Sex & Relationships …

“Sex and Relationships…” For some couples, those two words don’t even seem right together… But why is that? Well, I don’t know how to explain it, but at some point, that spark or flame begins to dim and for others, it simply goes out. Sadly, some never get it back.

It’s funny how sex is one of the most prominent things in the very beginning of a relationship or least something we’re constantly craving and desiring from the other person, but once we finally have that person at our disposal it’s like we don’t want it from them anymore. It’s equivalent to having cable with one channel.

A few weeks back, one of my male friends sent me a text message. It read, “Hey! We really need to talk.” and while that does not seem so alarming, it was to me because he’s been dealing with a lot of personal things.

I text him back that I’d call him once I wasn’t driving. When I called him, I was prepared to listen and to simply be a friend. At first, we did the normal quick catch up convo on ‘how are you?’ ‘How are the kids?’ and so on. So finally, I said,

“So what’s up?” He took a deep breath and began to talk. He started saying how good things have been with his wife and the kids. I immediately told him that was good news and then he said,

“But damn it! We haven’t had any sex!” There was a long pause on my end. “Hello? You still there?” He asked.

“Ummm… I’m still here.” I muttered.

“Oh. Did you hear what I said?” He asked. I heard him loud and clear. I was trying to gather the right words. I didn’t feel like I had any answers or a good response at the moment. So he continued to speak. “Well… The thing is, I’m thinking of stepping out. Ya know, perhaps find me another woman for sex.” Again, there was silence on my end and then I began to speak.

“Let me start by saying that I am not the person to give any advice. But I can tell you that having sex with another woman won’t do your marriage any good. If your goal is to grow the intimacy within your marriage, having sex with another woman won’t help. Have you tried talking to her?” I asked him. But then I began thinking about how the topic of sex only makes matters worse when you speak to your spouse about how they need to put out more. This seems to be mostly an issue men deal with. I don’t know too many women who’ve had an issue getting sex from their spouse.

A woman simply doesn’t operate the same as men. We are emotional beings and thus must be stimulated beyond the physical. Whereas it seems like, if the wind blows a certain way, men are erect and ready to go with one touch or kiss. So if we’re pissed off or tired, you’re probably going to have to just deal with it. But, we’re easily excited by chores being done around the house, foot and back rubs. And when all else fails, cunnilingus will certainly do the trick.

So how do we bring sex and marriage back together? A big part of me believes you can’t, but I know it can be done. It starts with looking at the bigger picture and root cause for your lack of intimacy.

Ask yourself: Are you mad and holding on to something your spouse or partner said or did. Are you or your spouse still healing from past trauma? And lastly, was the sex ever good, to begin with? Of course, these are just a few of baseline questions that many couples may face. But it’s important to know that the change can only begin with you and your partner .

Love Letters

Dear Lover,

I’ve fallen in love with a white wine called, “Mommy’s Time Out…” It’s a Pinot Grigio and boy is it smooth. I sip it slow sometimes, but I feel it… Tonight, I feel sexy and nice…

I imagine a time when I’m in true love again… I imagine what that will feel like to be desired by someone who knows me inside out, and not from my outsides in. I want to be nervous around him, but comfortable enough to giggle and to be my silly confident clumsy self. I don’t want to dumb myself down to make him comfortable, I want him to get me and to understand my metaphorical way of speaking. And if he doesn’t, I want him to be brave enough to say, “Wait… what?!?” but then, I want him to try to pick my words apart, like a small puzzle to his heart. I’m not that complicated, but I’m so very deep and there are layers to me like a painting being restored to its natural state, and he needs to be patient.

I want him to see me… Not watching, not wondering, but to actually see me. I’m not damaged goods, I’m a Goddess, I’m light, I carry a lot on my shoulders, but it never drags me down. I shine, at times I dim my light, so that others may shine and be seen, but for him, I glow in the dark. I’m his light at the end of the tunnel calling him forward. Does he see me? I see him…

Does he see me? Because I need to to see him…

-Signed

Your Beautiful Joi

Separation…

For weeks I would sit motionless, sometimes simply staring at the windows in my bedroom. I couldn’t move. Thoughts of cheating, thoughts of leaving ran through my mind all the time, but I did nothing… I did nothing to learn how I could love him harder, love him better, love him into the past, to a time of who he and I used to be.

But the truth was, I wasn’t that girl anymore. My idea on love and marriage had dramatically began to change and simply being human and liking similar things would no longer suffice. Sex became cliche’; at best something to do to past the time. Until more time past and I realized we weren’t even sleeping in the same room any longer. We’d became roommates that would occasionally order take-out and drink together.

Somehow, in this medium-sized house, a big space grew between us; he had his floor and I had mine. He had his schedule and I had mine. Soon it would be bill time and robotically, we’d each pay our portion and silently go back to what was “normal”. I’m married and yet so lonely, sleeping alone became abnormally normal. His clothes were in the bedroom closet, he would come and get them out for the next day and that was how things went.

And sex was another topic to argue about or at least lack there of… He’d blame it on my past experiences, on my weight and on me. But for me, sex was about mental stimulation and fulfilling a desire. And I no longer had the desire to be touched by him, lusted by him, I didn’t even want to lie beside him. “How’d we get here?” And exactly where was here? How were we still existing, I still had his last name, but I’d lost myself into this marital relationship. Where were my rainbows and butterflies and happily ever afters?

 

Itty Bitty Titty-Tit Talking

I used to perform this poem I wrote, called, “Itty Bitty Titty Committee” and I not only loved my small boobs, I embraced them. I embraced every little ounce of them.

For women, this poem was empowering, sometimes I’d get a small standing ovation that oddly always seemed to surprise me. There I was, talking about my small ass boobs that my closest friends and female relatives would tease me about. But it honestly never bothered me. I love my little titties, as my grandmother would call them.

But I was thankful for designers like Victoria Secret. I even owned one of their water bras. It was my favorite and one of the most comfortable bras I owned at the time. So let’s fast forward to now… After losing and gaining weight, add in one greedy breastfed baby boy. Now add on 10 years and over 100 pounds, now subtract 100 pounds.

If I lost you, I understand, because I lost myself and my boobs.  Well not literally, but if my boobs could talk, my oh my what would they say and who would they say it to? Maybe, “Help me, I’ve fallen and can’t get up…” But I’m just Tit Talkin cause my boobs can’t talk for me. But I think all three of us would agree that these succulent wine colored raisins hate bra shopping. Sometimes, it’s like no one understands us and our struggles.

Tit Talk: Why I hate Bra shopping!

I can’t tell you when, where or why… But at some point in my life, we began to loathe bra shopping.

As a little girl, I looked forward to buying a bra. But I don’t even remember the age I was when I started wearing bras, I just knew it meant that I was finally becoming or a least on the verge of becoming a woman. But as time progressed, bra shopping got a little more complicated than expected, there were cup sizes, fabrics, different types of straps, some with and without underwire, and widths.

At some point, I don’t even think I knew how to bra shop as an adult, and as I began to gain weight, I just wanted a bra that would hide my back fat, but hold me in. Back then, retailers and designers like Victoria’s Secret are where a lot of average women would go to bra shop.

To me, they were equivalent to Fredricks of Hollywood, so I never went to Victoria’s Secret, I was too overweight to even want to fit into their bras and besides, the places, I went shopping for bras used to only include Sears and Lane Bryant. And so recently I’ve lost quite a bit of weight, and almost nothing fits. My boobs are Aggy

and Saggy, and it’s like they talk about me behind my back as though I’m not here. Literally.

I remember Cleavage,  pronounced “Clee-Vodge…” kept us all together, we were balanced and happy. But Cleo has gone away. Now my boobs are just buttery soft fat and skin.

The Water Bra

And Lately, I’ve been wondering if the WonderBra that I had in my mid-twenties, still exists, all this crosses my mind while I’m sweating in this pretty-in-pink dressing room at Vicky’s.

I think I’m on bra number 8 and the bra associate gets more bras. Some of these bras cost over $100 dollars. I’m starting to wonder if it’s all worth it…

 Any who, this is just Tit- Talk, I still have to match my panties with these bras.

Who Are You?

Who are you? 

When you close your eyes at night who lies beneath your skin, who swims into the depths of your soul? 

Are you an adulterer? A liar or a cheat? Are you a racists? A good husband baby daddy mommy? Are you a lazy overachiever? Do you sit in front of the pulpit at church yet still remain a non believer?

Who are you? When you open your eyes and rise… Do wish to lay back down and press the reset button? Only to do it all again in the morning… 

When does living begin? When does life welcome the sun set or are you working too hard, and you forget that there are more than flowers to smell, how about granny’s peach cobbler baking on a Sunday afternoon with cinnamon and spices. Or the smell or the crisp winter air when you first step outside. 

Who are you and who are you living your life for or through? 

-Shakira Joi🌹

http://www.beautifuljoi.com

How My Son Now Comprehends Death…

The overall idea of death is a mystery within itself. My son is now seven, and I think he understands it better than he did a year ago. But what parent wants to explain death to their child.

When a close loved one or relative dies, how do we tell them that we may never see this person again? How do we explain life after death, when we ourselves have never experienced it?

And sometimes, just pointing to the sky and proclaiming an invisible being, or beings are there watching us, and or waiting on us, can be confusing and scary. 

A little over a year ago I lost my closest aunt, who was more like a mother to me; especially since my mother passed away when I was 12 years old. My son was close to my aunt as well, she loved him like her own grandson. And suddenly, the cancer that had been dormant for years, took over more rapidly than expected, to the point that one day she was sending me a text about getting together, a week later she was hospitalized, and finally a week after that, she took her last breath. 

I had to tell my son, and somehow make it, make sense. I think I said something about she’s not coming back and that we won’t be able to see her anymore. His reaction was blank. I wasn’t hysterical when I told him, but behind closed doors, I was extremely hysterical. My reason for being calm in front him is because I wanted him to feel whatever he felt without my influence. And so, he was calm, he didn’t cry, but he did make a very sad and upset face.  

Nearly 8 months later, I was driving to the store and out of no where, my son begins crying.  I looked at him through my rearview mirror. And said,
     “Boy? What are you crying about?” Barely able to speak, he wiped a few tears. And replied, 

     “Aunt Pam is dead.” At first, I didn’t know what to say. I thought we passed a Burger King or something and he was crying because I didn’t stop. It was just so random. I almost cried as well, but I told him that it was okay and normal to be sad, a little late, but normal still. Even as I write this, the pain still hurts and crying is inevitable. 

More recently, my son was playing video games. And if “you” have ever played video games, you know that dying in a game means nothing when you can come right back to life or earn extra lives.  Again, my son  asks me a question out of no where. He said,

     “Mom, will we die?” I told him yes. He said, ” Hmmm… When I die, will I somehow still exist on earth?” I told him only in the minds of those who remember us. I assured him that death was not planned and could happen at anytime. He nodded okay and finished playing his game. 

The other night, I was going through old videos of him and we came across a video of our Guinea Pig Winter

“Winter” our Guinea Pig

who died a few months back and he insisted that we watch it. And for whatever reasons, this particular video had music in the background. I work on and create videos from time to time, so I think that this was one video that I started, but didn’t finish.The video was nearly 3 minutes long. It was of My son, myself and Winter. Within one minute of watching the video, my son began to cry, and so did I. It was a clear moment of brief mourning that we shared. He never had the chance to physically say goodbye. My husband and I made sure we disposed of her body before he woke. It didn’t make her death easier on us, but we did what was needed on a workday and school night. 

But that moment we sat watching the video, helped me to see that he now comprehends death. 

To me, death is the idea of going away into a deep sleep, within this sleep there is no pain or sorrow and that gives us, the living, peace of mind. The dead are dead and we can’t do anything to bring them back. But the living must continue to live until our time comes to go into a deep sleep where there is no pain or sorrow. 

How I learned The N-Word…

     It was a beautiful autumn day in 1984. I was shopping with my mom at Caldors, now replaced by a store called K-Mart. I don’t know what we originally went to buy, but we ended up buying a big black leather like chest for me to store all of my toys inside of it. It was so big, we both had to carry it out of the store, across the parking light to our family’s maroon Volvo. The chest was big enough to fit a small body inside of it.

My mother’s skin was fair, very light and she had long fine jet-black curly hair. People usually mistook her for being anything but Black. They mostly thought she was Hispanic. People would just walk up to her speaking Spanish. I didn’t understand why they would do this. To me she was just mommy.

 So there we were, almost dragging this chest across the concrete parking lot, when an elderly white man walked by us and spit at us. He yelled,

 “Damn niggers! You need to use that to go back where you came from!” My mom yelled back,

” You brought us here! You take us back!”

 “Go back to Africa, that’s where you all belong!” At the time, I didn’t understand what either of them meant. We were from Jersey, so it’s where I thought we belonged.  My mom stopped and dropped her side of the chest while I was still trying to drag it on my own.

   “Mommy, what’s a nigger?” I asked looking up to her.

   “He’s a nigger!” She yelled at the white man. “Nigger means ignorant! He’s a nigger!” The old man continued to walk inside the store. My mom was so disturbed and angry. I’d never seen her so mad. Her light skin turned red, her eyes began to swell up with tears. Once we got to the car, she unlocked the truck and lifted it by herself. We sat in the car, and drove home in silence.

That was my very first memory of racism; the second time was not long after moving into the suburbs of South Orange, New Jersey. A town that was predominately white. My elementary school was in Maplewood, which was the next town over from South Orange, so my mom decided to familiarize herself with the area by driving around the neighborhood. We saw a small quaint park and decided to stop… We pulled into a parking space where a white lady and her daughter were sitting. Her mom turned to look at our car, she appeared to be frightened by the sight of us. She immediately locked her car doors and told her daughter to sit back. She pressed the gas so hard that he wheels screeched as she took off. The women’s reaction didn’t make sense. I didn’t even want to get out of the car anymore. I asked my mom if we could just go home. It was that exact moment that I actually didn’t want to be black. There was absolutely nothing I could do to change the color of my skin. It was and is the way I am born, and I’ll die black.

     Today, we have a new title for black; we’re called African American. Although, I find myself struggling with this appointed title everyday. I’ve been in America my entire life and embarrassingly have never left the country, yet I do not feel American and do not know its culture. I dwell it this land, abide by the laws and yet feel no true connection to the founding fathers of its nation. For years, black kids and their people are told and taught only of their slavery ancestry. We constantly throw the N-word around as though it holds no power over us, and truly for me it doesn’t, but that’s like saying I’m not bothered if someone calls me out of my name. I think it’s all in one’s perception.

     So how do I explain and define this word to my son when he becomes of age? What do I tell him? I have few ideas. I can start by giving him the origin and root of the word, and then bring him up to date in how rappers and comedians use this word today to entertain their audience. Admittedly, even I have used the word jokingly amongst friends and family, but hearing it come out of someone of another race’s mouth has been quite offensive. I recently saw a video of 3 little white boys no older than 10 years of age dancing to some hip-hop song. They were completely off beat and corny as they tried to rap along to the lyrics and all I caught or even understood was them using the using the N-word. That was not okay… I’m sure they knew no better, but where are the parents, and can I blame the parents if my own race still condones the use of the word within their own songs?

     Sure we can all argue that it’s just a word, and for some it truly is just a word, but for our elders who fought against this word, and for my mom who on that day back in 1984, and the younger me, it was not and did not feel like just a word. For years, I never said it, not even jokingly and no one around me said it. It was the word we heard only in movies like, Roots, The Color purple or old documentaries focusing on Civil Rights. Back then we weren’t aloud to forget the origin of something and today it’s as though people celebrate the knowledge of knowing it and then using it like it’s a word of strength and compliment. I’ve often heard celebrities say, “it’s just a word” that’s their excuse for going along with the consensus of those who’d like for us to forget the origin of the word. I can not take the history away from the word and the power behind it, but I did not learn it from listening to music, and no one in my household spoke this word. It was a different time, where words carried weight and this particular word carried a lot of pain especially for me.

Show Love & Have Faith

Love is kind, it’s unconditional, it does not boast or judge.

We humans are conditioned and designed simply to love one another; however, in this world and its system of things that seems to be close to impossible to do just that one simple thing… Just show love. Like God, Love is everlasting, it can overcome any circumstance, withstand the test of time. Even the nastiest and meanest person has love within them, or they somehow have managed to hide and bury this feeling so deep within themselves that they’ve forgotten how to show love.

Love is forgiving, as we all continue to walk throughout this life, it’s important to walk with faith and forgiveness. We do not know what trials or tribulations the next person is facing or carrying with them on a daily basis. We don’t even know if their load is slowly killing them eternally. We only see the surface. In this life, our materials, possessions, positions and even titles have us blinded and confused. We’re not better than the next person because of the amount of money we have or the amount of education we’ve received. We are intelligently simple beings of flesh and bones made from dust perfectly created. Don’t let your status in life deceive you into believing that you’re better than the person next to you or down the street from you.

It is the paths we choose in life that create our own personal world, and how we treat the people we meet throughout this journey that will define us. No two paths are the same, it is the lessons learned from this journey not the destination that make us who we are, and that is the difference…

I simply advise you to show love & have Faith…

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