Build- A Short Story

Deny it we may, but everyone in one form or another has been conditioned/brainwashed by the consumption of media, more so if it began at an early age. Case in point, as a kid I used to consume media that generally might be targeted for girls- to ME, it was a way of having an understanding of them. In my teens I watched Sex & the City because, admittedly, of the word “sex.” But I “learned” stuff. Hell, I became aware of the “biological clock” because of the movie Look Who’s Talking and while that movie may not be geared towards women it was about a single mother, essentially. Still counts..
Anyway, I paid extra attention to how women interacted with men in shows/movies (no matter the color of the actors’ skin) and how some of the guys wanted to “build” while visualizing themselves with said girl long-term. Example: the way Cory Mathews did with Topanga (I’m not counting Steve Urkel or Roger in Sister, Sister because their pursuits were aggressive and annoying- especially Urkel’s even if he did get Laura [when he had Myra who I LOVED]. It stuck with a lot of us whether we realize it or not.
So, yea, when men have this notion of wanting to make it work by any means necessary rejected, it hurts- but we do let it go, despite popular belief. Because as we get into our 20’s and then 30’s we’re only wanted when we’ve become established (whatever that means) and women make it, very subtly known , that we are all of a sudden their equals- it angers us. As Kobe said “you wasn’t with me shooting in the gym.” How does a man’s status all of a sudden make him worthy, and how was he not when building whatever his empire is (and I’m not speaking *just* about a man in the arts- rapper, writer, painter, etc). We grew up wanting to build; move in silence (don’t bring up “stay low and build” as a meaning for ‘I wanna hide you’). We’ve already found our “worth” early while you’re still searching for it. We’re actually more than capable of achieving success WHILE in pursuit of a woman at the same time, while women choose one over the other AND THEN deem a man worthy. Most men know what they want to do in life- I knew at age 15 it would be something in the arts, and am still in hot pursuit. Most of the women men meet have menial jobs like them, but somehow theirs is better(?)
Take a look at the current dating (swipe) culture. Have any of you ever used a dating site/app? Women generally don’t have to do any pursuing while men have to do it all with no guarantee a message worth reading will be seen (yes, I know, women don’t owe men anything). In dating, women have been conditioned by movies/TV that men- admittedly, guiltily– will do just about anything for their attention. But a woman will make a move ONCE and if it’s rejected, never do it again. Ironically, at an early age. Yet men are the ones who have the capacity to “keep it moving.” Why? Because we want to build with someone, not come prepackaged for them. Men are not a bundle you can buy at a discount because you can now afford it- what happened to your “humble beginnings?” If women don’t owe men anything, and men have known their worth for a long time, why are men obligated to see yours by default while men have to work for you to see theirs?
Detours for women aside, like having a kid, the notion men have in wanting to build early is still prevalent; why do think you generally see them “on the grind”? Through work, the active pursuit in “bigger and better” in their careers WHILE maintaining said build is how men were raised- by media or, hell, even by the women in their lives (because men are generally raised by single mothers, aren’t they? So how else are these ideas being planted in their heads.) Why are men deemed unworthy for being exactly where you are- dead end job or not- but somehow you found the means to start a family with a man just like the one who wants to build, only with you missing from his equation?
He hit “upload” and waited for the misunderstanding of the post from women who will comment with the equivalent to a man’s “not all men!” argument; “you’re just not finding the right woman” and the like. He chuckled, the irony always was humorous to him; how women make the same arguments as men but somehow get away with it. They also almost always find a way to blame “the patriarchy” which is supposed to benefit men, not strike them down. It’s always a man’s fault, regardless of the situation.

Drabble #101

Tiny fingers close around frail cheekbone skin. Old age. A bag on your face, in your hand; ice in the bag. Another hand striking the other side of your face this time. Why can’t I just have a typical old age experience. Why does my dying skin still have to deal with exterior damage. What’s under it is already damaged; way ahead of the face.

Why couldn’t old age just leave my face alone, why couldn’t he just leave me in my old age?

You’re a proud Chinese woman, culturally expected not to talk about it despite so many of your friends having experience in this, personal or secondhand. “Just ignore it” but wanting so bad to talk about it lest you literally bite down so hard on your tongue in order to prevent it.

New Year, New Me- A Short Story (That Would Have Been a Text but I’m Trying Not to Humiliate Myself Anymore) 2

“Hey Panda. This isn’t a ‘end of the year declaration as a last-ditch effort’ text. I just wanna see you leave for the New Year knowing how proud of you I am. That you’re a beautiful person, even if you don’t see it. It’s there, the aurora of it. You’ll never see it but everyone you meet will know it’s there. And it’s important you know that this can’t be helped; this overwhelming feeling that you will always have it and we feel compelled to let you know. Cause you’re a beautifully fragile soul who will always mend their pieces no matter tattered they are. That you make the world hole.

“…I have to stop, because of time. But I hope that 2018 brings you all the magic, the laughter, the love, the unexpected joys that you can handle. I hope you remember that you’re bloody brilliant. That the world is greater with you in it.
“Oh boy, I hope you get those messages before the clock strikes zero. Because the maximum effect would sweep over you like an invisible barrier and you’ll know- KNOW- that no matter how corny it is to say ‘New Year, New Me.’ we all know- KNOW- it’ll happen no matter what. That’s it’s an ‘unnecessary, unspoken’ thing.
“It’s almost sent. Hurry up blue bar!
“My God. I fucking love you.”
This would have been sent to my last ex. The love of my life. I’m finally revealing who I’ve been talking about in my stories of late. My God, I fucking miss her. I ache for her so much. Every night I want to feel her touch. I miss her hands on me. Home. I miss being home. Please. Please, come home.

Headass- A Short Story (That Would Have Been a Text but I’m Trying Not to Humiliate Myself Anymore

“I’m looking at your pictures, and I can tell that you and I are going to be an item, and it’s going to look like we’re hiding each other from the world because we “keep our relationships private” so your significant other never meets everyone but not in a ‘side dude/chick’ kind of way. Just, nobody knows what you look like, but they know you’re with her.

“Okay, that sounds a lot like ‘side dude/chick’ kind of stuff lol.

“And you don’t even sleep on the first date. Like, I know I probably will never end up sleeping with you, despite the fact that you very much want to sleep with me. But you feel like you’re hiding me without wanting to hide me, but the urge to keep your life completely private- like not having a banking account vibe- is strong with you. Hey! Same. I totally get it.

“But seriously, you and I should just end up sleeping with each other soon lol. Because as cocky as this sounds I know we both want each other in the same way. Don’t roll your eyes at me lol I know it because you fuck with dudes who look like me heavy, dude. Like, deadass, just make it happen, yo.

“It’s on you boo lol”

This would have been sent to someone I just started talking to on OKCupid. I’ve been fucking up royally with “potentials” sending shit like this. You’re killing (yourself) Smalls! Not just on OKCupid, but POF and Twitter, too. I am so goddamn embarrassed with myself. You don’t even know them, and you decided to not even bat instead of throwing up your own pitches for her to catch. You’re not this kind of idiot. You don’t even look like one who could get away with kind of crazy talk. What are you doing?!…

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD. For info, and how you can purchase the novel, go here:

Client 8: Norman


“Well now, don’t you have the sweetest sounding voice.”

“Hi Daddy, thank you. Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“I used to, as a kid.”

“Well let Candy Cane help revive it.”

“Candy Cane. Now there’s a treat. Today’s my birthday, ya know.”

“Happy birthday, daddy. The Christmas season is the best time to have a birthday.”

*chuckles* “I used to think so too. Not since I was twelve did I have anything sweet to eat.”

“My pussy is plenty sweet, daddy.”

“Does it taste like birthday cake? Could really go for some.”

“Tastes just like Carvel ice cream cake.”

“Ahh now there’s a splendid memory. That’s when my lips truly tasted sweetness. My mother made sure of that.”

“What did that evil woman do to my daddy?”

“She used to make everything about me. That is, until I turned twelve. Then everything became about my kid brother. I became something of a spectre around the house, and leaving for college was an act that seemed to solidify my non-existence.”

“You’re real to me, daddy.”

“I was real to my mother’s many boyfriend’s too. Oh I know she suspected something afoot. But you know how it is in suburbia; don’t ask, don’t tell. The men took plenty advantage of this. I still can’t quite sit comfortably.”

“What did daddy do about this?”

“Daddy tracked these men down. Let’s just say they won’t be speaking anymore. As for my mother, well,”

“I hope she gets what’s coming to her. Nobody should be hurting my daddy.”

“I agree, which is why she never saw the tire iron coming. The very same one used on your daddy. *Brief pause* Thanks for the talk, sugar.”

“Any time, daddy.”

I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD

Minnie Blue Eyes- A Short Story

It’s two years to the date and I still remember where you live, and I frequently map the route in my head as if I’m still on my way to see you, as if anything would have gotten passed the first night.

I can still see the smile you greeted me with outside the pizza shop, can still feel the hug you embraced me with, smelling your dirty blonde hair.

I can sometimes hear your voice but the memory is selective with which words I hear.

You welcomed me into your apartment- paid for by daddy in Florida, where you’re from- and it instantly felt welcoming. Like I belonged there.

We watched Drunk History but it became background noise as we talked over the pizza, passing a blunt back and forth.

I took your hand, locked eyes, kissed your pretty lips. It felt right. YOU felt right. The swell of your breasts in my hand fit like a glove. You blushed when I called you baby girl; God, I could live on those blushed cheeks.

We took it to your king-sized bed, too big for the room. Undressed, you were exactly how I envisioned your body. Splendid.

I wanted to taste you from behind and could hear the embarrassed LONGING in your voice- one of the few things I’ll never forget. You let me while repeating “that shit is fire” adding “for sure” in a white girl voice. More of something I’ll never forget.

We never quite went to bed, never quite stopped having sex. I never came but certainly could tell- spiritually- my nuts had been spent. Your body told me you had physically come, and that was more than sufficient for me.

In the morning you let me shower. Crossed legged and arms sitting on the couch as I got dressed you said “you probably don’t even remember everything you said last night.” Shirt off, sneakers half tied, I looked you straight in the eye, said “I remember EVERYTHING.” And you believed me but I knew you were so scared of the truth that when you closed the door on me, that would be the last time I’d ever see you.

Those blues still haunt me some nights. Even when I fantasize, create scenarios with us passed that night, I still can’t go to sleep. I’m partially ruined because you were too scared to accept a sure thing. Yet somehow I still blame myself. All this time gone by and in my head it feels like I still did something wrong. Only thing I’m guilty of doing is being the right one.

I’m the right one. I have to keep telling myself this…

Drabble #100

It was one date; why the hell is she still on my mind?! The nerve of my brain for allowing her to occupy precious space! I’ve got better things to think about; why are so many scenarios- running into her, picking up where we left off- manifesting themselves knowing damn well it will drive me mad.

Is that what my brain wants?! Well, fuck you! I refuse to play your little game. Give me my sanity back!


I wrote a novel about a male rape victim suffering from DiD