I'm The Sidechick B*tch!!

Women are some interesting creatures, now that I sit at the desk and think about it while going about my content management moments.

We are willing to present to the public the most well put together visage, the most demure and ladylike essence in order to convince the world, moreso ourselves, that we are doing the right thing for us, our lives, and our circles.

This all sounds very unlike my usual style of writing so, for now, let's assume I've gained some decree of dignified conduct which is granting me the calm to craft a blog without acting like a full flaming bitch about things that happen daily, but so often we brush it aside.

Good the greeting is out of the way.

Let's get down to business -breaks out in song- to defeat the "Huns"...

"Huns" will be my new name for mistresses.

Yes, mistresses, side chicks, other women, outside tings.

All of that list. Women involved with men (or women in some cases) who are already involved.

Particularly I want to focus on women who are involved with MARRIED men.

Hilarious isn't it, because about 4 months ago I stood accused of the same thing, apparently I have a habit of entertaining other women's men. Even married ones. I mean I'm polyamorous so clearly I have no limits or boundaries whatsoever.

I have issues with the Huns and how they handle things.

Lemme clear the air here now, I do not have any respect for the actions of women who actively pursue married monogamous men, then act silly when they are discarded.

Maybe I should repeat that, I do NOT have any respect for the actions of women, who actively pursue married monogamous men, then act silly, when they are discarded.

Even as a woman with no intent on getting married, you can see the posts on my facebook wall, with a few hours conversation around why I rebuke the concept of marriage itself. I have a fair amount of respect for the principles of matrimony.

To me that is a decision made between two people who chose to spend the rest of their lives together absolutely, choosing to join their families and become one, with a future in mind.

I have utmost respect for people who weather the odds, since about 10 out of every thousand in the Caribbean who get married, end in divorce, mind you, but that doesn't mean I see it for myself but anyway this ain't about my miserable behind.

Y'all women who get told "I can't leave her with the kids by herself," you women who happily start up an entire new life with a man WHO IS STILL ATTACHED to his wife, worry me.

I genuinely worry.

What is so off in your psyche that you invest in a relationship with someone to the point that you practically go crazy ignoring the blatant signs of him stringing you along because he doesn't want to hurt you when inevitably he dumps you?

And then you take it out on the wife.

You see her in the supermarket and sneer, you find her on social media and stalk. You call her cell to fight with her over the man that's right next to her most of the time.

You've lost all sense of self investment in the pursuit of happiness in this man, and blaming everyone but him, and yourself.

Because why?

I always have to ask why.

See, I was never cut to be the one who cheats. I actually know I need the attention that comes with a man outright letting ppl know "Yeah, she's been in my mouth at least twice this month, I've been in her mouth up to this morning." Whether he has another woman or not.

I'm poly for a reason. I entertain poly men for the same reason.

I crave the honesty.

There's no honesty in letting yourself be involved in the cycle of a bored, disgruntled monogamous, committed man.

He's going to lie, whether to you or his wife or to himself, he's going to lie.

That relationship is based on lies. Lies need to be fueled by more lies in order for the initial lie to be relevant.

That being said, what do you think, as a woman pursuing a man who has a wife, makes you so special that he'll tell you the truth, when he's lying to the woman he chose to legally bind himself to, in sickness and in health, til death do them part?

What do you think, as a woman pursuing a man who has a wife, makes you so special that he'll honestly tell you what he didn't honestly tell himself?

The hardest part about some men cheating, is coming out and telling the "Hun" that her time is up, he's done with her, it's time to go back home. She was fun but she's not the essence of the life he made with his chosen wife.

Enter the string along.

Exit all fucking common sense.

What bothers me the most is the fact that some of the most successful, intelligent, educated and well put together women, find themselves exactly here.

Watching this man struggle with the words to tell them he's no longer interested in this version. He rather go home to the comfort of his wife. He had the detour and it's gotten boring.

It hurts him to tell his "Hun" it's over for many reasons, but, only a few men can say they care about her as a human, to know that they're about to scar her but it HAS to be done.

Of course the "Huns" violently and dramatically reject this evolution.

They remind him of the good times... The fire and passion.

They attack the wife during the break up, for the more, her attitude that pushed him away, her sneakiness, she cheated, she was nasty to him etc...

And Every. Single. Time...

He still leaves, and most often goes right back to his wife.

And the damage is done.

At some point, us women are going to have to  question our value of ourselves.

Cuz the answer cannot be wallowing in infidelity and deceit.

Bully Beef Stews

*insert excessively dramatic sigh*

*adds a flounce for proper effect*



Picture if you will.

I grew up, gangly and lanky, glasses, buck teeth, sickly and too book smart. It meant I was an automatic target for the cool kids, who had to compensate for the fact that when the teacher called on them, and they stood up to offer not only the wrong response, they would have to do it loudly as our teachers demanded vocal clarity, meaning no one would let the fact that the word "achieve" is indeed spelled with the 'I' before the 'E' be forgotten until the end of that week, and the teachers would call on either myself, or two others to give the correct answer, because without fail, we already knew and were literally nodding off to sleep because we were bored waiting on the obvious.

I ruled my primary school, or so I thought, because I was the brightest, most charming, best mannered, one of the three titans who grasped sarcasm, satire, irony and cynicism with the adults around us from fairly young and we employed it ruthlessly at the expense of our classmates egos.

I never got physically bullied at primary school because I was taller than everyone, and honestly my mother was scary.

Of course primary school did not last forever.

I soon discovered that I was of average intelligence on the secondary school scene, not to mention I was ugly, poxy, buck toothed, and wore glasses, with short picky hair (I chopped off fourteen of my eighteen inches during the summer holiday because I wanted to start fresh for the new school) and absolutely no ass (at eleven years old, I had a period, mosquito bites on my chest and no ass, I was a failure in the highly sexual world of prepubescent buffoonery). I was 'bully bait', by the end of the first year I was shattered that no one found me smart, or charming for that matter, I was already accustomed to no one finding me attractive.

I was fucking shattered that no one cared about
my damn Sherlock Holmes leatherbound
collection. The nerve. 

No one gave a shit that I could bring to school literally, dozens of books or quote Shakespeare on the whim, no one cared that I was the top student at my school, in fact that was pretty much the thing that shattered me, the day I announced on introduction that I scored the highest in my school, and my classmates "stupsed" and informed me that they were on the lower scale of intelligence by passing to this new school.

Instantly defuckingflated. I shut down, tried to study, tried to soothe my wounded ego but there would be no rest for me, as I for the first time in my life got 67% on my end of year exams, and came 13th in class.

I cried for a week straight staring at that summer vacation. I was a dunce. From coming first or second in class, to thirteenth. From being everybody's favorite to being told in class that my sarcasm was an indicator of a weak mind that tries to hide it behind the weakest of wit.

Then the bullying REALLY kicked off.

Few guys tried the lunch money thing, but my mother was still not giving me money in first form, so that failed.

Then came the girls, the flat out laughter at my height weight, lack of shape, teeth, and glasses. Followed by the lines about my period and challenging me that I was diseased on occasion.

Of course there were the teachers who joined in on it, not realizing that they were creating the very same monster who would see them retired in a few years.

By the second term of second form, I had hit a wall and had a mental break of sorts.

I became outwardly aggressive as a norm.

My first fight in school I got my ass kicked by someone who would grow up to be a close friend afterward because my mother was not having none of our school beef coming home.

I told Josh about his mother, and Josh choke slammed me into the ground.

As I lay there, I had several thoughts, and not one of them was "But you gonna hit him back right?" I was at that point, outclassed, disadvantaged, and wrong, but the one thing that ALWAYS gets me in trouble isn't the fact that I am aggressive, or that I am dogged in my pursuit of justice, but always that I am an abysmal loser.

I hate to lose to the point that I simply will NOT compete, thus will never lose. Apply to everything.

So up next was turning this loss into a win, my first conscious attempt, at being petty.

* insert whimsical sigh *

I was such a brat. An entitled, obtuse brat.

Anyhow, took a few years to get over it, and few fights with people I was on par with, and people who were bigger and stronger, with their friends, but I didn't care. I was now taking my power back from people physically. Every time anyone tried to bully me I shunned a crew and stood alone, sometimes I cried about it, like when my period wouldn't stop and every day I had to change uniforms, when I sucked a dick because sex hurt and he talked about it. When people would tease me to kingdom come about my mum kissing me on the forehead and I still got affected, but it all fueled me.

I became a physical enforcer type at school. I had my moments of being a bully too, but, I never had the taste for it, picking on inferior or weak people was never my thing, too much work, little to no pay off.

I instead, chose to battle the bullies. To stand up to them and show them that for all their trash talking, picking on first formers asses, they weren't shit.

I had good days, when I was loved by my friends, and annoyed the hell outta the guy tryna cut in front a first former aggressively tryna get lunch from Mrs. Hope because my big ass mouth was the first one to raise the "NOT TUHDAY BADDY" cry. Breaking up fights in the junior school with Jubei because we really didn't want to have to deal with our year head interrupting our classes for the fifth time that week.

I had bad days, when I hit a young lady with a hockey stick and went to beat her down for wrongfully hitting a boy she thought hit her only to hear my best friend screaming from her spanish class telling me to put the hockey stick down and think about my exams. When I laughed along with the guys at the younger kids trying to be cool, and ending up physically hurt because of "kicks and bites".

I walked a different path, and to this day, as an adult, I appreciate it.

I don't have some elevated sense of justice, I get a feeling of satisfaction when I stand up for someone who didn't think anyone would, sometimes I let it fill me with light, other times I just move on from it because I know I got some fucked up standards at times.

The one thing, that I will maintain to this day, is there is nobody who I will let bully me, or anyone I care deeply about. I have left jobs based on this premise and I regret nothing.

I have a clear definition of what bullying is to me, and why ever so often you would see me NOT get into things to defend anyone that people assume is being bullied.

We tend to think someone getting attention and not being forgiven for their actions, being called to answer for their actions is bullying, but that's not really it.

Bullying cannot be used to describe a reaction to bullying.

Bullying is when you have the power over the individual, and you exert that power, trying to force the individual or group, into your will at their own comfort's expense. Trying to humiliate them so they no longer feel confident in their world.

Attempting to have them ostracized by threatening other people with implied (or other) consequences if they decide not to join in on the intimidation or support of said actions.

To me, bullying is you trying to hurt me by erasing my sense of self worth.

Bullying isn't you coming and telling me "I think you're a bitch". That's merely a strong opinion you're voicing. I don't have to agree with it, on the spot I can reject it and walk away from it and be cool.

I can reference it, and make light of it, because it was given a voice.

Bullying is after I remove myself, you come back, to again inform me, "I think you're a bitch!!" This time, you're making more noise, and invading my space. You're calling friends to come watch the show and join in on it, actively endorsing the action in order to displace my sense of self, you're trying to diminish my own comfort levels.

My reaction can be to ignore you, or strike back, but be christ, my reaction would not be bullying because YOU went out of your way to come to me, to make me uncomfortable, not just once, but again, with intention.

You gon take what you get though.

Big Booty Problems Again

Being a former adult entertainer (technically you can still call me one because of what I tend to base my writings on) gives me a small advantage over other women in regards to our relationships with men, in my opinion.

Being objectified for pay, helped me to understand the animal that is a man, while helping me to understand the animal that I am as a woman.

I'm not the most gorgeous girl, BUT, I am notably sexually attractive, it is just me, and it helps that I am aware of that “power” as many would put it. That was what helped me to survive dancing in a club and move on to dancing for private parties (better money, less stressful, safer for me, that was my experience) rather than stay in the club struggling to keep it on the hush, and being repulsed by the men who kept coming back trying to woo me with promises of a better life (I've checked their girlfriends and wives, life ain't get nuh better!!)

Anyhow, the reason any of this is important is because my interactions with men from the strippy, is what has set the foundation for my interactions with men today.

I am fine being objectified, I am a sexually attractive woman with body parts that men find themselves attracted to, well, men and women if we're going to be honest.

You would not believe the fanclub this
big old ass has. 

What I am not fine with, is starting seriously relationships based on the fetishism of my body by a man.

Something I KNOW from the club scene, is where most men's minds lie.

I have a great ass, my great ass, makes men want to be involved with me, they themselves tell me, “I would love to wake up next to that ass”, which I'm sure they believe is a compliment, and I cannot take it personally because most women generally respond to such flattery quite positively.

Most women aren't ex strippers who are accustomed to being observed as tits and ass and the tricks her ass can do, along with other body parts, that make her somewhat of a legend.

Confident women don't care if you say it, but we KNOW you see it.

I had an experience with a sweet, kind guy, he ain't a good boy, he ain't a nice guy, he ain't a bad boy, he's just a guy, who liked me, and wanted to try a relationship with me, and for a while we did try.

I just couldn't commit to it, because he was not hiding the fact that the only thing he was attracted to on me, was my ass. We never had a single conversation about how I handle life when we're not around each other, never once really got deep into our parenting lives, as we're both parents. He never even really looked at the idea of us spending time together outside of his bedroom.

He was affectionate, adoring and somewhat respectful to me in all the right ways, but, he treated my body like the only purpose it serves was to sexually satisfy his yearning for a big old ass to rub on.

He spent more time complimenting my ass alone than he spent actually in discussion with me about anything, yet, we were supposed to be in a regular boy friend/girlfriend relationship. It frustrated me because as a woman, I can recognize a good guy, he was indeed a good guy, but he was also only capable of seeing me as the big booty girl he always wanted to test run.

Sex was difficult for me because, as much as I happily claim my slut status, I need to connect with my lovers. I had no connection with him. There was little to no real foreplay for me, and I ended up disinterested in sex with him. For the first time in my life, I craved cuddling and non-sexual physical contact to make me feel like I was genuinely appreciated, rather than sexual contact to show me how much.

Don't come at me thinking you got some
exotic stripper, and think I won't treat
you like some lousy john. 

I decided to get out of it before resentment set in, one of the things the process of becoming self aware has gifted me, is my ability to predict how I will react to situations, and with him I could see I was about to become bitter and angry because he was doing exactly what men who paid me to be their entertainment, so they could get off on watching or touching my ass would do, but he wasn't paying me.

He was hurt, because he knows he's a good guy, here I am telling him he's a good guy, but yet he was not “good” enough for me.

It's only now I can write this out, months after, and I can understand it for myself. I do not want to be fetishized to the extent that all that a man sees is my body parts.

I am a whole woman, with a brain, heart and body together, I use each of them to exist, and I tend to prefer my lovers to appreciate the presence of each of them.

Sure, rub on my ass and bite it, but at least care about what goes on in my mind, at least show me that you can rub that ass cheek, while talking about the reason I never fall asleep with a man's arms around me.

Treat me like a stripper, and I'll treat you like a fare.