RSS

Category Archives: Her stories

La Mil Amores

El Rokero Quita V-cards:

Very loud, very fast and left me very sore. It was like having sex with a rabbit in heat. My lonjas bounced all over, I could barely hold my shirt down and this fool couldn’t care less as long as his dick was somewhere in between my legs. I swear he popped out twice and was thrusting in between my left thigh and pussy lip. He made a weird O-face and his sweat kept dripping on me. I wanted him out of my room so I pretended my mom was coming home and he needed to leave. I later found out he was notorious for taking gorditas virginities, so I told him he wasn’t my first and that knocked him down a few notches.

El Footbolista Machista:

This one was older, about 9 years older. Very nice at first ‘cuz I told him HE was my first. He thought himself an expert on vaginas and thought I was tight, so he believed me. He was big and thought that was good enough for any woman. Like “I got a big dick, what else you want from me?” type of guy. He started talking about marriage and babies so I told him he needed to stop all this thinking and that his dick lacked character. And that was that.

The Cholito Who Got Away:

We knew each other since we were sixteen. I had a huge a crush on him. The kind of crush that makes you day dream about making out and holding hands and playing grab ass all day but he had sex with my friend in my back yard and I never wanted to see him again. He was friends with my cousins so I’d still have to see him here and there until I moved. Then I ran into him three years later and he looked fine as ever (like really fine… And grown) and he wasn’t lookin at me like some homegirl anymore either. We ended up getting high and had sex in his car that night. It was A M A Z I N G and a bit harder than I thought it would be. Here I was thinking/hoping I would one day bump into him and show him how I do and here he was turning me inside out. We had sneak-a-boo sex as often as we could. He’d sneak over to my house or I’d sneak over to his and we could go all night! It was dangerous for us to moan in our houses so we’d usually have that breathe hard kind of sex where you have to use a pillow and cringe your teeth when you’re about to cum, it was all good. Until he got a real girlfriend and our sexcapades were over without warning. I’m not gonna lie, that shit hurt.

My Friend:

I got really drunk a few weeks after the Cuddy Buddy break up and I ended up giving my friend head. It was wierd. We’re fine-ish.
If sex makes things awkward, sucking your friends dick just makes shit wierd.

It took me a while to get comfortable with anybody else after my cholo found him self a petite sexy trophy girl, but after about a year I felt like I was ready to mount the ole’ saddle again.

El Enojon:

I don’t know what else to call him except for maybe immature? He threw a fit because he couldn’t get it up and then blamed me for it. This dude had issues and I took it as a sign from the universe that this angry mans penis did not belong in my body. It was my first attempt at sex after about a year so I felt that maybe it was my fault. Like I wasn’t perky enough or I talked his penis straight into flaccidness. It was somewhat traumatizing but I know it wasn’t my fault. Dicks are strange. Almost as weird as their carriers.

El Delicadito:

Diosita mia, this man was sensitive! I know many women complain about men not being in tune with their emotions or their feminine side (myself included) but not every woman wants the same type of sensitivity. I’m more than positive that I made myself very clear to this man and that we understood that our relationship was nothing more than sex. I didn’t want cuddles afterwards, I didn’t need him to hold me while I came and I certainly did not want to hold him, I didn’t want to tell him about my days or even discuss ideas if they didn’t pertain to sex with each other. High-fives, great job, and see ya next time was really what I was looking for. I just wanted him inside me and then out my motherfuckin house. I got a few nice breakfasts out of this but I’m not ever in any kind of mood where I want to deal with waking up next to someone or worrying about some dudes feelings because I didn’t text or call all day. Fuck that. Well fuck that for now, I guess.

There’s been a few others but I don’t feel like they’re worth mentioning really. It’s just basic dick that didn’t leave me with much to say or think about. I don’t feel like my list is long, I hope to meet other men so that I can have more stories to tell. I don’t think I use men to fill any voids, that’s what food is for. I’m just on a never ending quest to find the perfect dick that’ll really satisfy all my needs. But that’s more than likely not to ever happen because my standards are high and dicks are pretty low. Maybe I’ll find the perfect mouth to eat me out all the time instead? Who knows, life is full of wonders and shit fest.

 
1 Comment

Posted by on April 13, 2014 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I Swore My Heart Away When I Was 14

I Swore My Heart Away When I Was 14.
I remember lying in bed rogandole a la virgencita to please keep my dad safe from harm
hoping for a call I knew I wasn’t gonna get.
Praying I wouldn’t get a phone call that he’s been found dead by some dumpster.
I remember a night in particular when I got tired of praying for him
So I prayed for me.

Le pedi que me isiera no quererlo mas
Que lo sacara de mi corazon

I cried big heavy tears that soaked my pillow and mixed with bugers and saliva.
I woke up the next morning disappointed because I still missed him, con coraje, like every other day but missed him still.
Eventually I didn’t think about him so much and I forgot about my prayers I didn’t cry at night and I could sleep in complete darkness
I had long forgotten my pleas and gone on with my life

Three boyfriends and many sexual encounters later I remembered my prayer.
The one where I begged Mi Morenita to take my heart out and lose it in the cosmos
I realized Im 20 years old and have had 11 men walk in and out of my life, use and dispose of my body. Told them I loved them and hated them all in the same breathe.

I didn’t care to notice when they left or how three boyfriends and eight sexual partners who I’ve never even been with long enough to know their last name had gone through me.

My first boyfriend took my virginty because I guess my eyes said it was up for grabs the moment I let him lay on my bed. We dated two weeks, had sex for about 10 minutes, said see you around and I never cared to see him again

I regretted losing my virginity to him

So I told my second boyfriend he was my first. He was older… Way older. Like ‘ready to settle down and have kids’ ready. He saw me as the type to wife up and use my child bearing hips to carry his off spring. I couldn’t stomach the idea of having his kid and having to keep a piece a piece of him forever. So I didn’t. I ran away as fast as I could from that situation by blaming everything wrong with me on him. Made myself unbearable because it was easier for someone to leave me than it was for me to walk away. Even when I can’t love I can’t leave, the guilt of not being able to give back holds me.

My third boyfriend was accidental. We weren’t meant for each other but when it’s so cold out and someone shows you warmth with their own body, one tends to think thats a special trick no one else can do. To have someone want you for sexual favors makes you feel of use or somewhat important to someone and that can sometimes even make you feel special. It had been a long time since I could make a man happy with just a kiss.

I don’t remember how this ended I just know that it stopped.

After him I didn’t want anymore boyfriends. I wanted to keep thinking i was of use. I wanted to feel wanted. But I didn’t want to love. The trick is to always keep your eyes shut.

I thank my dad for teaching me body parts are just as disposable as whole bodies. He removed his daughter to find happiness while I simply removed my heart.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on December 5, 2013 in Her stories, Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

les escribí una carta a mis padres…

Queridos Padres,

Les escribo con amor y honestidad y siento que esto es la manera mas segura y correcta. Quiero empezar con decirles que los aprecio y los respeto como padres nunca me han dado para abajo y siempre quieren lo mejor para mi. También se que me dieron amor y un techo por muchos anos y eso nunca se me olvidara. Me ensenaron los buenos modales de trabajar duro ser valiente y honesta y humilde con todo ser humano y esos valores nunca se me olvidaran. Eh estado pasando por un camino de confusión y reflexión en este proceso estoy creciendo y madurando como una mujer profesional. Pero con eso también viene el hacer honesta con ustedes no tenia el valor en decirles como realmente me eh sentido Y quien me atraía como persona gay porque no quería causarles dolor y mirarlos tristes. No encontraba la manera de decirles y por eso no sabia como actuar y me alejaba de ustedes y empecé a tomar para sacar lo que traía adentro. Se que en los ojos de ustedes es algo difícil de comprender a un pero yo soy ser humana y sigo haciendo su hija y los sigo amando y queriendo siempre. Espero que me entiendan y no me miren diferente porque ya me canse de vivir una doble vida. Quiera a quien quiera quiero ser libre y poder expresarme y ser sincera con ustedes y darlos a respetar aun mas. Los adoro a todos y espero que después de esto estemos aun mas unidos como familia pero se que tengo que darles tiempo para reaccionar. Aquí estaré esperándolos con mis brazos abiertos los adoro mama y papa siempre!

Con mucho amor y cariño su hija.

 
3 Comments

Posted by on November 18, 2013 in Gender - there is no box!, Her stories

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Leave Love Left Where Love Died

Because I thought I could change you with ‘the right kind of love’, I took whatever you gave me.

Because drunk meetings in dark closets and rooms were romantic enough to let you take off all my clothes.

Because I thought that you holding my hair back while I gave you head meant you cared.

Because after spending an entire day right beside you, secret eye signals kept me content.

Because I thought that when you told me stories about your mom and dad, you gave me keys.

Because when you really did give me keys to parts of you, you didn’t want to deal with holding mine.

Because I still reply to your late night text at two in the morning and ask what’s up, even though I already know.

Because I always hope that we’ll have another drunken night like when we laid there and talked about leaving.

Because you can easily say lets stop doing this and ignore me but I can never let go so I patiently wait.

Because I know you’ll call two weeks later using some cheesy pick up line that I’ll call stupid but will still swoon over.

Because ill save your text messages as proof that I’m not crazy and you really do hit on me.

Because when someone caught us you threw me under the bus.

Because I expected better from you.

Because you still think that after three years of being secret nothings, we can still be friends.

Because you really thought that during those three years we were actually friends.

You were never my friend.

Because Love don’t hate.

Because I’m walking away and leaving whatever you wanna call this where it should’ve died years ago.

Because last time I said bye I really meant it.

Stop drunk dialing me, stop texting me, stop pretending we’re still cool,
Leave love left where love died.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on October 29, 2013 in Her stories, Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Keep Ya Head Up

When the fears start to reveal themselves, but your no longer afraid you’re just so sad it took you this long to understand. Then the tears run down your face because of all the pain you put yourself through, and you wonder how you managed to pretend you were so strong when clearly you were wrong. It’s like a self-inflicted wound that gives you ecstasy, but drains and brings along so much pain after the fact. But no one is there to kiss your scars, and until you find a way to love yourself in the aftermath of this craziness you’ll never allow anyone to come close enough to. You’ll spend your life pretending. Not trying to pretend, but you’ve become so disoriented that any idea of comfort or love fills the void he left when he took your most prized possession.

You go over and over it in your mind, blame falls on yourself each time. Because society tells you it’s your fault you got drunk, and that you wanted it. So you feel at a loss and things no longer feel the same. You’re in search of an emotion you can’t describe or never had, see he took away that chance too. You begin to look for that love and connection in every encounter you have. Although with each encounter you feel more and more drained and your energy and aura are no longer the same. Some will lie and you’ll fall for it, and it will make you feel even more lost when you discover your illusions have fallen ill. It becomes so bad to the point you feel it’s best to be alone, but the inner innocence that is still left in you tells you that there is more out there, there must be.

The dreamer in you believes in hope that someday women won’t ever have to go through this, and men will cherish the creators of this world. That the patriarchal society will someday break, and things go back to the natural order. That people won’t judge what they won’t ever come close to understanding being that, that person can’t even begin to figure themselves out, because a big piece of them was taken. Losing all self-worth one day I hope they will begin to see their true selves. I hope one day I’ll be able to see my true self.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 24, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

baby daddy blues

woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy didn’t have a father
folks split up when he was young
papa said he had a new family
that relationship was worth his time
mama probably had the blues herself
left mexico behind and found a new man
the womyn/child beater kind
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy hated school
hated men that didn’t care for baby mama’s
used his rage and trained
EZLN/AIM militant security
talkin’ bout taking back our lands
tearing down borders
bullets to the system
learning our native tongue
living revolutionary lives
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy spread his seed
a new generation of decolonized bodies
warrior names
freedom running through their veins
placental offerings
hair that flows like rivers
ceremonial rites of passage
tobacco ties, family ties
after life ties
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy baby daddy why are you so blue?
when did you quit fighting
traded in your red for who?
prayers left abandoned
politics that contradict your worth
9-5 for uncle sam
attorneys to protect your wealth
body suits that assert your cis manhood
and baby bois back home
torn and confused
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
 
baby daddy is getting married
a new family of his own
got no time for lovin baby mamas
not sleeping in his bed
proud to be a new Americano
with holidaze and honeymoons
english only attitude
talking bout how schooling paves the way
 
baby bois back home
torn and confused
baby bois back home
torn and confused
 
woke up this morning
finally heard the anthem to my blues
baby daddy blues
baby daddy blues
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 17, 2013 in Her stories, Tucson movement

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Quiet All Summer

This is what it’s like to be lost in between.

To feel the words of the songs you heard in your childhood resonate inside your heart. To feel the lyrics rise up, and yet not have the words to let them out.

To keep Borderlands/La Frontera on the bookshelf of your mind for two years, only to find out that Gloria Anzaldúa is dead. To mourn her passing, so deeply, so late, anyway.

To not be able to participate in the conversation between your elders, and yet rest your head and soak it in, enjoying it, anyway.

It’s the silence you keep daily, but never acknowledge, because being lost in between is hard enough without always failing to agree that Diego Luna is so sexy.

It’s not an empty feeling. It’s feeling the edges of the shape of a huge missing piece inside your soul.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on September 12, 2013 in Her stories

 

Tags: , , ,