds of Conditioning

I speak very openly about my desire to educate my children without restriction when it comes to sexuality. There are few people who agree with my methods. I can confidently say, this is mainly due to their own conditioning. The same conditioning that teaches us that sex is mostly (or only) for a man’s pleasure. The same conditioning that accepts double standards as the standard. The same conditioning that teaches a woman that it’s ok for a guy to touch her, but it’s gross to touch herself, or that sex is something you do behind closed doors and you certainly do not discuss it openly. Yes, I experienced the same conditioning. Even though I did not subscribe to all of it personally, I was going right along with it.

However, this is not where I am coming from. First, I am actively questioning and revolutionizing every ideal within my awareness about sexuality (because there are things that I am still unaware of). I am deciding which of those ideals resonate with me, which ones are counter productive to who I am, and which of them are my own formed beliefs. So few of them are my own.

One of my friends said to me, “Victoria, for the sake of your children, I hope you are doing this right.” I’m sure they meant well but I didn’t hesitate to let them know that my decision to raise sex positive children is not about being right or wrong. My children are not some social experiment in a “Most Successful” parenting competition.

Life is about giving your children all the things you never had, right? (Maybe…) For me, I did not have the knowledge to make a well-informed decision when it came to my own sexuality or even the decision to engage in the act of sex, which has had some unwarranted effects on relationships that were very important to me.

I was not very sexually empowered and occasionally found myself in situations I had not been prepared to deal with. Of course this happens in life, but it happened significantly more often for sexual encounters. Situations I had not been prepared for and had not been taught to properly navigate.

Desexualizing Nudity

My body is my body whether I use is for sex or not. I believe this is the most important component to raising sex positive children.

I walk around my home completely nude. Yes, in front of my children and so do my children. I can’t tell you how many people have gasped at this revelation. My son, who is four years old, occasionally plays with my boobs and crawls underneath my dresses. So did my daughter at that age. I mean, why not, it’s completely non-sexual: boobs are fun to play with and ankle-length dresses are like tents. When I was a child, I used to play with my dad’s boobs (Yes, my dad had boobs!), and I’ll hear you say that that’s different but only because we make it so.

My children love on my nudity all the time and I allow it because not only is it good for them, it’s also good for me. When my daughter runs her hand across my tummy, she doesn’t think how gross and ugly my stretchmarks look. She questions where I got them and when she might receive her own. This helps me recognize my own conditioning towards my postpartum body.

When my son nestles his face into my breast, it is simply his way of comforting himself. He nursed from my breast for the first thirteen months of his life, that memory is not so far away for either of us. Motherhood has helped me see that a body is not just reserved for sex. And of course, I knew that already but it was not a part of my conditioning. Therefore nonsexual bodily interactions that occur between me and my children are indeed normal however generally may be perceived by others as inappropriate.

Sexualizing children is one of my greatest pet peeves but it’s something we’ve been conditioned to do. We do it without a second thought as to the origins of such a thought.

Empowerment to the Children

Even though I found myself in those situations, I was thankful that my mom taught me that it is perfectly acceptable to say no in any situation. Although she did not say so explicitly, in my mind, sex was not different.

Now being in a situation where I didn’t know whether I wanted to say yes or no was a whole other issue and a bit trickier. No one ever taught me how to listen to my inner self to make these sort of decisions. That’s a post in itself though.

When I sit with women and talk about these things, most experiences are relatable however outcomes may differ. I try to figure out where our experiences diverge. It is through these conversations that I’ve learned so many women were not taught to explicitly say no. (And I’m still exploring the why of this: Why aren’t women taught explicitly to say no?)…and of course I’m aware of the whole, “Why is the responsibility placed solely on the woman?” I’m so there although I’ve learned to navigate this thing one question at a time…the overlap will eventually reveal itself.

It’s weird to have been taught to stand up for what you believe in and trust your intuition except when it comes to sex. I was always taught that your hormones will deceive you and your emotions will betray you. BLASPHEMY! I know that now.

I was not taught to acknowledge my body at all in any way. Perhaps if I’d been a dancer or an athlete that may not have been the case, however, that is not my story. I was only ever taught to hide and cover myself: skirts below the knee and shirts up to my collar bone. My physical and psychological pubescent changes were never directly acknowledged outside of my menstrual cycle. These conversations occur regularly now between me and my own daughter.

I want to empower my children to explore their sexuality however they choose. I want to teach them that it is perfectly acceptable to reject experiences that do not resonate within. If a thing does occur, willingly or unwillingly, it is not something you need to feel guilt or shame about.

Fearlessly Open

Whenever I encounter bullies in my life, the first thing I’d do is tell somebody. Put them right on blast so everyone would know. I wish I had been taught to be so fearlessly open when it came to exposing the “bully” of conditioning in my own life. Hell, I didn’t even possess the awareness to be so vigilant. I would like my kids to have a different option. Does this mean they’ll make all the right and great decisions? I’m sure they won’t. But once again, that isn’t the goal.

I want my children to know that it is perfectly acceptable to challenge the status quo. You don’t need to go along to get along. Let’s talk about it. What’s done in the dark must be brought to the light or else people will go on just pretending it doesn’t happen. PERIOD.

Sex positive

I’ve had someone say to me, if you teach your daughter to be as sexually liberated as you are, aren’t you concerned about predators. Nope…they exist regardless of whether she is sex positive, sexually liberated, or totally oblivious. They may still come for her and while I cannot change others behaviors, I can make her aware of her every option and right as a human person.

Encouraging my children to use their words, to write what they cannot say, to draw what they cannot write, and to simply be still if they need to is so important to my endeavors of sex positive parenting. No form, of the way you choose to express yourself, is greater than another.

For me, this is so much deeper than intercourse. It’s about fostering healthy attitudes, and relationships, first with your whole self, in order to choose healthy sexual experiences and boundaries with others. By whole self I mean physical, psychological, spiritual, as well as sexual (which embodies all three).

I could go on and on because the freedom to explore one’s sexuality, openly and safely in the way that they desire, is so important to me. I desire for my children to find strength and sensuality in sex instead of shame, objectification, and health stigmas.

Yes, I could go on but I won’t. I’ll just stop right here and you can subscribe to keep abreast of my sex positive parenting adventures. After all, this is just theory.

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