Slut Shaming, Miscommunication And Amazing Sex

Back in the Saddle

I saw George again. A week had passed since we'd last been together when I received a text from him during rush hour which read, "You must be in need of a massage later".


I will never decline his invites (as long as I'm free) due to his track record of sexing me down and his actual massages. We settled on the when and the what I should bring with me:  massage oil -- and condoms.

I'm working with a good stash so that wasn't an issue. The issue came moments later.

The Man I Said I'd Never Do

Back in the Saddle

To the one who started (or ended) it all

Source

We met during the FIFA Confederations Cup. Unfortunately, I wasn't in Brazil for the tournament. I watched the host country battle Uruguay on the big screen, broadcast in Portuguese, while I ate linguiça frita mandioca. A few days later, I watched Spain and Italy go to a 7-round penalty shootout, ginger beer in hand. On the day of the Brazil v Spain Championship game, I met a Mexican.


Juan Manuel Francisco Javier* didn't look "indigenous" (his words, not mine) and he was at least 5'10". Immediately after he told me he was an Afro-Cuban drummer (he broke down batá to me) and a saxophone player his hands and lips stood out even more; his hands screamed power, his lips fuller.

Armed and Protected

Back in the Saddle

My current condom stash with your occasional lube thrown in

I'm a condom-carrying member of the sexually active.


As I packed my bag before heading out for the night, I made sure my chapstick and lotion were accounted for, business cards and gum, threw out old receipts and flyers and made sure I had regular and extra large condoms, lubricated and not or ultra sensitive as Lifestyles like to call theirs. I also throw a couple Durex in there to give my Europeans a piece of home. The signature Magnum gold is a given. I haven't mastered female condoms yet (those things are slippery!) so I leave those home for now. I carry condoms in the same compartment with my pads and tampons. Just makes sense to me to keep all the Kitty products together.


Since I started having sex, I've always carried condoms. During my recent drought, my condoms taunted me in my bag, but they stayed put. I remember the sideways comment an ex made about why I was still carrying them even though we were together. "Dude, because we're fucking," I wanted to say but the young Abigail just screwed up her face and rolled her eyes.

Smokey Rhythms

for a friend of old and of new

It may appear as though I've been gone a while. And in a way I have been, I've been everywhere and nowhere. As a creative soul, I take these trips every once in while. Sleep is important for survival and I'm a cranky bitch when I don't get my fair share. But lately, I've barely been getting any. I've literally been living off of music, yogurt and my pen and notebook. Here's what I birthed last night on one of my psychedelic sleepless nights in and out of my body.

Smokey Rhythms

Remember the New York when you could smoke in bars? I went out a lot back then. Took home memories of those nights on my leather jacket. I could smell the events of the evenings in my jacket weeks later. The cigars, cigarettes, weed or cologne from my partners. It wasn’t a New York full of flower children practicing commune love or the key party 70’s but love was freer back then. Prudes may use the word “reckless”. Either way, I did what I did. No regrets. Just the dip in my belly when I relive the moments with him.

Big Brother NYC (REPRINT)

The recent MTA Doomsday budget got me thinking. But since I was traveling, working on an assignment and trying to rest up, I haven't had time to put my rants down on paper... yet.

I wrote this in 2007. It was published in the November 2007 issue of The New York Pamphleteers. Let's take a trip down recent-memory lane.