January 18, 2009 by Ari Meier.

In the darkened room, I plop down on my bed. Girlfriend is laying under mountains of cover, looking like she’s ready to sleep for the night. I know that she’s getting up early in the morning for a class. My hormones are rushing from my gonads to my brain and back again at the speed of light. I turn on the little computer. I get online as she turns over. I go to one of my sites where people like to dance horizontally on top of one another. Girlfriend sits up as my hormones leak out. This rapid leaking causes me to rub on her. The horizontal dancing on the screen is getting good and I get on her bottom. I move on it a little while she tenses it to give me more sensitivity.

I get off of her and she turns over, and turn the little computer screen over a little. I go under the hot jungle covers and spread her legs wide. She moans. I sliver my tongue gently around her spot and then suck on her little wet knob. She moans and her hormones are running out. A few minutes pass and I put my finger inside her, while sucking the slippery little knob. Under the jungle covers, I can’t see the little screen images, but I can hear a woman moaning and a clapping noise.

Girlfriend’s body get a little rigid and she presses my head harder. My heartbeat catches up to her heartbeat and her throbbing, very sucked on knob. My head is bouncing on her as she lets out a long loud moan that sounds like she’s crying and cursing, while her body vibrates like she’s on a bumpy road. It’s hot under this damn jungle blanket and I throw it off my bounced around head. She can’t do anything, she can’t move, she whispers. After a minute or so, she pulls me to her open moist legs.

Slippery moisture covers every inch of me as I go inside. She stops her move and I stop mine. I can’t look at the little screen now cause I will bust through, hormones and all. I dive deeper and she pushes more wetness on me. Then she looks at the little screen and opens her mouth slightly while letting out a moan, I pull it out far and go back in deep. We repeat the above experiences three more times, cause we’re lazy on this night. It’s a good night. As the screen goes dark, we kiss and then hold each other for a few minutes, until the damn jungle covers get hot underneath.

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November 9, 2008 by Ari Meier.

I’m living with three women, or I’m living with one and two are living with us. We’re related by the act of needing to save money that we don’t have most of the time. The other day, a guy at my job, after hearing me tell someone about my living arrangement; said that I’m living like “Three’s Company 2008.” I said, that’s partially true, my situation is more like “Four’s Company”, plus “Three’s Company’s” Jack was probably jacking off most of the time because he was not getting sex from the two women. I am getting much sex, but only from my girlfriend. I’m not Jack!

Amazingly we don’t bump heads in the rush hour mornings and hungry kitchen. We just merge seamlessly like random love birds. The non girlfriend women are young enough to be my old daughters, and I’ve actually bothered myself with the question of how I’d feel if my soon to go to school real daughter was in a similar living situation. I’m not a dirty old man, but used to be a dirty young man. But then I’m still young, but I’m not dirty.

The young ladies laugh when I start talking in lecture mode, but I understand their laughter, as I did it when I was their age. They may also laugh at my choice of clothing style because I don’t dress typical to my age group. They don’t understand that age is a lie, an illusion. I’m forever 21 and it feels good. This living arrangement also brings me swift feel good memories of my college days. One of the ladies’ cousins dropped by the other day; saying that she wanted to move in with us because it felt cool and reminded her of a large college dorm room. Four’s Company. Five’s insanity!

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November 8, 2008 by Ari Meier.

I knew she would do it. I saw it in her eye when I was on the computer too long Friday night. It’s just like her to do it and I shouldn’t be the least surprised. After making more corrections on my book and reading forums, blogs, emails, MySpace, Facebook and reading more emails, I finally rolled into bed about 4 am. Everything seemed innocent enough and quiet. But I knew that she’d make a move and she’d make that move when I mostly expected it.

Sure enough my sleep was broken by fingers and a hand. This hand rubbed my leg, then on the bottom of my stomach. I turned my head to look at the clock, 5:30. I thought, maybe she doesn’t want to do it, that maybe it’s a middle of the sleep hand outta control. Her hand reached my stiff dick, caressing it with the strong sexual urge caress. I knew that I wouldn’t be going back to my slumber right away. I’m not complaining about the fact of my stiff dick and the fact that my dick is stiff most of the time, but like most men say, it’s stiff without any provocation early in the morning.

Her molesting hand rubbed my hard dick as the sleepiness slowly left my body in anticipation of the upcoming horizontal hump dance, I couldn’t help but to remember how often we’ve been having sex lately and how this started happening. I was soon lying on my back and she crouched over me, while pulling her panties off. With the sound of the panties coming, my dick’s hardness was intensified. She started grinding her clit on my hard dick and I got more aroused with feeling her juices on my dick. Five thirty seven. This middle of the night man molester, slowly slid her hot juicy pussy over my dick, slowly rising and falling on it like a nasty sunset and sunrise. She threw her back into the humping, and it was hard. I felt good, especially as I was too sleepy to do a lot, except maybe move a little while on my back. She kept at it for a few minutes, then stopped abruptly, instructing me not to move.

She wasn’t ready to come yet and I started thinking about if she was going to work in a few hours and I wanted us to check out the book festival around noonish. Gotta get at least six hours of sleep. She started humping again and with each thrust, I would feel the goodness of her juices running down my dick and onto my crotch area. She humped harder and started looking at the wall, while breathing heavily. She let out a moan as she came strongly and spilling more juice onto my dick. I’m thinking at this moment that I’ll get my nut and we can both roll over and finish our sleep. Oh no, not ms “I wanna come some more before we’re done”. She rolled my sleep heavy body over onto her, while positioning me between her moist thighs. I somehow summoned up some more energy to throw a little back, (just a little) into our horizontal hump dance.

I thrusted deep in her, then she stopped me. Again, she wanted to build up the orgasm strength. We started humping harder, harder, then she let out a moan as she tensed her body to let the climax roll through her like a wave, then I came hard, while pulling out right before I shot my load into her good stuff. As I was coming, I grinded on her pussy lips, while going through my orgasmic jerks, she squeezed out the remaining semen.

I awakened to not less than two good sleep in the morning no-no’s: a screaming overhead light and a I’m going to work and can you drop me off voice. I’m thinking that I’ll drop her off at the train station, which would get me back in my bed in under ten minutes. She instead, wanted me to drop her off at the job, which is about a fourteen minute roundtip. It seemed to take her forever to decide on what to wear and she intermittedly harassed me about leaving soon and putting on my clothes. Putting on my clothes was the easiest part and even getting out of bed was not so bad, it was the harsh greeting from the early morning sun and heat that made me feel like I was being attacked. As we drove down Peachtree, we noticed crowds of people lining the streets as if either a parade just happened or was about to happen.

As I’m a parade person, I got curious and awakened more. Dragon*con! Dragon*con’s in town and this was the annual parade. my excitement caused me to blurt out, “I’m checking this parade out”. But I didn’t want to go to the parade my wearing pajama-like shorts. My excitement grew as I saw groups of Star Wars characters marching on the sidewalks, while sporadic cheers rang from walking spectators. I rushed home, got online and googled “Dragon con” while hoping that I hadn’t missed or that the parade wouldn’t start right away. My parade freak ass, yelled when I saw that the parade wouldn’t start until ten and it was about nine twenty. I quickly showered, put on clothes and acted like I was fussing with my hair.

I cranked up my Ipod, grabbed my bag and walked out the door heading to the subway. I mused for a few minutes on the popularity of the “man-bags” or carrier bags. Amazed at how ahead of the current trends my non fashionista ass has been. But then I’m a bag collector, like how women like collecting their pocketbook and purses, my collecting freakdom is backpacks and backpack-like bags. I must have had ten bags at one time, until nostalgia was replaced with being more practical. Eight minutes and three April March songs later, I’m descending down into the hot Midtown subway station, where I see Alabama and Clemson fans and Dragon*con-like people standing, waiting on the metal human carrying snake.

After a six minute ride, listening to the out of towners muse about the upcoming game and looking nervously in my direction, I took the elevator up to Peachtree (because I don’t too much like the long ass escalator at Peachtree Center station, it makes me feel strange) and saw many people lined up on both sides of the street. I was amazed at the number of people that showed up for the parade and I made a mental note comparing the amount of people here with the number of people at other parades. It seemed to have similar numbers of people between the Dragon*con parade and the Christmas parade. The parade started reached us about five minutes later and I started snapping pitures from my cell phone. The Dragon*con parade is always a freaky affair and the beautiful thing about it is there’s no politicians riding in or on cars blasting you with their bullshit about voting for them, the closest thing that was in the parade to that type of craziness, was the occasional politician spoof riding through.

I experienced the child like excitement of seeing the Justice League Super heroes, two Santa Clauses, faeries, Star Wars characters, Battlestar Galactica characters, strange and unknown aliens and horror figures. The parade lasted for nearly an hour and afterwards my starving stomach called for a trip across the street to Mcdonalds. After waiting in line for about 40 minutes, I finally got up to the counter. I listened to this woman behind me complain about “how slow the workers are moving” to that Mcdonald’s seemingly lack of planning in handling this anticipated large crowd. She complained and her anger grew with each second and I wanted so much to tell her to shut the fuck up and either deal with the service or get the fuck on.

Her boyfriend or husband provided the long needed balance of her continual bitching session, by interjecting about the costliness of the Mcdonalds hiring more workers when for the high traffic occasions when the current staffing levels are sufficient maybe 90 percent of the time. I ordered a Southern chicken meal and decided at the last minute to get one apple pie. The young and flirtatious cashier tried selling me on getting two of the pies as they were on sale for 2 for one dollar. She told me that one pie would cost more than two and I got a little pissed as I couldn’t see the logic. I felt as if Mcdonalds was trying to get my ass fat with a deal like that as I couldn’t see the logic of them selling two pies for cheaper than one pie and making money off of the deal. “Of course they must be trying to stress out my pancreas with the two pies” , screamed my paranoid mind.

By this time the four hours sleep was getting the best of my body and it didn’t help to know that I wouldn’t go home and go to sleep because I wanted to be at the Decatur Book Festival around 12ish to see Amiri Baraka speak. I texted my sweetie to tell her that I was across the street from her job and that we’ll be riding the train home together and when I walked out on the sidewalk, I looked ahead and saw a familiar face. It was my coworker from my last serious job. Though I didn’t know her well, as she worked on a floor that my mail cart rarely visited, she gave me a I know you hug and we exchanged quick words. She asked me about where I was with my music and life and I asked her about her current job. She’s a website maintainer at one of the local colleges, but she shied away from being called a web master (or webmistress).

I pulled out my book proof copy and listened to her as she complimented my effort and she seemed genuinely impressed. She wanted to keep in touch with me and told me that she’d send me an email with her blog addresses. I wanted to keep in touch with her because of her being a web geek. We said bye to each other and I crossed Peachtree while lookingup at the Westin’s tall phallic shaped hotel, remembering how enamored I was with that hotel’s design as a teen. My girl burst forth through the office building’s front door after about five minutes of waiting and we descended into the subway station by way of the piss smelling elevator.

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September 19, 2007 by Ari Meier.

Stop Flunking in Girls 101

There are many single women out there. They are beautiful, bright and economically advantaged single women. Despite what the media is always harping on, there are many single, responsible, handsome, bright, ambitious brothas out there.

But, sometimes with the way both parties act, you would think that all of the eligible sistas were moved to the distant planet of Stand-offische and the brothas were schooled by the Hungry Dogg Club. The same old, tired scenarios seem to play out between the sexes since the hot molten liquid of planet earth, cooled down enough to have God plop man and woman on its surface. On this planet, we’ve mostly been influenced to look at the way a person look on the outside, rather than feeling the spirit of that person. For instance, you have the beautiful sista with either, no special man in her life or with a special man in her life, but he doesn’t look like her type. There are various reasons for men-less women, ‘mix-match’ couples and women-less men. The main reasons that are being touched on in this writing also have a common cause.

Stop Flunking in Girls, Man. Stop showing her the side of you that’s not real. Women are in tune to the bullshit. If they don’t seem to be, it’s only because they choose to ignore the little voice within. Most women only want a down to earth man that looks decent for them at the least and who will treat them with kindness, compassion and respect. Women that only seem to gravitate towards the ‘sugar daddies’ or super handsome model types, are in the minority and even those women when asked to go deep within their soul, would want a kind, respectful brotha.

One of my college buddies and I are hanging out at one of Atlanta’s hottest clubs on a Saturday night. The music is thumping, as always, and the sistas are out in full force and when I get that half scared half excited feeling in my stomach, as I walk through the dimly lit club. My friend is starting to hang on to just about every sista he passes by. I am calm and cool, on the outside (as always) although I admit that the sistas’ big asses and thighs bursting through their skirts are starting to arouse the dog. I speak to a few sistas while gently rocking my head to the music.

I may be one of the strangest guys as far as clubbing goes, because I rarely dance when I go out. In fact, I’ve only danced one good time in my entire clubbing life (which in itself was not too extensive). I only went to clubs to meet women, get numbers and get laid. My friend has found his first victim for the night. A tall, caramel colored honey with a dining room table ass and painted on clothing (they’re fitting her that well). My friend is starting his thing of “you so gorgeous and fine, I would love to get to know you”, and “let’s dance”.

She looks as if she just received a telemarketing call during dinnertime. I step further into the shadows to see the ‘I only want to get her in bed show’. Then my friend starts telling her about the money that he’s making and what he’s doing for a living. Keep in mind, I don’t remember her even giving him more than her name and that’s it. After about 30 minutes of advertising his ‘virtues’, he asked for her number. There is a pause, and then the nerve shaking answer is delivered: “No, you’re not my type.” My friend is still trying to get her number by hyping himself higher. She insists, no!

Now, this sista is hot and I don’t remember my friend ‘scoring’ with her, so I keep my eye on her for a few moments. The music is thumping harder and is providing the perfect backdrop for my ‘verbal painting’. Walking up to this fine honey, I can’t help but notice her architecture: tall (about five eight or so), big, beautiful eyes and luscious lips and a smile that will melt a mountain. She sees me. I smile. She smiles. My heart races and my mind braces. (Words… gotta say some words).

I introduce myself. She small talks about my friend and laughs. She asks, “Are you from Atlanta?” Atlanta. “No”, I say. “I’m a just a strange country boy.” She’s from Michigan and has been in Atlanta for about two years. After telling her that I’m from Augusta and seeing her disbelieving face, I tell her that I’m not from Augusta, I’m from Saturn and I’ve only lived on earth for about 160 years. She laughs hard.

We talk on and on into the funky music night. Subjects such as art, music, philosophy, writing and even God were touched on. After about an hour of talking and no dancing, it was time to leave, so I told her goodbye, “Hope to run into you again,” I said. As I spat out the last word, she offered me her number and asked for mine. She had to keep in touch with me, because she wanted to “continue our conversations,” she said. My friend walked up as me and the honey was exchanging numbers. He glared at her and had the audacity to utter the words: “I can’t believe you want to be bothered with him (talking about me). He can’t spend the money on you like I can”. Of course, he said it in a playful tone to play off his bruised ego, but she just looked at him and looked at me, and then laughed.

Over the next several weeks, we got to know each other very well. Even though our friendship didn’t evolve into a more serious relationship, this true story is repeated everyday where ego-drenched men are selling their external selves to women, and the real, down to earth men are racking up the women and maintaining solid relationships.

As strange as my look and views have been, I’ve not had a hard time hooking up with women. When a sista would meet me, she would actually meet me. She would see a man that has an artistic, eclectic look, have a different outlook on life and embrace the bizarre. I wouldn’t have to pose a certain way in public, you know the, oh so cool brotha look. If, while I’m walking, I stumble slightly, I would laugh about it without feeling un-cool or goofy. This is a part of my personality. That’s all I can be.

While the above story won’t represent most men-women meeting situations, the one thing that is constant is just be yourself. The way a man looks does matter in terms of success or failure in meeting women. The way that a man relates, by talking to women also, determines his success, but his sex appeal is probably bigger than his looks. Sex appeal doesn’t necessarily mean that the man is (in the words of many sistas) a ‘cutey’. He may capture sistas with his eye contact or poetic words. He may move as smooth as an eagle; whatever the case is, many women will find this brotha hard to say no to.

Brothas, if you don’t have natural sex appeal, whatever you do to suggest otherwise will fail, you will look as if you’re trying too hard. But on the flip side, if you do have loads of sex appeal and try to deny it, that can make you even more attractive to sistas. Go figure. Does having a great sex appeal equal to having a lot of sex? No, yes or maybe. It depends on if the guy have the ‘intent disguise ability.’ This is the ability to meet a fine sista, damn well knowing that you want her, but you act as if you don’t.

In the earlier club scene, the fine sista with the dining table a.. , you know what I’m talking about. I was initially attracted to this woman based on her exterior dimensions, I didn’t know if her breath stank, if she had rotten teeth, funky toes or if she picks her nose. I knew only about what I saw and that was that ferocious back-end. A back-end that I had already found room in my nasty mind to eventually get a piece of. I’m sure that she knew my intentions (as most women do), but for me to be blatant about it as my friend was, smacks short of asking her to go to a hotel room. Of course,the sexuality of the meeting was neutralized by good conversation, which has always been the main ingredient of my ‘intent disguise ability’. Men and women know instinctively that the purpose of meeting each other is to get into somebody’s bed and play the hump game. And why do we like playing the hump game? To make babies and keep the human race going. It is in man’s genetics to go after that ‘thang’ and it’s in woman’s genetics to make us work for it.

Society of course makes sistas feel guilty about their own sexual needs and urges, so you’ll have some sistas that will make some men jump off bridges and climb the Empire State Building in order to get some. That’s guilt on steroids. But brothas, if you want to get anywhere with the sistas, it would help if you disguise your intent somewhat. Now I don’t want the sistas angry at me for what seems to be me advising brothas to deceive them in order to get into their pants (I’m not doing this). I realize that sex is a major part of the game, and I know that sistas play to brothas wants and needs (as well as theirs) by the way they look and dress (make-up, revealing and form-fitting clothing). I only want to expose the deeper bottom line. Maybe, if I express it differently if would sound better: brothas, do as the sistas do, downplay your true sexual feelings and urges and express them at a more appropriate time.

Brothas, are you ready to go clubbing so that you can get some ‘good stuff’, or are you ready to open your minds and expand your dimensions, so that you can have quality rather than quantity. There is someone for everybody. If you go for everybody, you usually end up with no one. Remember that women are infinitely smarter than YOU are. When they want you, THEY will CHOOSE you.

Remember your biology class back in the day, regarding the sperm and the egg cell. You have millions of fast swimming, aggressive sperm cells in a drop of semen. They’re all racing after one egg. The egg actually chooses which sperm is going to fertilize it. The fastest arriving sperm cell is not guaranteed to fertilize the cell. Women instinctively KNOW on a genetic level, which man is genetically better to fertilize her egg(s).

Sex is an overrated subject in American society. It’s overrated because only the basic design or basic structure of sex (i.e. the physical act and physical urges for booties, thighs and breasts) is emphasized. Most popular culture, emphasizes the physical aspects of sex. In many women’s minds, the possibility of meeting a man bring with it, the possibility of romance, love and eventually children. So, sex is used as the bait, to attract and reel in a man. Many men don’t ALLOW their feminine selves to be expressed with their women and that’s part of the reason why many, if not most women, are unsatisfied in their relationships. Brotha, it’s time to change the course of your ship. You may get her into bed and ‘bang a few screws’, but if you’re not feeling her, then you won’t have her too long.

According to most women, many men don’t like to do much foreplay (or at least the amount that women need for basic arousal). Many sex surveys also show, that many men don’t care whether their significant other feel satisfied or have an orgasm. What’s wrong brothas? If you want to stop flunking in girls 101, you need to do a 180-degree turnaround. There’s entirely too much blame coming from the brothas regarding why their women are not ‘getting theirs’. There are too many sex-lazy men that want to roll over like a big dripping bear after his squirt gun goes off. There’s too many brothas that don’t know how to tenderly massage, touch and caress their women. Many sistas need to be caressed. Many women need their man to be a little gentle, once in a while.

Brothas, get into your woman like you would your BMW or Impala. The same compassion and the love that you feel for your ride, you need to triple that feeling toward your woman. Shower her with dripping sugary words every day. Pepper her with sentences that speak of the care and love that you have for her. If you don’t love her yet, then tell her how much you appreciate her essence and mind. Brotha, feel good about the fact that whatever your age is, you chose this point in time to stop flunking in girls 101; you chose to change your way of thinking, your way of meeting sistas, your way of having sex. You didn’t change because it was the latest fad or trend; you changed because you want to be a joy to your woman or potential woman. You wanted to retire an old, crusty, dusty model of what the world said men should be like, and go in the direction of being more of the ideal man.

Remember in order to stop looking as a fool, you must keep in mind these very important points: Women are stronger and smarter than you (how do I know and why do I keep expounding on this point?) One thing is women can have babies without ANY medical assistance. How many men do you know that would be able to withstand three months of morning sickness that some sistas experience in pregnancy, much less carry a baby for nine months. There are many stories about men fainting at the mention of their woman going into labor.

Remember that women like sex just as much if not more (when it’s good) than men do. When brothas don’t express their whole self in the sex moment, the true power of the connection between the vagina and penis is not fully realized. There are some men that are wholistic in their approach to sex and those are the brothas that are snatching and keeping women like there’s no tomorrow. The main point to remember is, the intuitive ability of sistas. If more sistas realized that they are naturally more intuitive, they wouldn’t be held captive by the illusion that they are the weaker sex, or that they don’t deserve good things. They would know how to anticipate our every move when needed.

Most of these words were written back in 1989, when I was 23 years old. Now I am in my late thirties and the ‘man meets woman’ scene is still the same. There’s desperation on both sides. Many women are desperate for love, true sexual connection, understanding and respect. Many men seem desperate for many different pieces of cake and more vagina experiences. Yes, many men seem to be still flunking in girls 101.

Ari Meier

Written in May 1989

Updated in January 2002

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September 19, 2007 by Ari Meier.

The Day I was Shown Pussy Tree

I spent my early years in Augusta, Georgia. An old city, joining a section of Georgia and South Carolina together; a city blessed with a bunch of hospitals, the ‘Big Golf Game’ and the Savannah River. In this big small city, my imagination was my only true friend. I remember the fun times going to my aunt’s house during the summer. I was maybe, seven or eight years old, when I first noticed the tree. Only my imagination could see what I saw on that tree. At that tenderoni age, I couldn’t have possibly seen a real one or even know what a real one looked like. But never-the-less, I saw it and I showed it to my younger sister and cousin. There it was shaped by nature and having almost perfect form. This tree growing beside my aunt’s house, right next to her crooked driveway had what looked like a big pussy on it.

I don’t exactly remember when I became pussy conscious. But that tree sported a big pussy and the other thing about it, the pussy was closed as if suggesting that it was a virgin pussy. Of course I’m interjecting my present views about it looking like a closed virgin pussy. I didn’t know what a virgin was and surely wouldn’t have known if a virgin pussy looked any different than any other kind of pussy. Playing near the pussy tree brought snickers to my sister, cousin and me. For a long time we knew this was our major secret.

The illusion of this secrecy was shattered on one nasty summer day. One of my older cousins and my daddy’s stepfather’s son had a secret to share with me. I was thirteen, 80 percent nerd, 20 percent cool. Walking across the street, I wondered what these sneaky-eyed dudes had up their sleeves. My imagination kicked in with fast car speed: maybe I’m being initiated into a club. Nah, I thought, I’m just being led to the pussy tree. The grins on their faces got bigger as we got closer to the tree. My uncle was from up north and he usually talked loud, so when he adopted a hush, hush ‘I’m full of secret talk’ persona, I knew that this was not an ordinary gathering. I felt that I was being initiated into a world from which I would never escape.

In his best impersonation of a sneaky character, he pointed to the pussy shape on the tree and asked me if I knew what it was. My cousin, with an equally sneaky freaky look on his face, started snickering. My uncle was not much older than myself, but because my family put a lot of respect and dignity into the word uncle and in the person, an uncle had almost as much respect as a father. In my young silly mind, my respect for my uncle was put in another category. Any mystery that he had as an uncle was destroyed, and at the same time, I felt a little fear. I started to feel that I was being initiated into the ‘you’re getting older’ club. I had a bad taste in my mouth from my fears. I knew what the shape on the tree looked like, but did I know what it was. Was I being set up to be laughed at? Were my uncle and cousin just asking an obviously, sexually, inexperienced boy about an intimate female body part that they surely must’ve seen many times, to hear my response and fall out laughing? Well, I summoned the courage to tell them that it was a pussy. I heard a slight giggle from the right. I then felt light headed and a little hungry. My uncle then asked me if I had ever screwed one. Now this question really took me by surprise. Screwed one? Do they realize that I’m only thirteen? Thirteen year-olds don’t screw pussies to my knowledge. We only liked to hunch on girls’ booties and if we got lucky, we could ‘get the front side’.

I felt an overpowering urge to tell them that I had screwed a pussy before, feeling a little like an initiate of their club. I was in a nervous, silly teen mood. I allowed the word yes to slide out of my innocent mouth. My cousin jumped into overdrive with his questions about my pussy getting experience. Why would he ask that? I starting drawing on serious imagination, some of my lies came to me from the sneaky readings of my mother’s black sex education book. After the first word or two out of my mouth, my uncle knew I was a virgin. So, we walked into my aunt’s den and I, the student was given a whirlwind sex education. It was free, straight-forward and strangely enough, it seems as if my mother, grandmother and aunt knew about this whole scene unfolding. My mind started its thing of non-stop questions. Did my mom, and the others ask my uncle and cousin to drag me to the pussy tree just to initiate this informal ‘University of Sexual Education’? Of course my young silly ass couldn’t be without nervous, embarrassed laughter with each description of the sexual events.

The turning point came when my uncle told me about condoms. He told me that I should put these on my dick to keep from making a baby. He told me about an internal stream that would shoot out of my dick when the sex is feeling the best. I knew about the mechanics of that from reading my mom’s black sex book. But I had never experienced the stream when humping on girls around that time. I knew that the humping felt good, but why didn’t my stream shoot out? I started to feel that maybe the stream would only come out, if I put my dick in a pussy. Somehow I was confused about the sex mechanics, not connecting what I had been doing in hunching is essentially the same as screwing, except my dick would be in her instead of in my underwear or on her booty.

The lessons lasted for a while. My mother walked in with an ‘I know what you’re talking about’ look on her face. She looked at my uncle and cousin and verified my suspicions with the question of “are y’all teaching that boy about the birds and bees?” By now I’m through, my mother knows! This can’t be happening. My uncle answered. “He’ll be cool.” It was almost two years before I actually got me some, and yes my inside stream flowed out and yes, I did have a condom on. Strangely, for the first few times that I screwed, those lessons in my thirteenth year would whisper in my ear when it was time to perform, I would then grin in the dark while mounted on top of some man’s daughter.

Many years later, I visited pussy tree a few times, with my first wife and then my second wife. I felt that the showing of this tree was like showing them a sacred object or something serious like that. Both times, they listened to my story, while being in awe about the way nature carved this pussy into the tree. Even though things did change, I‘ll never forget my nasty, sun summer, day schooling that broke the secret of pussy tree, and started me on the road to the serious study of how and at what cost I could get mo’ pussy. Because, I liked to feel the inside stream shooting out.

ari meier 2.19.00

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August 30, 2007 by Ari Meier.

Sistas, the task of identifying and avoiding guys that are playas or act like playas, shouldn’t be too complicated. Instead, many women today are not listening to their inner selves; they’ve lost much of their connection to the world of spirit and intuition. The ‘going with the gut feeling’ is systematically thrown out the window in favor of ‘letting things go with the flow’, or ‘maybe he’ll change with time’.

When you’re in a relationship and something doesn’t feel quite right about your boyfriend or husband, then you should simply ask God what’s the deal with him? Listen for an answer that’s not coming from a mind that wants the relationship to last, but listen with an objective mind, that’s also not being negative towards your man. You only want an answer. Remember sista, being woman, you are already naturally more intuitive, so when you get that ‘inkling’ that your man may be ‘squirting his shit’ in another woman, then you should have a frank discussion with him about your concerns.

The above advice is for the women who are dealing with the pros, fortunately the fake playas and phony pimps are much easier to root out. Sistas, you know these men all too well. They get the late calls with the accompanying secretive sounding, whispering voices. They’re always hanging with ‘the boys’ and sometimes the other woman will somehow get your number and call you to tell you the deal with her and ‘your man’. Lose his ass.

Nowadays, sistas have other types of deception to deal with: their men fucking men. These are the so-called, down low brothas. In one example, I met a young brotha from another country, a couple of years ago. He used to work in a mall that a female friend and I ate lunch almost daily. This guy was around 19 or 20 at the time, silly, outgoing and friendly. A year had passed since we saw our friend. Then one day, heading to our favorite table, this strange woman came up to us in a half flirting way. She said, “Don’t act like you don’t know me.” My lunch friend is NOT the one to talk crazy like this to, especially when she’s about to put some food in her mouth. After a minute, or so, of the guessing games, my friend started telling this woman about the need to be respectful, and also letting her know that we don’t know her and asked her to leave our table. The woman then asked us, if we remembered the little guy from so and so restaurant in the mall. We told her yes. She then shrugged her shoulders as if to say, I am the little guy. My friend and I looked at each other in disbelief, saying hell no, at almost the same time. Looking at this ‘woman/man’ with cocked eyes and angled heads, the guy had become a woman. Being in Atlanta, that’s not a major surprise, but to actually have known the guy in his ‘pre-girl’ state was too much for my friend. She politely told the guy, “We need to eat now, so see you later.”

Since then, I’ve run into this guy a few times on the street. One night, while walking down Peachtree Street, coming from the drugstore. I noticed far ahead, a woman was walking towards me. As I got closer, I realized that this ‘woman’ was the guy from the mall. I spoke to him, asking him what was he doing out here (this section of Peachtree is known for transvestite prostitutes). He says that he’s picking up men for money because he has to pay his rent. Starting to feel like a journalist, I wanted to know what type of guys he tricked. He said, “I only fuck straight guys!” Of course, I seized the few words that would seemingly shoot his statement down: “How can you call them guys straight when they’re fucking with you, a man?” He nonchalantly replied “These niggas are straight to society, they have wives and girlfriends. I only fuck with men that have wives or girlfriends!” Wow! I left with an uneasy feeling in my stomach, telling him bye and “Be careful out there.”

I don’t have issues with people choosing to be with the same sex (if that’s their thing), my main issue is if a man has a girlfriend or wife, and he wants to have a double life (especially with another man), then he should respect his woman and let his intentions be known. It’s only fair and he’s truly being a man. Give the sista a chance to decide if that’s what she wants. I can understand why brothas would be secretive, but being a real man will involve standing up for what you believe. If you’re feeling the act of putting your dick in a man’s ass or mouth, then stand up for it, be a man! Sure, you may be talked about, misunderstood, banned from your parent’s house or church. But be a man and stand up for what you like! The ‘down low movement’ is becoming a major trend in young and older black men. The earlier words are not just reserved for the straight brothas, who happen to fuck or get fucked by men; this applies to the brothas who fuck around with other women too. Herpes, Chlamydia, gonorrhea and syphilis are serious guests to bring home, and they cross the gender boundaries, not caring about whether you’re gay or straight.

It’s time for more straight talk: if your man is always hounding you about ass fucking you, then you need to be a little concerned about where he likes to put his dick. Before all the freaks start calling me a prude, I’m not saying that all men who ass-fuck their women are gay, or so called bisexual, but not too many truly straight men, will harass women about ass fucking them, when a vagina is so much easier to penetrate. Also, if your man wants to do some ‘salad tossing’ or eating ass, you might be a little concerned about that also. Again, there are a few straight men that may enjoy this but the operative word is few.

My theory is that most of the down low brothas want to expose their secrets, but only in small doses. They’re telling you their true desires with the incessant ass fucking and ass eating. Sistas, identify the signs of a straying man! Most men are not trying to hang with the boys all the time, unless he’s either fucking the boy(s), fucking a woman, or he just doesn’t like you enough to want to be around you! You can do fine by yourself until the right guy come along. Many women get all caught up in the emotions, and it’s much harder to shake the playa out of the relationship, that’s when it takes a lot of patience and discipline. Say to yourself, ‘I’d rather be unhappy for a minute than be unhappy for a lifetime’. Women need to demand respect, if the man doesn’t love you right now, at the minimum, he should respect you. The anti pimp/playa game plan:

1. Any man that refers to women (especially women who are strong minded and opinionated) as bitches or hoes, don’t need to get as far as getting your number!
2. Any man that tries to force himself on you (as in having sex) and then gets an attitude or disappears for a minute, don’t deserve to smell your vagina, much less put his penis in it!
3. Any man that can’t take you to a park, cultural function, concert or a restaurant (other than a fast food place), don’t deserve you; you’re way too high class for his ass!
4. If a man constantly talks about his past girlfriends as if he’s bragging about the things that he got away with while in that relationship, well sista if you don’t dump his ass, then you’re not too bright!
There’s NO man that’s worth any potential heartaches, you simply DESERVE better! You’re a goddess, a queen and to be treated any less than that, you’re missing out on a lot in life. Avoid the playa, pimp and Loser!

2003

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