I Do the Fucking

2nd Thought

"Pussies get fucked. And as a female born with a pussy, all men see is how they can fuck me."

Not just literally, in the physical sense, but figuratively — in every single aspect of life. Men have told me flat out that I was too smart to be in a relationship. Maybe they were right. I’ve never been in one.

Somewhere along the way, I built my own trend. I fucked the shit out of men, then blocked them, deleted them, erased them from my life like they never existed. Their purpose had been met. My nut wasn’t physical — I rarely came, if ever. My nut came from the control. From turning the script society had handed me upside down.

See, society raised men to believe it was their God-given right to disregard and pacify women to their liking. But me? I wasn’t letting that slide. Not even on the Honey, I Shrunk the Kids scale of small. Not one ounce.

Fucked up? Maybe. But in my early twenties, this was my way of avoiding not only heartbreak, but what I watched too many women around me go through: being dickmatized. Lost in the sauce. Crying behind some man that was never theirs to begin with. I told myself that would never be me.

Now here I am, 30 years old. Longing for a serious relationship. Someone serious enough to take me seriously. And I question those actions I thought made me powerful.

Did I love those men? Absolutely. I’ve never laid down with someone I didn’t like. Some I loved more than others. I had a bad addiction to assholes and cocky kings — but I loved their unapologetic way of moving through the world. That part of men I envy: the ability to not care. To put themselves first without guilt.

Me? I can’t stop thinking, can’t stop caring, can’t stop putting others before myself. That’s why sex became something I stripped of all performance. No games, no gas, no wine and dine. Just give me the dick and let me leave. Because honestly? If you tried to romance me, you might turn me off.

But here I am now: denying dick, turning down dick, tired of just dick. I want more. And the truth is, I don’t know how to move forward from this point of selfishness. I feel like every man I fucked in my twenties shared their energy with me — mentally, emotionally, spiritually. And I don’t want to give it back. That dog, that bitch, that MF one they lend a piece of clay to, to shape who I am today, appreciates their ways. It’s the exact reason why some MFs love me, or hate to see how another MF loves me for it.

What I want is to transform it. To transcend it. To rise higher into a place where I can feel safe enough, vulnerable enough, and known enough to finally relinquish control. To actually submit. Not just in bed, but in life.

Because the truth? The only thing I haven’t been successful at is love. And besides having a deadbeat for a baby daddy, no man has ever truly fucked me — over, that is. (“Parenthood, Depression & Choosing ”Wrong”—coming next.)

I’m tired of doing the work in the bedroom. I want a man who can fuck me — if you know what I mean...