To Boldly Go…

Just More Thoughts From Me…

“Lest he without sin cast the first stone!”

I am a huge college football fan. During the college football season, on a Saturday afternoon, you will find me in front of the TV from noon until after 2am watching football, unless I’ve gone to a sports bar to watch. Again, a huge fan. I feel the kids play with much more zeal while in college; it’s less about money and more for school pride, the team and of course the coach. Which brings me to my point:

Joe Paterno is the reason why so many young men and even some young women have attended Penn State. He is an institution and the football players are definitely there to play for Joe Pa, no other reason. I understand Penn State is a great school, but Joe put them on the proverbial map. He’s been on campus for 62 years, 46 as head football coach, he deserved more than a phone call informing him of his termination, he deserved a face-to-face from whomever was required to let him go.

Was termination needed? Yes, of course it was. In 2002 he was informed of some improprieties of a member of his staff, illegal, and he never took it further that the school AD. A definite misjudgment on his part. How do you not look out for boys that may not be in a position to look out for themselves, how do you not report the allegations to police, how do you not confront your staff member? He fucked up and should be held accountable for his non-actions, but there are many more people at fault here, people who should also be held accountable. To end Paterno’s career in such a way on such a note is a terrible blow to that institution. I feel for those seniors who will not have Senior Day with their coach and mentor. I feel for the young men abused, as a victim myself. I feel sorry for the school and the black eye they will suffer through for some time. So many lose here.

One question though. Does Joe Pa now suffer the same as Andy Rooney? He’s been Penn State football for 62 years and finds himself without a job without a daily task at 84 years old. Does he die in a few weeks same as Rooney did after retiring from CBS?

Wedgies and Camel Toe

As a race must we always go out of our way to draw attention to ourselves? When I say, “…as a race” I refer to the African American race.

On Saturday, 30 July, I attended Bronx Day 2011 at Best Friends Park in Atlanta, Georgia. A good time was had by all; great people, friends, food and music. This year even DJ Red Alert and The Chief Rocka Busy Bee were in attendance. Again, a great time.

Here’s my complaint though not really a complaint, more of an observation. For some reason when we attend such outdoor events some of our women dress completely inappropriate. I saw shorts way too short offering multiple looks at wedgies and if caught from the front, the same women gave you witness to their camel toe. There were tight jeans, ass cracks showing, looking like some female version of a plumber in your house. Women in heels too high to be walking in soft grass or dirt. Skin tight leggings pulled so shear we could see your imagination.

I know we like to look good and any opportunity to show what we have is an African American motto, lol, but C’mon Son, GetDaFuckOuttaHereWitDatBullshit! Ladies there are so many other places to look for a man, so many other places to make your man jealous and so many other places to be pimped out by yo’ man, but when there are so many children and young people around that was not the venue.

Now, don’t get me wrong, some of you looked great and I can watch tight ass and camel toe all day; watch it, play with it, fondle it, but definitely in a very different setting. If you’re out there looking for a man, believe me when I tell you, if we get you looking like that then we’re just taking you home to fuck you not to wife you.

All I’m saying that there are specific venues to dress a certain way. I know that sounds very strange coming from me. Anyone who knows me will attest to that. I’m probably the farthest left a person can get when it comes to expression of oneself, dress, sex, etc. What I saw yesterday needed to be addressed. IJS


I have a brother. A brother that is two years younger than I which makes him 42 presently. Do you know that in those 42 years I cannot ever remember a time when he & I were ever friends. Yea, we’ve always been brothers, siblings, but that’s where it began and ended. We came from the same womb but always walked across the street from one another.

I write this as I think about our relationship or lack thereof. As I’ve gotten older, and moreso in the last 9 months, I have wondered about my relationship with family and moreover my relationship with my brother. Could we have been friends? Would we have been friends? Will we ever be friends? If not friends at least social with one another?

I now realize that I pushed my mother away because she wasn’t there to protect me during the abuse though I never spoke up on what was happening to me. Though, I ask, would a 6 or 7 year old DEFINITELY be able to speak up, especially if he didn’t know he was being abused and probably enjoyed the feeling? I found out recently that last December when I revealed all to my mother she became angry with me because that little boy never reached out to her for help. Seriously? Are you kidding?

My brother knew about the abuse, was a witness to it at least once that I’m aware of. I say that to say he was two years younger than I so he really would have been lost as to what should be done, if anything. Maybe his way of dealing with it was to push himself away from me as I did with my mother, my family as a whole. That crack widened further and further, more as we aged, dropping us into present day. Neither one of us has ever been able to close that gap though we have tried a few times over the years.

Over two decades ago my brother was involved in some serious illegal activity that eventually came into my mother’s house. A fact I expressed to her at that time leading to some threats by my brother towards me. Anyone who knows my brother is very much aware that he can and will carry a grudge; to the grave if necessary. I feel that incident was also responsible for the current state that he and I exist in today.

We will never get back all the lost years, that I’m very much aware, but I would like to know him and he me before it’s all over. My pops died in 2000, died in my care. During that time I came to terms and made peace with the dick he was as a father while my brother and I grew up. During my time with Jerry I was able to express how I really felt about him, tell him why I was never able to call him dad, daddy, father or pop, that he never deserved the title. I would like to not have to wait until one of us, my brother or me, is on our death bed explaining away all of the lost time.

So now what?

A Weight Lifted

Seven months ago in a New Jersey restaurant I sat across from my mother and detailed experiences I had as a child, experiences held on to for over 30 years; 30+ years of secrets, shame and misunderstanding. I cannot explain why I chose that venue though I do know why I spoke on the subject, a reason left for another post.

Me: “Why do you think we have never really been friendly or close?”

Mom: “I don’t know though I feel that over the last few years we have tried to traverse some of that distance.”

Me: “I need to tell you something and I dont want you to be angry or say anything. I just want you to listen.”

Mom: Fork down, napkin wipes mouth, “Okay. What is it?

Me: “When I was very young, 5, 6 & 7 or 6, 7 & 8 I was sexually molested. It wasn’t just one time though I cannot remember exactly how old I was when it began or ended. I tell you this because I have kept it in for such a long time, it has affected my life in such a profound way that I am only beginning to realize and or understand. It has affected how I associate with women, the types of women I have associated with, the sexual practices I have indulged in, the numerous women I have been with. A short time ago I received a text message and video that sent up a flare and I began to look back on my life and try to understand why I have walked the path(s) I had. I also feel it affected our relationship in a very negative way.

Mom: “Did it happen to JB as well?” (I’ll admit that question PISSED me off. I was there to speak to her about something that happened to me and her initial reaction to hearing my declaration is to ask about my brother.)

Me: “No, I dont think anything happened to JB and what fucking difference does that make? I’m talking about me, about you & I. If it happened to him as well then ask that motherfucker! Shit!”

Mom: (Tears)

Me: “I’ve been speaking to a therapist, a friend of mine, who assumes that as a child I wanted mom to save me, to protect me and when that didn’t happen I began to push away, to seperate myself from you and in doing that seperate myself from the family. I did what most children do, I kept it a secret possibly feeling that I would be blamed.”

Mom: “Well, what did you feel?”

Me: “I felt nothing. I can’t say if I liked it or not. I won’t lie and say my dick didnt get hard, but I never felt scared, fearful or strange around the abuser. I’m not certain if I assumed it happened to everyone or if it was supposed to happen. I don’t know what I thought. I will say, now at 43, I feel I began to hate girls as a teen and did some awful, terrible things to girls in an attempt to get even. Then as an adult I started treating women like chicks I would see in porn flicks and just have my way with them sexually. Not to say the women didn’t allow the acts, but I think I forced a great deal on many of them.”

Mom: “How do you feel now?”

Me: “I don’t know how I feel. I do know that I’m glad I told you, that lifting that weight off of me feels so much better than holding it in.”

We didn’t speak anymore during the rest of that meal. I left a day after that conversation and for that last day the conversation was not spoken about again. It was over a month before we spoke again and finally discussed the conversation of that evening. The relationship between my mother and I has improved, I’m certain we have much further to go, but we’re speaking on a regular basis now and the conversation isn’t as strained as prior to December 2010.

Since that night I have written a very detailed letter to my abuser explaining what I feel has been the affect of those nights so many decades ago. I wasn’t looking for an apology or any admission of guilt, I was simply unloading as a point of therapy. I feel that little email has strained some other aspects of my life, of family relationships; relatives I did speak to no longer reach out even if I have. I fault no one nor have I ever. As a teen and certainly as an adult I was able to make my own decisions, good bad or indifferent. The decisions I made I will have to live with including keeping the abuse to myself for such a long time.

Was it abuse? Even being so young, if I didn’t see anything wrong with what was going on can I say I was abused? According to Sexual Abuse is the infliction of sexual contact upon a person by forcible compulsion or engaging in sexual contact with a person who is below a specified age or who is incapable of giving consent because of age or mental or physical incapacity. But doesn’t it take an admission by an individual at the time to actually make it sexual abuse? Maybe I enjoyed all of it and only now after speaking with a therapist am I defining it as sexual abuse.

I’m still not close with my family and probably never will be. That is unfortunate, especially for me, but I can live with that. I will admit that in recent months I have wondered if I made the right decision in speaking to my mother, in sending the letter to my abuser. It had been a secret for such a long time maybe it should have stayed as such.

I write this as an outlet. The entire affair has been on my mind for some time now and I have not spoken about it. Sometimes writing about a subject is therapeutic and blogging for the world to see, to judge is that much more therapeutic. Once it’s out there it’s out there, you cannot pull it back so all you can do is stand and address it face on.

I guess I’m standing in the wind and waiting to address it.

Religious Hypocrisy

I am sick and tired of hearing about religious hypocrisy in the world today. We’ve had priests molesting young boys, altar boys at that. We’ve had priests sleeping with women, fathering children then changing dioceses to avoid scandals and prosecution. Now we have the latest in a long list of indiscretions, Bishop Eddie Long sending pictures to young men, using his power and influence to coerce boys into performing illicit acts. What the fuck? I have always had an issue with organized religion. The rules, the structure; since when did an individual have to make and keep an appointment to worship their god? That really bothers me. 

There is absolutely nothing wrong with faith. Whatever faiths you have cultivate it, utilize it, spread it, but do so amongst those who feel as you. I have never looked upon an individual with faith as strange, but what I do find strange are these evangelists; TD Jakes, Eddie Long, Creflo Dollar, Oral Roberts, Jimmy Swaggart and Pat Robertson living like the proverbial king while those in their congregation live in squalor and can barely afford transportation to Sunday services as deemed by these men. Shouldn’t there be some limits on faith? Do you have to give 10%? What if you don’t have it, then what? Will you not get in heaven because of such? Since when did god charge for faith and worship? Why would he/she charge? I ask these questions because I don’t have that same faith, never have and probably never will.


Many people of varying religions see god as the end all and be all, but I have witnessed entirely too much in my life to follow suit behind such notions? I have faith in myself as we all should. I have faith in the idea that anything I put my mind to I can and will accomplish and there is no higher power that is going to bring that to fruition. I will always have to do it on my own.

So now comes along Eddie Long a decade ago with a small devout following that has blossomed into this 25000 person congregation. He has power, money, prestige, he can mold the fold to do his bidding. At what point did he decide that those images were appropriate to send to anyone, let alone young boys in his charge? How did he assume they would be taken if ever seen though I’m certain he thought no one would ever see them. What else has he done, to whom? And, for the sake of argument, let’s ask what his wife is thinking. Does she now have to question all of his goings on over the years, the places he said he was, the people he said he was with? How do you cope with finding out that your husband is quite possibly on the DL? What about his children? They have to go to school with other kids watching the same news. How are they dealing?

Eddie Long has issues, period. Either he’s gay & doesn’t know it or doesn’t want to admit it. He’s on the DL. He’s a power monger using said power to manipulate. Or he’s completely innocent and these four (4) allegations are false, the men involved looking for something. I believe the latter to be false. I firmly believe what has been alleged is accurate and Long just got caught. He needs to step down for the sake of his wife, his kids the congregation, allow things to blow over, allow the media to latch onto the next big topic. The flock will always be there, will always be stupid enough to give him more money and making him even richer. Hanging around to fight is a mistake. But he’s hanging around for all the attention. You see he waited for almost a week before speaking on the matter. This gave him a week of media coverage, globally via CNN and other major affiliates. People who had no idea who Eddie Long was or where his church was now are aware and that congregation is about to multiply just as planned.

People ask why I don’t believe in god, a god, their god. If your god really existed would there have been world wars, 9/11, plague, pestilence and so many other malady’s? Would your god have allowed a predator like Eddie Long to exist and prosper? Answer those questions and talk to me after the fact.

Just think about it.

Ill Street Blues

What is the difference between a hooker and a date, better yet, a first date? 

As the male in the equation aren’t you hoping for the same outcome though with a hooker it’s guaranteed and that 1st date could be a dud?. Meaning you could be going home unfulfilled and unsatisfied with “blue balls” because she decided not to pursue the evening any further. She knew as soon as you picked her up she wasn’t sleeping with you; not tall enough, not built enough, wrong job, wrong car, she knew immediately. She could have said so right from jump, but she wanted a night out, a free meal and a chance to see put on your best game to get the panties so she could call her girlfriends later that night and laugh with them about you. 

Hey, if we’re not gonna fuck then say so, allow me an opportunity to decide if I want to continue the night, spend my money, make small talk with you before going home. Shit! I could spend the same cash on that hooker, call girl, escort and get my dick sucked before the end of the evening – GUARANTEED. 

Women just have too much power. I guess in the end it’s all the same, I’m spending money no matter what so isn’t the date a hooker herself?

The Little Engine That Could…

In 1912, the world-famous Austrian gynecologist, Dr. Hermann Otto Kloepneckler, M.D., Ph.D, published the following,

“The best engine in the world is the vagina. It can be started with one finger. It is self-lubricating. It takes any size piston and it changes its own oil every four weeks. It is only a pity that the management system is so fucking temperamental.”

Dreams… And Their Meaning, If Any???

How often do we interpret our dreams or do we simply classify them as imagined manifestations, brief images of times past or times lost?

Last night I fell asleep watching ESPN as I so often do, even when I’m on the road. I just seem to always have the TV on SportsCenter and last night was no different. Just after 3am I startled myself awake from a very disturbing dream. Funny enough, a number of people I know have had strange or disturbing dreams themselves this same week.

I was upstairs in a house, I assume my home since I could see myself in pictures around the room. I’m with this Latin woman hosting one hell of an OUTSTANDING body, smelled great and had on a very sexy lavender bra, but jeans. Don’t know how the jeans fit into this. We were going at it; kissing, feeling, licking, sucking, fucking, grinding – you name it we were doing it albeit no sex, the jeans. She did amazing things to me with her hand and her mouth, I was loving it. I hear a doorbell, stop, head up perplexed and I head towards the bedroom door stating,

“I’ll be right back. Take those damn jeans off.”

I get to the door as the bill rings again to open it and see “G” at the door. We’ll call her G for the purpose of this post, lol. She’s wearing a red, full length raincoat and, as she opens it, she shows me that the only other item being worn is a pair of high-heeled shoes.

“I’ve been thinking about you for a very long time and decided to come and show you how much.”

Right there at the door she is on me, mind you, all I have on are drawers so my surprise and delight is quite obvious. She begins fucking me and starts making all types of noise; moans, screams, etc. Who bounds down the stairs but the Latin chick from the bedroom, face curled up in anger, screaming, cursing,

“What the fuck are you doing? Who the hell is this? Why is she naked and fucking you?”

In a very calm and subtle tone G asks, “Who is that Kelly?” though she has not gotten off my dick.

Latin leaps on her pushing her off of me. G pulls a pistol from her coat pocket and aims right at Latin’s head.


Without warning the gun is aimed at me, a flash of light and I wake to a severe hard on and my heart racing. WTF?!?!

What does this mean, if anything? G I know, but I have no idea who Latin was, can’t even picture the face right now. Maybe Domino’s pizza and football before falling asleep isn’t the way to go, LMAO.

Planet Holly…Wood?

My most recent post got me to thinking about past sexual encounters, past encounters of the FANTASTIC type. I remember one particular weekend with a beautiful, brown skin woman. The weekend sort of began slowly, but ended with such a bang.

Her aroma was intoxicating, I can smell her perfume now. She had curves and a tight little ass that was so enjoyable to watch. She met me in a room, bag in tow. The bag contained some of the sexiest lingerie a woman could wear, very feminine, silky, lace, wonderful to touch. As her perfume enveloped the room I began to get turned on. She brushed passed me; a soft kiss to the lips, pushing me into a chair so she could straddle me. Needless to say my dick is now hard enough to cut diamonds. She knows…, she smiles…, she gets up, grabs her bag and heads into the bathroom.

She exits the bathroom in this sultry, oh so sexy piece of nightwear that hugs her curves in all the right places allowing just enough to show thru adding to the fantasy. I can barely contain myself, I must have her. I pull her close and kiss the softest lips I have ever had the pleasure of touching. Her tongue darts in and out of my mouth, I feel so light headed. I expose a single breast that is beautiful in my hands, nipple erect and a dark areola that makes the nipple stand out against her brown skin.

“Good lord she is so hot!,” I say to myself.

As we lay on the bed I’m all over her kissing her lips, her neck, her ears, her breasts. I have one breast in hand squeezing and playing with her nipple as I suck the nipple on her other breast. I’m kissing her belly, licking her navel… I grab that beautiful ass of hers and just squeeze feeling her cheeks move around in my hands, between my fingers. I prop myself up on my knees and slowly pull down the boy shorts that she exited the bathroom wearing. Her pussy is recently shaved and slightly wet to the touch. I locate her clit and pinch just a little, she arches her back, grabs the sheets and lets out a soft, “Uhhhhhhh.”

She and I had conversed many times before this tryst so I was aware of her sexual past and the things others hadn’t done well in the past, feelings she hadn’t experienced before, sensations not attained. I bury my face between hers legs with the tip of my tongue licking from ass to clit. I take both hands and spread her wide exposing so much beautiful pink. I stick my tongue deep inside her waiting, pulsating pussy, licking up to her clit. I hear,


Her feet are flat on the bed, knees in the air, I grab that great ass and again stick my tongue deep inside only this time as I move up her lips I place her clit between my teeth and begin to suck. As I suck I stick my finger inside her and to my surprise I hear,

“Oh my god!” Not once, not twice, but thrice. She is getting into it, enjoying it, relishing in it. She is squeezing my head between her legs, her hands are on the back of my head; lol, she’s holding me in place. She doesn’t want me to stop, doesn’t want me to move, doesn’t want me to do anything more than what I am doing with my tongue between her legs. We roll on the bed as I continue with my tongue, I caress her breasts with both hands, squeezing hard at times.

“Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god!”

She came twice as we lay on the bed, right leg trembling each time she climaxed. I lay back and enjoy looking at her curled up under the covers breathing heavy, smiling, winking at me. I’m pleased that I was able to make her feel the way she is feeling right now.

She crawls between my legs and grabs my hard-on….

That’s another story for another time, but I will say she is INCREDIBLE with her mouth.

Ahhhhhhhh, memories.

Rim Shot

I recently received a Facebook Friend Request from a name I haven’t seen, read or thought about in a very long time. How that person just happened to be thinking about me and searched my name is beyond me, again, YEARS have passed us by! I read and re-read the name reminiscing about who we were so long ago and what we did at such a young age.

My first sexual encounter was at the tender age of 14 on the roof of my building in The Bronx – Parkchester crew stand up!!!!!! I was in the 8th grade, she was two years older but still in the 7th, lol. She was dark-skinned with a pair of the largest breasts I had seen on a grammar school girl up to that point. I have to admit, it was the titties that had me shook; large, round, soft, huge nipples that stayed erect all the time. I was hooked the first time I saw them and that was clothed and covered. I fell in love with them when I finally saw the pour out of a bra and into my waiting hands. I think I kneaded them, squeezed them and sucked on them for what felt like hours before I even surfaced for air. They were gorgeous.

On the building rooftop, pants down around my ankles, drawers halfway down and a hard-on deep in her mouth she looked up and without skipping a beat asked me to fuck her in her ass.

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!!? Do what, I ask again?

She says a second time, “I want you to fuck me in my ass.” Mind you she is still sucking my dick like a champ, looking up at me with big brown eyes and a smile on her face. My back is arched, eyes rolling back in my head, hand on her head helping her along. A couple of years of Playboy magazines & 42nd street porn had put all types of ideas in my head about sex and that first time.

If you didn’t read the beginning of this passage I will bring you up to speed; I was 14 years old and she was 16 years old. At 16 she obviously had anal sex before and knew she wanted it again. At 16 you just don’t ask a nucca to stick his dick in yo’ ass unless one has been there before, right?

She pushes me away, stands and unbuttoned her jeans. She’s still looking at me, smiling, while she pulls her pants and panties down so that dark, soft, supple, round apple of an ass is staring me in the face with that sideways smirk. She bent over just slightly grabbed me by my dick and pulls me towards her waiting ass. Now I haven’t prepared for anything like this, don’t even remember if I had seen any anal sex at that point in my life. Stick my dick in your ass? Are you out of your fucking mind? She strokes me a couple of times and takes that premature ejaculate the we men produce even as boys and uses that to lubricate my dick and her ass crack. I AM READY TO EXPLODE all over this rooftop vestibule as she slowly slides me and my 14-year-old dick deep into her ass. I’m looking at me stroking and saying to myself, “What the hell is going on here?” I hear her gasp then moan as she rolls into whatever it is she rolled in to, making noises, matching my stroking motion – the whole bit.

It seemed as if it lasted forever, but I know that is not the case, but before I knew anything else I came all in her ass, on her ass, dripped on her panties, the floor – I was all over the place and gasping for air, heart racing. I’m having sex for the 1st time and I’m fucking this girl in her ass on the roof of my building.

She removed her panties completely wiped the cum off her ass and my now limp dick. Struck me funny that she put them in her purse afterwards. She pulls her pants on as I get myself together and dress also. She smiles once more, kisses me and says see you in school tomorrow as she begins walking down the stairs to the floor to get the elevator down. I’m left on the roof dumbfounded and worn out as to what just happened. I think I remained there for some time before I finally went home to shower.

She and I never dated, never even went out as friends and never had sex again. She saw me in school and acted as if nothing had happened. Ofcourse I graduated 8th grade and left for high school while she was still in that same school. We lost touch after that though I did see her on the street many, many years later while home on leave. She was pushing a stroller, carrying a child and had two other children in tow behind her. I never thought about her again until this Facebook Friend Request. I believe the memory to be more than enough she and I don’t need to be friends. I click the IGNORE button. I’ll BLOCK her if she sends another request. Again, the memory being more than enough, lol.

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