Welcome. My name is Mistress Skye. I am an arrogant, cruel, intelligent, sexy, kinky, witty, mind-blowingly addictive and strict Ebony Domme. My Domination skills are unparalleled, and I NEVER EVER let my subjects forget their place. To reign supreme over the minds, souls and even the wallets of the men who beg to serve me is what I live for.

At times the sheer perfection of my beautiful body black body will incite your desire and have you down on your knees worshipping me. Yet, there will be also moments when you will quiver with fear when we meet, because I’ll use your lust against you and leave you moaning in agony, as you realize that you can never truly have me.

I am black woman, a Goddess who was born to Dominate. It is my birthright to practice Female Domination and Supremacy. My male servants are subject to my every whim and I use them solely for MY gratification and amusement. Should you be granted the privilege of being one of my many subjects, you too will live to pamper me and cater to my every need.

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The content above is not on my dating profile, but you’d think it was based on some of the attention I’ve been getting online these past few months. You see, messages from male subs keep popping up in my inbox. I wrote about one such fellow a few months back in My Submissive Cyberstalker. Since then I’ve encountered a few others like him. It seems that by virtue of the fact that I am of a darker hue I’m taken to be a DOM-inant woman by some men. Enter the latest wannabe sub whose D/s dreams I feature in, a man I’ll call G.

Now G isn’t nearly as cute (he’s tall with hazel eyes, bald and gangly, and his olive skin seams to sag off his gaunt frame – oh I know you’re all jealous now!), aggressive or crazy (as far as I can tell) as Mr. I-Worship-Black-Women, but he’s just as persistent, albeit in a much more subtle and mature way. (FYI: To be honest, I’m not sure if it’s really persistence that keeps G coming back. Each message he sends appears to be written as if he’s contacting me for the first time, with no reference to previous messages. So maybe he thinks I’m a new candidate each time?) You see, G is a 50 year old man, who seems to have his life together. All he needs is the ‘perfection’ that is a ‘dominant’ black woman to enter his life, so he can happily serve her for the rest of his days on this earth – as evidenced by his lastest message…

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Subject: You seem Wonderful!!!

Decent enough start. Show me a woman who doesn’t like a little flattery.

I think every man has a type of woman which is his ideal woman and you are definitely mine.

Question folks: How can he be so sure when he’s never met me and only seen a head shot? SMH

I know you are a very beautiful woman but to me you are perfection.

No pressure here.

I don’t think there is anything more desirable than a beautiful black woman.

Oh, now I get it. I’m beautiful and black! Lucky me, I’m his phenotypic ideal.

But then I read your ad and amazingly you seem just as beautiful on the inside as the outside.

Readers, what can I say but don’t hate me ‘cause I ‘m beautiful…inside and out.

I definitely prefer black women…

Yes I know, you already mentioned that. We’re the most desirable women on the planet. I get it.

and not merely because I find you women so much more beautiful than other women but just as importantly because of your beautiful strong confident personalities.

Hmm… all black women have ‘beautiful strong confident personalities’. Don’t you just love  sweeping generalizations? I know I do.

Okay kids, have you all guessed what the word of the day is?…That’s right, say it with me…BEAUTIFUL. And can you tell me which type of women are the most beautiful inside and out…Yes that’s right. Shout it loud – BLACK WOMEN…Wait a minute…why aren’t you all taking notes?

I really respect that. I feel other women seem to have such bland personalities in comparison. To me you ladies are Queens and should be treated as such.

This guy clearly hasn’t met the likes of SSDated, Man-Shopper, Shans, Jami or Elizabeth Rose. But he sure knows how to make a girl feel special, with the whole build her and ‘her kind’ up thing he has going on – über sexy. I’m kicking myself HARD now for not responding to his last nine messages.

I am very confident in public and at work but in relationships it feels natural for me to be submissive to my partner’s needs and demands and I do prefer a dominant woman.

Did you all catch his pitch? No? I told you he was subtle. Please, allow me translate this one for you for you. What he’s really saying is,

“I AM A SUBMISSIVE WHO LIKES TO SERVE.”

Re the dominant woman bit, that’d be me and every other black woman, because we’re naturally dominant; the perfect match for his ‘natural’ submissive tendencies. But you knew that already didn’t you?

I put my woman on a pedestal and welcome one who demands I put her needs first.

Again, absolutely no pressure to be a near perfect, pedestal-worthy, ball-grindin’ (in six inch stilettos no doubt) b*tch. But I’m a ‘beautiful black woman, with a’ beautiful strong confident personality’. So being demanding should be easy for me right?

I love to pamper and cater to a woman and am very attentive. I definitely know how to treat a strong willed black woman.

Why do I get the feeling that his version of attentive would be clingy and obsessive? Could it be the steady run of creepy messages?

I am not desperate just hopeful and if you think I am someone who could be special to you I hope you will get back to me.

G, only desperate people say they’re not desperate, and besides, this is 10^th time you’ve contacted me, right? But who’s counting?

As far as you being special to me – again we’ve never met, much less engaged in an email exchange. May I suggest, you cool your jets boss?

And G, I’m NEVER EVER going to get back to you. In fact, I’m going to go ahead and block you right now.

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Hopefully, G

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P.S. I am one of those people who can’t take a good photo, I’m really not that dorky looking but I bet all dorky looking people say that.

Look a funny. He saved the best part of his message for last – awesome!

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Although I’m not in the market for a male servant and I hope to God I’ll stop receiving messages from sub men someday soon (I’m more than fed up with being DOM-inant by default), I do recognize that a whole lot of people love black FemDoms. So as a public service to all the men and women who may be in the market for their very own Dominant Ebony Goddess, I’ve compiled a list of professionals (see below) who I’m sure are all ready and willing to serve you – for a  fee, of course.

And G, if you’re out there just in case my silence (and this post) hasn’t made it completely clear I’m not interested in being the pedestal sitting mistress of your submissive dreams,  I just want to say for the record that…

I’m so NOT the one.

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Skye’s PSA: A List of Truly Dom-inant Black Woman:

Mistress Treasure

Goddess Sonya

Ebony Goddess Amber

Mistress Dionne

Spoiled Black Princess

Mistress Tatyana

I have a confession. A few weeks ago due to some intense lust/like I was feeling I broke my number one dating rule – no dating younger men. Silly as it may seem to some of you this rule has served me well for much of my dating life. In any case, against my better judgement I decided to date this 30 year old guy, who I’m going to call The Kid (you’ll see why in a minute), who I’d been crushing on for over a year.

We ended up going out about half a dozen times and every date was great. He was always a gentleman, super polite and attentive. Our dates would usually start off with some intense conversation about the events of the day, our writing, and/or books we loved, followed by some solid make out sessions. Besides his being a bit coquettish between our dates, it seemed The Kid liked being around me as much as I enjoyed being with him. I was just about ready to pitch my longstanding and for the most part unwavering rule about dating young dudes out the window, until the night he earned his name. The night he sent me the following text…

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TK: Hey sweetie how u doing. I’m here with my boy eating some food. I wanted to see your sweet self tonight. I promise to be a good boy. I will do anything u ask. Hope you had a good night so far.

WTF? (FYI: When I received the text I’m sure I read it a few hundred times. I was that confused. The Kid never ever spoke to me like that and sexting – even something as soft core as what appeared on my screen that night – was so not his style.) Maybe he’s drunk? What to do? Hmmm…Play along and see what happens next?

Skye: Re your promise, I hope you mean that becuz I plan to test your limits the next time we meet.

TK: My limits are your limits. Life is too short. With that said u have to show me what u want me to do and in return do for me as I do for u. Tonight is a night I would do and touch anything in any way u need me to. I hope your panties are wet for me with all your love juice.

.

PAUSE.

.

Did he really just write that?? No one is going to believe this shit. I gotta tell…Max.

So I called Max and read her his message. She LHFAO, declared that The Kid’s text was an “epic fail and the “lamest thing she’d heard in a long time”, and then asked me, “What you going to do next?”

“Call him and find out what all this mess is about.”

“Okay, but make sure you call me back after you talk to him. I’m sure it’s going to be a great story.”

So I hung up and called The Kid.

“Hey Skye, what’s up?”

“Hi. I’m calling because you’ve been sending me some strange text messages. What gives?” I asked him.

(Pay attention folks – it starts to get real good right about here.)

“Seriously? Well, my friend is with me and he had my phone, so I’ll ask him.”

Are you fucking kidding me? Are you in grade 5? “Okay, so he had your phone, but out of all your contacts why would he choose to text me?”

“I don’t kno—” The Kid started to say, but he was cut off by another male voice that came booming through the phone. Apparently I was on speaker.

“Hey, I don’t know how to use no iPhone. I was telling him what to type to you,” the friend (whose name to this day I still don’t know) said, laughing real loudly.

FML. Have I landed on Planet Stupid tonight? “Uh huh. I figured something was up, because The Kid doesn’t talk to me like that.”

Well who told me to say that?  The Kid’s friend who didn’t know me from Adam, but obviously felt we were real cool, had the nerve to respond with…

“Oh no? I’ll have to school him then.”

Vexed, I opened my mouth to speak, but the Kid who apparently still thought this was all fun and games (but that’s generally what kids think about life right?) spoke first.

“Skye, you need another blogger? Want some good stuff for your site? You should check my friend here.”

This really isn’t happening is it? I took a deep breath and said, “We’re good thanks, but do you guys think women really fall for that kind of shit?”

“You’d be surprised how many  do, Skye.” The Kid said, peevishly.

I looked up at the ceiling high above me. Thank you Lord for giving me the sense not to bone his childish ass. “Really? That’s funny, because my girl thought it was lame too.”

“What?!?! Why you got to tell your friends everything?” The Kid said, sounding indignant.

Who the fuck is this boy? Lord, where is the MAN I was crushing so hard on who was witty, charming and seemingly intelligent? Bring him back, PLEASE!

Then the Kid’s Friend chimed in again. “Oh yeah, you in a catch 22 now girl huh? Getting the text and telling your friend his business.”

Excuse me asshole, have we met? I ignored Mr. Asshole and said, “Kid, you’re telling me that you think it’s okay for you and your boy to sit in your car and joke about the stupid-ness you’re texting me, but I can’t share the joke with my friend?  Get over yourself guy.”

“Oooo boy. She’s a fiery one. You’re going to have a good time with her tonight,” his friend said laughing even louder than he did the first time.

Oh no he didn’t? Why is he still talking? And more importantly why is The Kid allowing him to speak to me like that? By then people, I was about ready to climb through the phone and choke somebody.

The Kid, who to his credit finally seemed to notice that I was about to tear both him and his friend new ones, rushed to end the call. “Look Skye, can we talk later? I’ll call you later okay?”

“Whatever.” I mumbled and then hung up the phone.

As I laid my head down on my pillow to get catch some Z’s the texts and the conversation that followed was all I could think about. I mean I’d received more than a few drunken phone and text messages in my time, but nothing that compared to The Kid’s performance that night. How could a grown ass man be so easily influenced by his friend to do something so stupid?  And if The Kid had actually sent those texts after being told what to type by his friend, Mr. Asshole, he was obviously a moron. The only question was how did he hide that fact from me for so long? And why did he allow his boy to talk to me like I was some dumbass  chick? And just what had he told the man about me to warrant his “You’re going to have a good time with her tonight” comment? People, I was seething.

Needless to say it took me forever to fall asleep, and when I woke up bleary-eyed and unrested the next morning I was still bent. So I picked up my phone and sent The Kid a text message stating the following:

“Sorry it had to end like this. Thanks for the time spent and please feel free NOT to contact me again.”

A week and a half passed before The Kid, aka Lame Ass, sent me another text message that read…

“You have to read a book called Crush It – all about blogging and social media. You’ll thank me latr.”

Riiiiight.

Although I thought about thanking him for his message with a heartfelt “FUCK YOU!” I didn’t bother. After all, as my girl Michie says, silence is often the best closure. The Kid and all the man-children out there like him are officially off the list. As a direct result of his near infantile behaviour I’ve reinstated my rule about not dating younger men, with a corollary:

I, Skye Blue, will not date younger men – happily use them for practice (like my girl Jess intends to this summer), yes – but NEVER EVER will I date them.

Just sayin’.

“He is not affected by the reality of distress touching his heart, but by the showy resemblance of it striking his imagination. He pities the plumage, but forgets the dying bird.” –Thomas Paine

I’m sure some of you have already guessed I have (yet another) cynical view point on the existence and validity of male emotions. I must confess though that my cynicism on this topic is due to a recent injury to my pride and some hurt feelings.

Those of you who have been following my misadventures will be familiar with the name Finn. He has been a regular visitor to my bed and had even engaged my interest on a more intimate level than I would usually admit.

However… he recently decided to demonstrate his “emotional openness” by rocking up to the pub we met in to watch rugby with his new squeeze. There was no prior notification of his declining interest in me, or that his interest now lay elsewhere. In fact, quite contrarily to that, he had been sexting me that very morning.  When he arrived in the ex-pat bar for the game, he even managed to look surprised that I was there.

(It is worth noting that I never miss a game, and only ever watch it in the one bar – he is the fickle b’stard who flits around Toronto as suits him)

So there we are. He looks at me; I look at him in delight at unexpectedly seeing him. He looks at her; I look at her in confusion and growing distress. Since I am stubborn, prideful and above all fair – I chose not to make a scene. I know she didn’t pick up on the situation, as since she was an innocent bystander to his cuntery I was careful not to involve her.

I did raise the matter with him, when I asked him not to continue making out with her during the rugby match in my direct line of sight since they chose a table between me and the big screen.

Which brings me back to the topic for this week; I don’t doubt men have feelings – but why did he assume that I didn’t? To my mind his behaviour was:

1. Aimed to hurt my feelings
2. The direct result of him not taking even the slightest moment to reflect on how it would impact me.

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In either case, his actions were utterly and completely inconsiderate.

So in short – all men are bastards.

And I’m sulking.

And by sulking I mean shagging everything in sight to remove all trace of his tongue, hands and hairy penis from my body’s memory.

ELIZABETH ROSE

“Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” -Antoine de Saint-Exupery

In my early days of sexual infancy (before my rise to sexual infamy) setting up for a sex tape was quite the fandango. It required positioning and specialist equipment (or at the very least borrowing the family camcorder). To play it on a TV one needed a cable or special adaptor. And sharing it was nigh on impossible – one had to physically hand the tape in question over. There was no porn hub in those days!

Now, recording equipment is pocket sized, discrete and HD. So the pores of the skin on your inner thigh can be enjoyed worldwide via a live webcast. This poses some risks to privacy and even to me seems like over sharing.  However, as they say a deal’s a deal. So having satisfied my curiosity for vibrating a man’s arse I found myself honour bound to star in some homemade porn.

Excellent.

Strangely, as extroverted as I am the idea didn’t appeal to me. Instead I was filled with trepidation, and the low accusatory hum of a butt plug acted as my tell tale heart. Turns out I shouldn’t have been worried. I am a natural show pony. I always fuck like I have an audience. Unfortunately for me the audience I was playing to seemed to like an old school variety performance, which wasn’t at all what I delivered.

Post coitus as Finn and I basked together in the afterglow, he started the tape to check out the live action replay.  As I watched myself on film I realized it wasn’t at all like the filth fest to be found in my German collection of porn. In fact, it wasn’t even particularly embarrassing…

For me.

Sadly that was not the case for poor Finn, who was more than a bit annoyed when he noticed that I had hammed it up for the camera. You see dear readers, while he filmed me performing my party trick I was crossing my eyes for comedic effect. (Apparently seeing your cock in a girl’s mouth is less than erotic when she is pulling a face like that.) And my yawning while he was pounding away at my ass doggy style? Not funny either (though I beg to differ). He was likewise unimpressed with my lurid wink into the lens of the camera over his missionary positioned shoulder, and the fact that I was filing my nails while receiving oral. Still, as unhappy as he was all may have been forgiven were it not for my performance of the YMCA dance while I was on top and his eyes were closed.

To hear him tell it I had ruined everything, but I strongly disagree. I’m the queen of comedic porn. My performance was hilarious, so much so that I managed to make a sex tape that he would never dare show anyone else – which in and of itself is quite an achievement.

The fact is I didn’t want a tape of my bedroom performance being passed along to his mates. The last thing I need is a celebrity sex tape expose (obviously I would first need celebrity); so I came up with a novel and rather ingenious way of preventing it. Regrettably I now have the converse problem as I wish I had the tape to pass around myself!

As I doubt Finn will ever forgive me for ‘ruining’ our sex tape, I will be auditioning for a new leading man to be my co-star in the next Coital Cabaret. Applications can be submitted via the usual manner – full contact details posted on the gents’ toilet wall.

Readers, I want to let you in on a secret. I have a cyberstalker.  He’s a cute and clean cut brunette, with lovely blue eyes and a warm smile. He’s been following me for years, from one online dating site to another, trying to get my attention. I’ve never responded to his IMs, and have even gone as far as blocking him so he can’t send me messages on more than one occasion. When I do, he just regroups and comes back at me with a new profile and name (talk about persistence).

It is clear he’s obsessed with me (though I’m sure I’m not the only woman who is so lucky), but it’s not because I’m particularly beautiful or due to the fact that he thinks we are compatible based on any commonalities in our interests. My cyberstalker keeps coming back for one reason and one reason only – because I am a black woman.

Now, before you get your knickers in a knot let me explain. My cyberstalker has a fetish. He’s a Caucasian male submissive who wishes to be dominated by ‘ball-breakin’ Black woman. How do I know this for sure? Well folks, one of his  profile pictures displays the large tattoo on his right shoulder of a woman in thigh high boots holding a whip encircled by the words “I worship black women” (I kid you not!).  Although there is never anything on my profile indicates that I would be interested in such a dynamic (whips and leather just aren’t my thing), he seems determined to have me.

Unfortunately, for my would-be sub, my fantasy life does not include any type of domination. The thought of whipping, humiliating or barking orders at anyone simply doesn’t turn me on. Furthermore, the pleading tone of his messages:

“Please give me a chance, I’m begging you.”

“Why don’t you like me?”

“If you go out with me I promise to be a good boy.”

makes my skin crawl. Perhaps I’m strange, but to me there’s nothing sexy about a groveling man.

Readers your thoughts: Have any of you ever had a cyberstalker? Been pursued by someone with a fetish you weren’t into? How many men out there like being dominated by their female partners once in a while or frequently? Are some of you ladies into submissive men? Finally, any Black female doms out there looking for a brunette male sub? I’ve got a cute one I can send your way.

I have an unusual but hopefully not unexpected resolution this year. That is no resolution. I intend to carry on regardless, to continue to indulge whatever whim I have in my head at the time whether it is one of excess or even self imposed restriction.

To you all I wish 2009 was all you hoped and 2010 will be all you dreamed. Cheers!

XXXX

Elizabeth Rose

I don’t usually do New Year’s resolutions. They strike me as random and trite. However, at the urging of Skye I ushered in 2009 with a resolution to indulge myself to the fullest, to be selfish for a change (without being a total asshole) and to pursue the pleasures I had denied myself for so long. In a nutshell I resolved to “do me”. So with last year’s smashing success in mind, for 2010 I resolve to:

1. Add a little more love (or at least romance) to go with all the lust I’ve had in 2009.
2. Laugh. Laugh a lot. I do believe laughter is often the best medicine. And I absolutely believe that there is nothing finer than the sound of a woman laughing (especially if I’m the one responsible for said laughter).
3. Get back to drinking more hard liquor. I consumed a lot of fruity cocktails this year (let me take this opportunity to remind everyone to drink responsibly. If I can do it, so can you).
4. Maintain my sexy.

For Skye and Elisabeth Rose, I hope that you are not eternally kissing frogs and that someday soon your princes will come. Having said that, I love the stories, so let’s not make that happen too soon.

As for all of you dear readers, I wish you nothing but the best for the New Year; may 2010 bring you all that you desire and failing that, then all that you deserve. Keep on reading and keep in touch.

With Love,

Sam Sharpe

Old Year’s Night 2009 has ushered in New Year’s Day 2010 and this year I, Skye Blue, resolve to:

1. Do more to live up to my reputation of being a wayward woman.
2. Work hard to change my luck with men by dating and mating with sane, emotionally stable and ‘normal’ men (pray for me y’all).
3. Continue working hard to keep you, our beloved readers, laughing.

Happy New Year All! May the year ahead bring you much peace, happiness and prosperity.

XOXO

Skye Blue

“I did not have sex with that woman” – Bill Clinton

Skye has outlined her own experience with a married man, and today I wish to briefly share my own with you.
As a rule, I do not permit any men who have made promises elsewhere into my bedroom or my knickers. This includes promises such as the “til death do us part” type, as well as less formal commitments to another.

However, no system is perfect and without the ability to perform a detailed background check I have allowed men into my boudoir who have later admitted to having made a commitment elsewhere. I have taken to asking men directly and moving away from them at speed if there is any hesitation at all in answering my inquiries.

Recently, I was reunited with a past companion – Jay. As we are friends first and horizontal friends second, I saw no reason to check his status directly. We caught up for drinks here in London – exchanged stories and reaffirmed a long running friendship with copious amounts of booze and belly laughs. As in previous encounters we ended up in bed together. Then there followed more belly laughing as our private moments have become somewhat competitive since I admitted to thinking I could take him in a fight. Therefore all nudity is preempted with a bout of wrestling matches. (It generally gets to “best of seven” before I admit defeat).

Once Jay was secure in his victory and manhood; and we were both sweaty and in a tangle of limbs. With a kiss and removal of outer garments foreplay is commenced. The foreplay continued…and continued some more…and then went on…and on…

While my only moans were those preceeding an orgasmic cacophony, I must admit I was getting somewhat perturbed. He still had not removed his boxers, was avoiding my hands or mouth getting anywhere near his Johnson and penetration seemed to be out of the question. I knew he had a sizeable member hidden away. I could feel and see it was hard and ready to play – so I was growing quite frustrated by the situation.

After another attempt at his chastity belt – a pair of Pierre Cardins – I stopped. Pulling out of his embrace, I asked him why he was suddenly so shy.

It turned out that Jay now had a girlfriend. One he had failed to mention in his emails to me or during our catch up drinks. He was not inclined “to cheat” on his new girlfriend as “he’s not that kind of guy” but still wanted to see me, so…

I was mortified. I was also struck speechless by the illogical reasoning presented in his confession. In a bewildered silence, I dressed and left him.
We are friends and will be so again, but I am just so very disappointed in the whole sorry incident. (Not to mention frustrated to an extreme)
I believe this would count as the “Bill Clinton” stance on monogamy.

On a more positive note, Finn has a stopover in London on Saturday so I am looking forward to scratching my proverbial itch with him. Even from a continent away, my fascination for his marvellous member continues unabated.

So yesterday I hit you with my truth regarding women and causal sex. After wracking my brain about what I could share today, I decided to tell you all about one of my ‘bestest’ first dates (I hope you caught the sarcasm there). All I can say is life occasionally gets real rough in the dating jungle.

Mr. Not Too Swift and I met online a while ago. We clicked during our first few marathon phone conversations. He told me he was trying to get back into DJ-ing, and that he worked as a sales rep at his day job. When I informed him that I was currently working on what I hoped would be a screenplay, while making a living as Shiatsu therapist and yoga instructor, he cheered me on. Our conversations generally centred on our mutual passion for music. Although he was into old school hip hop and I was more of a jazz aficionado, we both shared the love of beats, breaks and horns.

After a number of telephone chats we decided to meet for lunch at little Chinese restaurant about halfway between our homes. The morning of our meeting I called him to ask him if we could shift our meeting time back 30 minutes, as I wanted to squeeze one more client in before I came to meet him. He readily agreed to the time switch and asked me if I had to go into work to see my client. I explained that a few clients were coming to my home to see me before I headed out to see him. Then we finalized the details regarding where we would meet and ended the call.

Hours later, when I met him face to face I have to admit I wasn’t blown away. He was reasonable looking, but I wasn’t so sure there was any chemistry. Anyway, we settled into a easy first meeting chat, firing off the tried and true questions…

Do I look like you expected?

How do you find the site?

Etc.

Our conversation was flowing really well and I was just starting to relax when Mr. Not Too Swift got real quiet and fidgety.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘I need to ask you something,’ he said, looking real serious.

Did I say or do something off-putting? I wracked my brain trying to figure out what could have caused such a quick shift in his mood. ‘Okay. Shoot.’

‘Well, uh, when you called me this morning you said you needed to push back the time to fit in another client, right?’

He couldn’t be mad because I changed the time on him could he? ‘Yes.’ Now I was really confused.

‘Uhhh…and that client was at your house.’

What was this dude getting at? ‘Yeah.’ I could tell that my eyebrow was grazing my hairline, but I couldn’t help it.

‘What kind of massage did you say you do again?’

Lord, don’t let this man say what I think he’s going to say. ‘Shiatsu,’ I said flatly.

‘Legit shiatsu massage or the other kind?’

This mo’ fo’ can’t be serious. All I could do was just stare at him, I had no words. 

‘Are you going to answer me?’ he said, eyeing me suspiciously.

I took a deep breath and said very slowly so he would understand…

‘Are you asking me if I’m a SEX WORKER?’

Mr. Not Too Swift’s eyes popped for a minute, but he tried to play it like he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth. ‘Nah, I’m just asking you if you are really a Shiatsu therapist.’

‘No, no I don’t think so. If you were asking me that, you would start by asking me if I went to school to study Shiatsu, which for the record I did,’ I countered looking him dead in his now shifting eyes.

Mr. Not Too Swift wasn’t about to back down and admit his mistake. ‘Well, either way you haven’t answered the question. Are you going to?’

Still pushing for an answer huh? Strong and wrong to the end, wow! ‘If you were concerned that I wasn’t a ‘legit’ therapist as you put it, why did you agree to meet me? Do you usually date prostitutes?’

Mr. Not Too Swift cleared his throat hard and looked down at his half-eaten plate of chicken lo mein. ‘It was just a question. Why you getting so upset?’

‘You ask me a question that implies that you believe I rub men’s genitalia for a living and can’t see how that might be upsetting? Really?’

His response? Dead silence.

After a minute or two of watching him squirm, I glared at him one last time, threw some money down on the table, and made tracks out of there.

A few days later I got an email from Mr. Not Too Swift that read:

Skye

I told my sister what happened and her reaction was worse than yours. I’m sorry about what I said. I know we probably won’t meet again so I just want to wish you all the best in your future.

Peace

Now, tell me people – was I wrong not to call the man back for a second date?

As I mentioned in Saturday’s post, Want Me…Please?, lately I’ve been thinking about the desire to be desired and the crazy things we humans are prone to do to get validation of our own self worth – an ego stroke if you will. Yes, our frail and needy little egos drive us to do the strangest things…

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I met this dude named Delano at my hairdresser’s a while back. Now Delano was what you’d call a face guy (a man who is so pretty that most women get real stupid when see him), and within a few minutes of meeting him, I could tell he knew it. Delano was definitely a man who was used to having his way with chicks. Unfortunately for him, he’d met a woman he wasn’t going to get with easily.

You see, Delano was a bit too maga (that’s real skinny for all the non-West Indians out there) for my liking. As a result he had to work real hard to get my attention. To his credit, he was funny and actually made me laugh, which is why I ended up giving him my number before I left the salon that day – a silly decision (yes, I know that you are all surprised that I make silly decisions) that I would later come to regret.

Anyway, Delano was real anxious for us to get together, and he called me the next morning to invite me to watch him play soccer later that evening. I had nothing to do, so I agreed to go. After the game, we went out for a bite to eat. It was over dessert that I realized that Delano was really all about himself. It was all I could do to get a word in edge wise as the man went on and on about how great he was. In his mind there was nothing he couldn’t do well, from playing soccer to scoring the hottest chick in the room. The man was truly in love with himself. After an hour or so of hearing all about the greatness that was Delano, I decided to bring our ‘date’ to an end.

‘Look, it’s getting late and I have to get up early for work tomorrow,’ I said, getting up from the table so there’d be no confusion, ‘I’m going to get going.’

‘Aw come on Skye. It’s only 9:30, why you playing old lady? Girl, stay and lime (that’s Trini for hang out) a little longer,’ he said, smiling up at me.

‘Sorry guy. I have to go,’ I said, pushing my arms into my jean jacket. ‘But maybe we can do this again some time?’ God, you’re such a liar.

‘Alright,’ Delano, said getting up and grabbing his sweatshirt. He followed me out of the café. ‘Maybe we can lime on Tuesday, I’m free that night.’

Like hell we will. ‘I’m not sure about my schedule, but call me and we’ll see what we can work out.’

‘Cool,’ he said, just before we parted ways in the parking lot. ‘Looking forward to it.’

Now I had no intentions of seeing Delano again, but it soon became clear that he was very determined to see me. Although I didn’t return his phone calls for over a week, the man kept calling. When he got me on the phone, by calling from a private number I might add, he was heated.

‘Why haven’t you returned my calls? I know you got my messages.’

Shit. ‘Look Delano, I’ve been busy with work,’ I said hurriedly, ‘And I’m just on my way out the door. I’ll hit you back later.’

‘Please do,’ he said gruffly, and hung up the phone.

Despite the fact that I didn’t call him back after our ‘accidental’ chat and I dodged his calls for weeks, Delano kept on calling (hhhmm… how do you spell relentless – D-E-L-A-N-O!).  I got phone messages from the man daily, at first asking, then almost pleading with me to call him back. The most pathetic message went something like this (brace yourself peeps)…

‘Skye, I don’t get why you don’t want to see me. Stop playing hard to get. Please, let’s just go out one more time. I’ll even make it worth your while – I’ll eat your pussy.’

Now don’t go rubbing your eyes and reading that sentence over again. Trust me, you got it right the first time. And for the record, he and I never even so much as held hands, so I can’t tell you why he felt his offer to go south would be appealing.

After he left that charming message I had a three week reprieve from his incessant calling, and let me tell you I enjoyed each and every one of my Delano free days. When he finally called again (and you knew he would), just for the amusement factor, I decided to answer the phone.

‘Skye, guess what?’ he said.

This should be good. ‘What’s up, Delano?’

‘I’m getting married!’

Right. Three weeks ago you were offering to munch on my carpet, now you’re getting married. Enough of the bullshit. ‘That’s great news. Congratulations!’ I said, cheerfully. ‘But Delano, I’m just heading back to work, can we talk later?’

‘Thanks, and don’t worry about calling back. Just wanted you to know what you’d lost,’ he said, tersely, ‘Bye.’

As I pressed the ‘off’ button I said a silent thank you to God, believing that my ride on Delano’s ‘all-kind-o-crazy-train’ was officially over. Unfortunately, I was wrong, he wasn’t done with me yet.

The very next day he called me again (yes, from a private number and no, I never learn), and as soon as I said hello he started his rant.

‘I can’t believe you think you can just blow me off!’ he screamed into the phone.

Oh.My.God. ‘Delano. Calm down, it’s really not that serious,’ I said, ‘You hardly know me, and we’re just not compatible, so why don’t we call it a day? There are lots of women who would kill for the chance to go out with you. Just forget about me and move on.’ Now who told me to say that?

Brother man got absolutely apoplectic. He started cussing and firing off all kind of ‘Trini-isms’ I couldn’t understand. As I listened, I was dumbstruck by the sheer force of the venom being spewed at me through the phone.

‘You think I can just forget about the gyal who punked me? You don’t see I think about you and yuh madda cunt (sorry folks, I’m going to leave that one up to your imagination) every wretched day?’ He paused for a minute – apparently to catch his breath, and I took the opportunity to speak.

‘Look Delano, I’m going to g—‘

‘Shut y’mout’. I don’t want to hear anyt’ing else from you.’

‘Delan—’

‘YOU BLEW ME OFF! FUCK YOU!’

The phone line went dead and he was gone – for good.

“As she has planted, so does she harvest; such is the field of karma.”  – Sri Guru Granth Sahib

Readers, I am concerned. I am perplexed, worried and even somewhat fraught. I was being self reflective this weekend past - (okay I was hung over and watching reruns of CSI – the Vegas one, not Miami) and I realised that my recent run of luck with male specimens has been less than favourable.

I’m not going to recruit you into my belief system (beyond the creed of “One more for the road”) but I do believe the world is intrinsically fair and in a form of karma. So on that basis – why am I having such a terrible run of cock? Let’s review the evidence…

1. I ran out – the entire city of London and apparently I was running into past rejects.
2. I was in a drought and drove up the price of batteries for the province of Ontario.
3. I wasn’t allowed to view his member – popular opinion that he was too small.
4. I was terrified on Halloween by one so small and so very cheesy.
5. I was surprised by an encounter with a hairy shaft (though otherwise excellent, but still gave me pause).
6. And this weekend, I didn’t even get to review as I was shockingly abandoned for a meat pie!

Where has this ill favour come from? Based on the core pillars of karma and neatly outlined by Sri Guru Granth Sahib above (I don’t know who this is either, but it sounded good) I would be deserving of this harvest through my own actions.

Readers, I appeal to you as witnesses and as a jury of my peers! I am very nice to every cock I get my hands (or lips) on. Even a cheese encrusted minature – I take on risk of infection to complete the task ‘in hand’.

So why is my knob karma currently so poor?

What have I done to bring this upon myself?

How can I remedy this to return to the smooth, girthy perfection that I dream of?

Perhaps an exorcism is in order – but how would one perform such a feat? I can’t even begin to imagine – if it is necessary for me to behave differently than I have been in recent weeks to reverse this fortune, should I be seeking out anal? Or is it required for me to strap one on and ‘peg’ the next owner of a VSD I come across?

I am hurt that some force in the Universe has chosen to single me out for such treatment by the male member, based on the benevolence I bestow upon those who seek me out I should be crowned their Queen.

There must be something else.

I did begin to wonder if perhaps my disclosures are breaking some unspoken masonic code not to tell on their secrets, but I hope that isn’t true as I would be forced to either abandon my post here or leave cock behind altogether and write to you on my lesbian experiences. Since I enjoy telling my chronicles of cock almost as much as I enjoy the organ itself, I don’t wish to give up either of these things.

(And I really, really like cock)

But, what if this isn’t a punishment? What if I am being conditioned by these universal forces by being offered comparative data? I have had a run of bad luck beyond a normal statistical spread. I am considering this may be to encourage me to truly appreciate the value in a man’s nether regions. So that when I am offered the opportunity of truly excellent penis, I will grasp it (the opportunity and the penis) with both hands.