No Sex and The Queen City: There will be a test

Over on my sister blog, Sublime Satisfaction, they have been talking about the lack of love in our hometown, Charlotte.

Technically, I don’t live in Charlotte, I live in Matthews — a little town that is a stone’s throw from the “big city.”

So, I spend a lot of time in Charlotte looking for a suitable man to bed, I mean date. Even erotica authors want more than just sex all the time. However, I’m finding that most men simply want pussy.

No relationship. No friendship. Just. Pussy.

Don’t get me wrong, women want sex just as much as men and a woman of my age (over 30, that’s all you need to know) is at her sexual peak. Like the top of Mount Everest.

But I’m all about safe sex. This guy that I met about six months ago could have gotten the ride of his life, but he had an issue when I suggested that we get tested before having sex.

That was the only red flag I needed. I told him that we could’ve gone to the health department and get the tests for free. He said no.

I told him he had the option of going to his regular doctor. He said no.

I’m not going to beg anyone to do a damned thing. So, when he called after telling me no twice, I didn’t answer. He sent a text. I didn’t reply. He even sent a picture of his penis — I wasn’t impressed and I didn’t reply.

Here’s the thing, the need to come doesn’t override the need to be protected. If a man can take the time to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases, he can never ever slide between my thighs.

 

Check out Nina Fredricks’s erotic tale, In The Basement.

No Sex and The Queen City: You don’t have a man because you have no MANNERS

Charlotte, the city of Food Truck Friday.

My friend LF and I decided to hit up the South End tonight and see what the hype was all about. It was crowded and tasty. As LF and I stood in line for dessert, I caught a glimpse of the old me: Rude, loud and angry.

When LF and I walked up to the line, these two girls gave us hella side eye, as if we were trying to break in front of them or something. We knew the line ended behind them, thank you very much. While we waited for our turn in line, a dog and its owner approached LF. She. Doesn’t. Like. Dogs!
She moved to my left and let out a yelp. The dog’s owner and rude chick one laughed. LF rolled her eyes. She believes that responsible dog owners should keep their dogs away from people who aren’t fawning over their animals.

Rude chick one: “I like dogs but I can’t stand it when a man runs from a dog that under 70 pounds.”

Rude chick two: “Why?”

RC1: “Because he’s not trying to protect me. It’s different when a girl runs.”

RC2: “Well, if he’s running, then he’s not thinking about you.”

RC1: *munching on some chips in a cup* “Then he wouldn’t be my man.”

The line moves forward and RC1 asks the man in the truck if he has a refill special. Hold up? LF whispered in my ear. “These bats aren’t even buying anything but gave us the evil eye?”

I nudge her. She’s about to be rude herself. LF continues and her voice goes up an octave. “You don’t have a man because you have no manners.”

Truth hurts. But LF has a point. Who wants to be with the girl who’s ready to pop off every five minutes? You have to be careful how you treat people while batting your eyelashes at the man you want bed, be in a relationship with or be the wife of. . .you can bet he’s watching.

Yeah, she’s crazy. Let me call my ex and tell her that I miss her.

No Sex and The Queen City: And you still believe in love?

One of my dearest friends has had three great loves. One of them happens to be the city of Charlotte. When she attending college in the Queen City, she fell in love with the place. Bigger than her hometown, but small enough where she wouldn’t get lost. So, after graduating in the 1990s, she wanted to stay. Unfortunately, she didn’t find a job in her field — in Charlotte. She found a job in Georgia.

Always up for adventure, she left Charlotte. But four years later, she was back. No longer a college co-ed and over the age of 21, she was ready to see what grown up Charlotte was all about.

A year after moving back to Charlotte, she met her first “grown up” boyfriend. We’ll call him Sebastian. I love the way she tells me how they met.

“I was walking down the sidewalk in South End, searching for a Diet Coke. Then out of no where this black Ford Explorer blocks my path. My first thought was this motherfucker is trying to kill me. Then he leans out of the driver’s side window — chomping on a Rice Krispy Treat — talking about, I wasn’t trying to hit you, but I wanted to stop you.”

How. Romantic.

“Any way. I thought his passenger was cute. A lot cuter than Sebastian. But he didn’t say a word and Sebastian was like, I want to give you my number and I hope you will call me sometime. He handed me a business card, which in the early 2000s was the Charlotte thing to do. For some reason, if you didn’t have a business card, people thought you were nothing or at least lying about your employment. After all, Charlotte is a bank town.”

Any time someone says Charlotte is a banking town, this images and these lyrics pop into my head:

Baby, nothing come 4 free now If u want 2 be with me now What’s it gonna be now? Is it love or is it money? Tell me, tell me what’s your name? What’s your claim 2 fame? U see, I don’t like silly games Is it love or is it money? Tell me what’s on your mind? Are we just makin’ time? Will our spirits rhyme? Is it love or is it money?

Anyway, back to the story.

“So, I decided that  I wasn’t going to call him. I was feeling kind of bitter when it came to men. They all had the same story and I was sure that Sebastian would be the same way.”

And what was that story?

“It was like a bad TV script: I just got out of a relationship. I’m not looking for anything serious. I just want to be friends — friends who fuck.”

Ain’t nothing changed.

But she did call him. Because another friend, who we’ll call the Love Fairy, said she should give him a chance and what would a phone call hurt? Two days later, she took LF’s advice and called.

“And I was right. He and his baby mama had just broken up. He wasn’t trying to get serious right now, but he couldn’t stop thinking about my ass in those pink pants. We dated. We watched movies. And finally in July, we had sex. He had a huge dick and knew how to use it. Unfortunately, he was a bigger dick than the one between his legs. After we had sex, he thought that he was in control over what I did. I don’t tap dance for a man. And I was not going to tap dance for a fool who couldn’t keep his promises. I knew we had to break up when I got into an argument with him while driving down Central Avenue and my face turned red. No orgasm is worth that.”

There have been other relationships. Other men in her life. But she’s the first one to tell you that she hasn’t found love.

“Maybe I should stop confusing my clitoris with my heart. Then I might find love.”

So? You still believe in love?
“I sure do. Love is everything. Isn’t that what the romance novels say?”

No sex and the Queen City

 

I didn’t realize until today that Sex and The City is a non fiction book. The book that gave single women every where a chance to drink cosmos and have randy conversations about sex was based on real people.

Ouch. Well, this summer, I’ve decided to keep my legs closed because I have a broken heart. I spent four years with a lying, cheating son of a bitch. Charlotte, North Carolina is not New York. And thankfully, it ain’t Atlanta either, a city where straight men have a 4:1 advantage when it comes to single ladies. Charlotte is supposed to be a city of the new South.

If that is the case, then the new south is filled with women who are sexually frustrated and alone. Hell, those of us who are honest, we’re also lonely.

This isn’t a scientific study, but I know that my “Carrie,” “Charlotte,” and “Samantha” aren’t getting any. We just have scores and scores of bad relationships to talk about. And we’re doing a lot of talking.

Now, my friends in other cities — if their Facebook profiles are to be believed — are dating these wonderful men. Men who enjoy good music, who cook them dinner and who take them on trips around the world.

And my friends in other cities are celebrating marriages, anniversaries, child birth and the like. Most of my single friends in Charlotte are simply posting quotes about waiting for the right relationship. That’s some bullshit.

If you come to Charlotte to start a career, you’re in the right place. If you’re here to find a quality man — good luck on that.

Take my story, for instance. He was a divorced father who was good with his hands. I knew I was going to fuck him when he put my bed together and didn’t say something stupid about trying it out. We met in August. Had our first real date in January and didn’t have sex until June.

We made it official, that we were a couple, the following February. And for four years, we had a drama free relationship — then she showed up. A freaking Tyler Perry in drag looking bitch. According to him they’d been friends for 20 years and she wanted to be where I was. In hind sight, I realize that I should’ve left then. Trust was eroding, but the sex was so good that I stuck around a lot longer than I should have. Things came to a head last October when he ended up spending the night in the hospital after a freak accident and I stayed in his room, with access to his cell phone.

They say when you look for trouble you find it. I found the messages between him and three other women he’d been fucking. But I can’t say that I was smart enough to leave him then either. It wasn’t until Porky Bitch started stalking me that I had to walk away.

After not drinking since the 1990s, I hit the vodka hard. So hard that one morning, I woke up face down on a yoga mat. This drinking led me to making some pretty questionable decisions. I went to a club and saw an old flame from college. We’ll call him Little Dick Larry. When I was a college freshman and tasted freedom for the first time, I let LDL hit it. Or attempt to. When I saw him at the club, I had already had three shots of Patron and I was in my feelings. He offered me a cigar, if I gave him a kiss. And I did. In. Public. What the hell was I thinking about? After smoking with him, we decided to have lunch the next day. Thank goodness my homegirl, Deidre, was with me and I had to drive her home. After a sober lunch with LDL, I realized that I didn’t like him enough to have a rerun of 1996. Then he tried to kiss me again. His tongue felt cold and slick like a reptile. I couldn’t wait to get away from him. The hornies be damned. I told him I’d call him, then I saved his number in my phone under “Do Not Answer.” A girl deserves some satisfaction. If you’re going to go back for sex, then you should at least have a good memory of it.