Complete Idiot's Guide to "Friends with Benefits", Booty Calls & One Night Stands [NSFW]

`

By Joanna (JuJuBe)

“I like a woman with two arms, two legs and a pussy. And the arms and legs are optional.” Yes, I actually had a man give me this response when I asked him what type of woman he was typically attracted to. I never forgot that comment, because even though I was unable all through high school to find "boyfriend", while in college I realized that if you are a woman, getting laid is one of the easiest things in the world. Now, finding "love" is a whole other story, but getting laid? Anyone can do it!

Doesn’t matter if you are tall or short, skinny or fat, old or young. SOMEONE out there WILL fuck you. More than one someone, actually. Getting laid is one of the easiest tasks a woman can pursue. But for some reason, women have been convinced by societal standards that casual sex, while so easy to obtain, is somehow OK if you have a penis, but evil and wrong if you have a vagina. I simply am not buying it.

A Good Tongue Lashing

I don’t know what happened to the art of kissing. Of all the boy/girl activities I have striven to master over the years the one thing that has remained my favorite above them all is kissing. It’s my personal experience that a lover who knows how to work them lips on the face is equally good at working THEM lips while GIVING face.

But….I digress.

Kissing is the single most intimidate act there is. Kissing can be more intimate than sex in my opinion since you can have sex with a person and still be distant (before, during and after). But I dare you to pucker up and plant one on a person and not find yourself connecting to them in more ways than just the initial touching of lips.

Kissing involves swapping spit, inhaling each others breath, adapting to each others breathing and having coordinating body language. A man’s kiss has made me fall in love (-ness) and a man’s kiss has made me shun any further affection from him while also abandoning all hopes of him being the ‘next Mr. Right’.

I don’t need words to tell volumes of information about a person; it’s in their kiss. The decision of a man to feel my body, the feel of a his hands on my body, where he chooses to touch me, the intensity of his touch all give me clues as to the type of love he may have in store for me. The feel of the tension in his body when we kiss, the sloppy greed of his mouth during our kiss, pursed and taunt lips reveal that he is not comfortable with himself in this intimate act…so what the fuck am I supposed to do with him?

Office Sex: a Tiny Corporate Novella Chpt. 1

by Eco.Soul.Intellectual

Nia's Longing
Nia Indigo had been hanging out with Fabio for about four months and had not even given him a quick kiss. She hadn’t given him the ass, or not even her specialty, some mind blowing head. And it was wearing on her.

It wasn’t because he was unaesthetically pleasing, otherwise known as, ugly. Oh, he was finer than a mu’fuckah. Even her mama drooled and tried to poke out her 50-plus old booty when she saw him. Fabio made the sisters in her office trample each other to get a good view when he brought her lunch every Friday.

She swore Fabio was this God who had dropped from the skies of Brazil all dipped in Africa’s chocolate with hints of red clay from the Amazon. His body was chiseled from the hands of a genius. And he was indeed a great to look at.

His dick was massive. Well, at least she assumed it was from the way his pants hugged him when he flexed his body in intricate positions in Capoeira class they took together some nights.

Even the men were ogling Fabio when he took off his shirt in Capoeira because he was just that gourgeous. Nia knew that if you could have a straight man consider switching his sexual preference you were in another a whole other kind of category of attractiveness.

His personality was uber inviting. Fabio was peace. He was a proud man who boasted about his daughter in Sao Paolo and his Afro-Brazilian roots; but never once did he dog out African-Americans like her previous lovers of the African Diaspora who took time to bash black Americans at every chance.

If she heard one more West Indian or African call an African-American man a criminal or a woman look her with disgust, she would call immigration her damn self. Then again, some days she wanted to call the body snatchers to remove a block full of ingrates that included a few cousins and a crack-head uncle or two.