Pussy Harassment

Pussy Harassment

They were beautiful. I blinked and blushed. One asked about her dress. The other smiled. Another yet piled her locs upon her head and posed. The ding announced the arrival of pics on the cell. Great day in the morning. How does a red blooded woman handle such beauty sent via technology? Well, I blog….
Shortly thereafter, the commentary began. Some call it a thump. Others a tickle. Me? I call it movement. When the pussy wants to run around and do laps, she has scored her hurrah. The pussy has been harassed.
Unsolicited beauty in front of your face can cause an uncanny sexual reaction before you even begin the hectic work day. You know it is there. You can’t escape the ding. Do you offer a retort? Forward an emoji? Or live the rest of your day in complete and total sin? I suggest a healthy combination of all three…

Presence & Prayer

It was an interesting Friday evening. My bed held me captive. Dinner was in the fridge, and night fall could not descend upon me fast enough. The patio cleaning was canceled so that I could attend a party. I did not plan to stay because tired was a beginning adjective for me. The shower greeted me with hot water sent by God, and a stylish outfit soon followed. It was a no make up no fuss night, but I still looked presentable.
The music was loud. The lights were in different colors. The dancing was outlandish, and the wine was dwindling. People were letting their hair down and getting into the groove. My eyes blinked as my hands rummaged through what was left of the olive platter. A bottle of cold water quenched my thirst. Once my uterus began to have a silent conversation with me, it was time for me to go. After bidding my farewells, I was a flash through the front door. Unbeknown to me, a real live shadow was behind me.
She seemed very desperate. She was wondering if she could get a ride to a gas station approximately ten minutes away. As my hands searched for my keys, I heard my voice say let’s walk to my car and talk. As her story unfolded, it was apparent that life was not at its peak for her. Why this very evening was an extreme low, and the party was simply a moment or two for her to get away. The ride was her journey back to her gruesome reality. She professed her need for God. I looked at her and said continue to pray. God will listen. Just keep praying. She thanked me profusely, and my car took me home.
As I sat in my kitchen looking at my pink candy apple, many things went through my mind. She came after me for a particular reason. My presence just played a part in something that was unknown to me. It was timely, and subtle. You never know why you are in a certain place at a certain time. You are just there.

Family Entertainment

It was the night before my cousin was due to fly home to England. She had come to the U.S. to visit my mother, and had spent a good three weeks of fun and merriment. My mother called to ask what time I was stopping by to say good bye. Before we knew it, we had planned a farewell gathering. Since I am always interested in entertainment, I suggested that I hire a spoken word poet. There was a particular word artist that I had in mind. It had been a long time since I had first watched her work in a poetry house. She made a life long fan that evening with her poem about a particular work experience.
After contacting her, she informed me that she was available to perform much to my delight. She entered my family home and made everyone smile. Her poetry told stories of healing and domestic violence. Her faith in Christ was evident as was her incredible stage presence. My mother demanded an encore presentation and she graciously bestowed us with one more piece. The guests had several questions for her regarding her career, and everyone hugged her before she left.
When you make a connection with an artist of any genre, there is a magical spark that takes place. I told her that the first time that I watched her perform, she made me feel as if she was reading the pages of my journal aloud, and that I was the only person in the room. In reality, she was talking about one of her experiences in a very public forum. Imagine how her sharing such a tale made the world a smaller place. Her awesome stage presence commands a stage and brings the audience just a bit closer to her words. I was so very happy to be able to share something so special with my family and friends.

Bold & Bald

There I was sitting at my desk. A vision came to me. My eyebrows were immaculate. My head was clean shaven. My fingers soon made an appointment with the local brow boutique. When the brows had been perfected, my car somehow took me to a place that I have always avoided, until now. The barber was pleasantly surprised to make my acquaintance.
My hands carved the tale of no more combs. The hair had to go. Down and out with the afro. I did not want to be a bald woman but close to it would be good enough for me. As the mechanism began its job, the sensation of it working on my scalp was not pleasant. The sounds of poor music and male chatter were not exactly comforting. Fist pounds served as common greetings. Tattoos were in a great abundance. There I sat in the first chair watching my mighty fro meet a dignified end.
As the mirror was pressed into my hands, I beheld the sight of my new self. Does a bald head signify courage on the part of a woman? She is relying completely on her face. Is this a statement? Am I now considered to be a bold woman? All of these thoughts went through my mind. I tipped the barber well and exited the den of men.
My dear friend was notified about the business that kept me away from her phone call. Her shock was pure. While she loved the beauty of my head, the fact that I dared to do something without taking a minute or overanalyzing every angle was simply out of my character. As the responses poured in, it was clear that my head had a fan club. I now await word from….my mother.

The Childish Man

It was a nice leisurely brunch with a lovely friend. We ended up sitting outside because I was cold; again. It was not long before an SUV horn sounded for a rather lengthy moment before another vehicle crunched as it backed into it. It was a slow awful crunch that caught the attention of many a spectator. An arrogant man erupted from the four door Sedan. He assessed the damage that he caused to his car and promptly blamed the woman in the SUV. He continued to pace the street with an angry step. He tried to convince the woman to just let the accident go unreported. My friend watched the entire scene and approached her to be a witness to the fact that the man was guilty as hell. As I chewed on my tasteless Tilapia, the abusive actions of the man towards the lone woman were unsettling for me.
This man was guilty. The police officer told him that prior to issuing the ticket. Instead of making the process as smooth as possible, he tried to dismiss the ownership of his poor judgement and blamed the woman. I felt as if the scene would have played out differently had a man been in her company. In the middle of my meal, I approached her. I told her that I saw how he treated her and quite frankly, it was unwarranted. He did so because he was guilty as charged. He soon came to our table and acted happy that he was charged as if we were going to celebrate it. Instead he received a dumbfounded look of annoyance. This man was a mere child to me. One that lacked proper home training.
The woman came to our table after the entire ordeal and thanked us for our help. She calmly went about her way as we dug into some churros. She doesn’t know that my heart had palpitations when I heard that crunch. She doesn’t know that I went to her side because someone came to mine when I was in the middle of my accident. My friend was happy that I wanted to sit outside because that is why we were able to be of service. The morning subsided with the loud chirping of birds and a quick trip to the local food store.


The vagina is something that never ceases to amaze me. She has so much going on and yet is so very quiet. She is often the topic of various conversations due to her mere existence. Why, there are even poems about her. As I age, she unfolds yet another mystery about herself that I did not know before. There are various substances that she produces with blood being probably the most popular. There are many lessons that she teaches without pregnancy even being on the table. However, I was on the table yesterday. My vagina taught an entire class. We took notes.

It was high time for me to go in for a physical. While I do believe in scheduling appointments to see all of my specialists, the one thing that I do not do is a physical. Yes, my beloved PCP has spoken to me sternly about this practice of mine which I would not enforce on anyone else. I just get to the point where I do not want to see anyone else. When I go in to have my teeth cleaned, there is the oral hygienist and the dentist. Both of them want to be in the middle of my mouth with shiny sharp instruments that do not please me. The dental hygienist likes to sing while that damn brush thing is squeaking so that I have to plug my ears. I like the dermatologist. Her face is absolutely beautiful with such vibrant skin. Her office is the place to be with such beautiful décor and the ladies at the front desk look like fashionistas. I am in and out of her office within ten minutes. The most painful thing being parking. Naturally, these professionals have painted a nice picture for the one that women around the world love and hate: the ob/gyn.

Yesterday was the first part of my physical. An intern saw me which has happened before and is always pleasant. Before I saw her, the womens’ health practicioner spoke to me about my head wrap. As we spoke, my mind reflected on the first time that she saw me. I felt as if she had treated me like her own child; an instant adoption. She told me all about her background prior to going into a breast exam. Then there was the wonderful speculum. I requested that she use the small one. She blinked and politely informed me that she would use the small one; however, if she could not see what she needed to see that she would have to upgrade to a larger one and that we wanted to avoid going in twice. Loud laughter soon filled the room as there was no way to contain myself.

The intern happily came to attend to me. She updated my medical history to include the sciatica and c4 tales of woe. She asked if I wanted to have a pap. My mind thought about how much easier it would be to have it done right now instead of going all the way to the hospital to have my main ob/gyn take care of it and then fork over the hefty copay thanks to my lovely new insurance company. A bright yes was soon heard, and I wrapped myself in my nice scarf in anticipation. What happened next can only be described as a side comedy show. My vagina was about to be the subject of study for the intern.

When the practicioner arrived, we laughed and began talking about my head wrap. The intern had to begin with a breast exam which of course prompted many a comment from me including laughter. She was stopped by her teacher, and my thigh suddenly had tapping of sorts. The intern was then instructed to continue with the exam and my laughter subsided; the tickling had stopped. I looked at the teacher in awe. She had applied her expertise to the current situation and showed the intern how to prevent such stimulation. They soon moved on to the main topic of the day.

The stirrups were brought out. They were naked. I inquired about the footies because I felt as if they should have had purple footies to make the process easier. The teacher began wiping them down and said that she thought that they were better without footies because of constant germs clogging the cloth. However, she went on to say that next time they would have footies just for me with cartoon faces. This took care of my footie desire. It was quite interesting to hear the two of them speak in medical terms about my vagina which was now with company and being used as a diagram. There is a distinct difference between a gyn exam and an ob/gyn exam. This was very interesting to me because ob/gyn is said as one word when in fact they are two.
My former thoughts resurfaced: my god, doctors do not consider any hole sacred. They will go into your nose, ear, throat, back door…all in the name of your health. The small speculum was used which immediately prompted a question that was met with the answer of Virgin Mary. It remained there longer than I would have liked but felt the sympathies of the two women. I was soon thanked for being a willing party for the lesson, and felt quite happy to have been the test subject. My vagina is now a teacher!

My mother would probably pass out if she knew that I wrote this because it is of a rather personal nature. While this is true, every woman has to go through this process, and I do not see the harm in discussing it. I once exclaimed to one of her friends that they never talk about what goes on in the pregnancy room and that the younger generation (ME), needs to know. Why do I have to wait if you already know?! Tell me! She dropped details like a stripper on a pole. Men would do well to understand the process as well so that they understand why their significant others may not want to have sex for a while. So here, I have done it. It is yet another chapter in the life of a woman. This one just happens to be a bit more colorful than most. Cheers.