Big Dick = Big Dick

There were a lot of signs. Red flags that I shouldn’t move forward. Shouldn’t pursue the attractive, talented, muse of a man who was showing interest in me. The signs were there, sent as a attachment on every text and email. For god's sake, he sent me fucking “Lossin’ Control” by Russ, ballad of the guilty man, the “ex-cheater”. “The signs were there”, a saying I now repeat to myself when I look back, wondering how I got sucked in the sink hole of shit that is the mess he created. With my life, with his, with his baby mom’s, with everyone. It was the story everyone knew but no one dared to speak. The tale of the girl who fell for the businessman who gave her an opportunity. How cliche of me. 

Before I dive in I should warn, this story does not reflect me in my best light. Shit, I don’t know that it depicts anyone in their best light but please know, we tried. Well, maybe not “we”, but I did and I like to believe a few others did as well. Unfortunately, the attempts of a few can not outweigh the catastrophe caused by many, but I digress.

It started a little over 2 years ago. I had just started writing I’ll Take It Black, just got my first official boyfriend in VA and had a circle of friends that seemed unwavering. Despite my shitty position at the bank and my recently cured case of Gonorrhea, I was feeling confident. I was notoriously known as a quitter, constantly having good ideas on ways to make money or gain followers but I lacking any and all drive to actually “do it”. I had once thought about making custom plugs, greeting cards, thrifting, some idea I won’t fully disclose but I will say it consisted of a videographer, my body and food. The list goes on. So when I started writing, when I finally felt driven enough to incorporate some follow through into my life, everything changed. Especially my position within the Richmond.

The first time we spoke, like, really SPOKE, it was over FaceTime. A planned meeting to discuss my position and responsibilities on the team. A 30 minute time frame that turned into an hour and a half discussion. It didn’t take Cupid to recognize that shit just clicked. I had a boyfriend so I played it cool and limited my flirting but it didn’t matter. Even my dude could see the little hearts metaphorically blooming from our heads, Snapchat filter style.

Jump to a few weeks later when I released my 3rd story, a ballad about me, fucking my ex dude and his new bitch. It was a tale of a fuckboy but all my boyfriend saw was “threesome”. It was clear he felt uncomfortable and within seconds we spiraled into an immediate and emotional argument, just days after Christmas. Doors were slammed and my accusations of him being unsupportive and hypocritical cut like knives. It took 20 minutes for us to break up. During which I heard a self righteous speech on respect, all from a man who had just recently given me gonorrhea (my first and only STI infection, thank the lizard gods), but I digress…

I was a mess, partially because my feelings for him but largely due to my insecurities with myself. I had known my blog would cause some riffs but I didn’t anticipate an immediately break up. I couldn’t help but wonder, is this what it’s always going to be like? Will no one ever trust me? Will no one ever want to claim “the slut” that writes the sex blog.. In a fit of depression I scrapped my New Year's Eve plans and decided to just drive Uber. If anything was gonna make me happy right now, it was money.

In the theme of things working against me, it seemed apparent Uber was too. On a night where rates should have been without a doubt at peak, I wasn’t getting a single ride. I didn’t understand nor did I have the energy to try and decided to call it quits. Coincidentally my new friend and business mentor was have the same luck in his Uber endeavors and suggested we get drunk instead. A plan I was more than on board with.

We spent the night laying in bed, smoking blunts and talking. Talking in a way I hadn’t in years and then slowly, at some point, we fell asleep. There was no sex had, no kiss, just a simple and pure connection of souls. Maybe I had been wrong, maybe someone would appreciate me after all. It only made sense, right? For the person who recognized my talent to fall in love with my soul? I knew he had a complicated situation, a few kids, a recent ex who was also his baby mom, etc. but I didn’t care. I had learned that love wasn’t always easy or black and white but as long as he was single and cared about me, we could make it work.

He came over again on New Years and this time we did kiss. And fuck. Oh god did we fuck. The sex was electric. The type of shit they depict in graphic novels. God like. Fucking, tear inducing. I didn’t know what I had done for these stars to align, to find a dude who saw my soul and filled my hole all the same. It was happening and I wasn’t about to fight it. After New Years we were on. Hanging all the time, grabbing drinks, sleeping over.

I’d make dinner for him to enjoy when he got to my house, often late night after putting his kids to bed. We’d stay up till 3 or 4 in the morning, doing drugs and having sex. I remember one night, when we were real high and real horny he shoved my fist in my mouth and choked me. I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard. I had never heard of half the artists he talked about but he was showing me. Teaching me. Giving me the jump off knowledge I needed to succeed. I didn’t know it at the time, through the fog of my infatuation, that this was his move. It was the way he found love, showed love and maintained love. All through business. Like a game of chess where I was just another pawn, not the Queen.

We talked like this for a few months. Using each other as motivation to make positive changes. He was teaching me consistency and refinement of my craft. I was teaching him how to be a vegetarian. He’d talk about his kids and cute shit they did, his Uber customer, the new music he heard.. It was all consuming, I wanted all of it, all of him and not to sound naive, but he seemed to want all of me as well. It wasn’t just me he was impressing but also my friends. Coming to birthdays and hang sessions, wrapping his arm around me as a loose way of saying, “we’re together, back off.” I was so happy it was dumb and that was beautiful. But also, fucking stupid.

He had won about everyone over except for one person, my best friend. She was a tough sell and an acquaintance of his baby mother so the waters were rough and she was prepared to throw grenades during most every interaction with him. It was exhausting. Then, there was our fight. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised when she told me I could bring a plus one to her boyfriends surprise party. I just couldn’t bring him. It was an explosion of an argument that to this day still gets brought up. A defining moment of failed communication on mine and my best friends behalf.

It was hard, I was stubborn and dead set on learning my own lessons. She was a good friend who had already lived through something similar and wanted to protect my heart. That being said, neither of us successfully conveyed this, at least not the way we originally communicated it.

All I needed was an excuse to recluse. To find my focus, get driven, bare down and focus. And maybe, just maybe, make shit official with my handsome mentor. It all seemed so easy, so black and white.

What a fucking lie.

To be continued...

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