My family has always said that I'm the straight-no-chaser kind of chick. Here's a visual. My mom once told me that when I was about three-years-old, we got on a bus and a woman said, "Oh, you're such a pretty little girl." My response? I didn't bashfully smile or hide behind my mother's dress. My immediate reply was an enthusiastic, "And you look like a clown!" (I mean…)
A couple of days ago, while reading an article on what science claims are the keys to a happy marriage, a few things, in particular, stood out to me—being best friends, designating housework, not fighting over text, having sex no less than once a week, and making time to celebrate one another's achievements.
I love men. I really love Black men. There's just something about a 6'-plus Godiva chocolate man who's full of intellect, humor, old-fashioned values, spiritual vigilance, self-awareness, and mega-ambition (not necessarily in that order) that literally gives me chills. But what really takes me over the edge is a man who is consistent. Oh, and stable. Stability is soooooooooo—inhale, exhale—oooooo sexy to me.
I purchased my first vibrator from Amazon a few months ago but barely touched it. I was still a little leery about having one despite receiving a couple "welcome to the club, girl" texts from my close girlfriends. I felt that this purchase ushered me into a new level of adulthood: self-pleasure.