Skeez Louise pt 2: Chocolate Chuck and the Hypothetical D Pic

You may or may not know this about me, but I LOVE a good mystery; a good who done it and why. I like to swish the puzzle pieces of a situation around and study them until they all fit and make sense. I gobble up mystery novels like kitty nip. For me, there is mystery in everything, even in the lives of people I know. Scrolling through Instagram, the mysteries fly through my timeline and slap me in the face. How can a guy from my old neighborhood drive a Tesla, but need to create a GoFundMe fundraiser to bury his dad? How can a very petite girl I knew from my elementary school after school program be shapeless her whole life yet, after a trip to the Dominican Republic, now have a behind the size of Texas? And how can Chocolate Chuck's wife, Nerdy Nadine vanish? She's been scrubbed from his IG, along with any tangible proof that he ever had kids. Even the picks of his international vacations, that he never went on with Nadine, have been trashed, and replaced with promos for his business. Could Purple Reign have been right? Could their union, which once sprang from the springs of love at Xavier University, have decayed and fallen from the vine? And if it has, what is the most appropriate, sensitive, considerate, respectful way to see what that D do? 

Let's rewind back to about 2006, back when my sweet, fun, yet loopy and dopey friend Ditzy Diane had engaged in some XXX activities with Chuck. I mean she went on and on about it. Titanic didn't get as many rave reviews as she gave that D! She was literally clapping her hands and laughing as she told me about it. If her goal was to make me jealous, she had achieved it. I remember looking over my shoulder at Chuck and Nadine on the other side of the cafeteria. I thought to myself that if I ever got skinny and pretty (because I am NOT Chuck's type) and if he wasn't with a woman who could crack my neck with her bare hands, I would shoot my shot. And I wouldn't need to go all-the-way like Ditzy Diane. A little peek would do it for me. Okay, so I am in no way skinny, but my spirit is telling me that this may be the best time. He obviously is in some type of a midlife transition, and I am suffering from medical related dehydration.

"Oh yeah, you can get a pic, no problem," Risky Business assured me. I tell you, it is truly dangerous to have a friend that will support you completely, even when you are being crazy. "And it won't be as hard as you think it is." But you see, Risky thinks that we should wait until homecoming when folks are feeling frisky and walk away with a bunch of D picks, not just the one. I'm good with just the one though. 

If I am being honest, it wasn't just Diana's review that has me curious. I slipped up and saw him shirtless on another friend's InstaLive which is what I think really kicked things in gear a couple of years ago. And now that I have been OnlyFans tricked and am scared of my test results, this desire to see D has taken over me! It's embarrassing and ridiculous...but nice work if I can get it. 

My anxiety can sometimes cause me to act impulsively and stupidly, so I am going to sit on this deep, jaw-flexing desire until I know what move to make. Plus, can't be all hoochy like in this. Where would the mystery be in that?

Skeez Louise pt. 1: The Story of Holls and OnlyFans

Tomorrow, I have my medical procedure and I am really, really, really scared. I think that this may be the most scared that I have been, ever. I have told my friends this, and they have given me the typical "Oh Holly is being dramatic again," response, which has made my fear and anxiety skyrocket to new heights. And I find that when I am scared, I default to my old reliable coping mechanisms: eating nonsense and looking at hunky guys on Instagram. So, the night before last, as I ate some gummy bears, I allowed myself to go down an Instahole, looking at every post of a man that we will call DreadHunk. Child...when I tell you that I was invested! If you have never seen him on IG, you have seen men like him. He's a tall, dark-skinned man with dreadlocks that likes to cook and clean his apartment baby oiled and wearing a towel. He is a total tease, and just like the thurstbots in his comments, I needed to see more. So, high on fructose corn syrup and horny, I went to his linktr.ee page and found that he has an OnlyFans page. I know. The story only gets worse from here. 

I am aware that I may be the only person on earth that had never been on OnlyFans. As the good Christian I tell myself that I am, I recognized this site for what it is: the devil's playground. Yet the other night, chewing a fist full of gummy bears and hypnotized by DreadHunk, this didn't seem to matter. Guys, I was saturated in adrenalin. Like a skeez, I sat in my room in the dark, my face illuminated by my cellphone light, trying to start an account. I comfortably slid into the sexual underbelly, putting my card information in, literally thirsty to see DreadHunk's content. Long story short, my phone glitched, the info didn't go through, I got spooked and deleted my account. I had an OnlyFans profile for 15 minutes. Scared at how far I had slid down the pike, I put my phone down and went to sleep. I was done with the nasty stuff...until the next day, which was yesterday. 

Yesterday, my anxiety was even higher than it was the day before, which I didn't think was possible. I cried on and off all day, and I could feel God telling me to turn to Him for comfort and relief. Yet, after coming across DreadHunk's latest post, I slid on sin right back to his OnlyFans. This time I subscribed, paid, and went to DreadHunk's page. Confused, I looked at his uploaded content. It was even more PG than what was on IG. What? I asked myself. Then I looked at the comments on his profile of women letting him know that they had sent him a "tip" and were excited to receive their pic or video or whatever. A tip? A. Tip? A tip? A TIP?! I swear, audacity must be on sale someplace! Have single women driven to OnlyFans for action not already paid the price?! For the second time in less than 48 hours, I deleted my account. As a punishment, I now have to wear the scarlet letter of OnlyFans being on my banking statement. 

So, I got duped. Looking back on OnlyFans, I figured I got what I got for being gross and thirsty. It was then that I saw Chocolate Chuck's page and realized that I am not thirsty. I am, in fact, dehydrated. 

Picture Imperfect

So a friend of mine asked if it was cool if she tried to hook me up with her husband's friend. Apparently, she got the idea that this may be a good idea after hearing me complain about my loneliness during my Zoom birthday party. I have to say that I am shocked. None of my friends have ever tried to hook me up with anyone ever not ever not once. I lie. My freshman year of college, Big Homie Sans tried to hook me up with this dude named Carl. She figured that it was a match made in purgatory because we were both fat. He was...interesting. Imagine Egor from Winnie The Pooh with an afro. Boy, this was one unhappy guy. Lucky for me, I am into unhappy people. He wasn't into me though. After innocently calling him on New Year's of 2004 to wish him a happy holiday, he very aggressively rejected me like a poorly transplanted kidney. So again I was shocked when my friend circled back and asked if it was okay to give dude my social media handles. WHAT? Of course! I then went to my Instagram just because. Yikes. 

There is nothing about my social media that displays me as hot. There is nothing about my social media that displays me as sexy. There is nothing about my social media that displays me as interesting, fun, cute, bangable, or remotely smashable at all! The only thing my IG makes clear is that I exist. That. Is. It. I scrolled through three years of pics and I was so disappointed. There was not one picture that would make me want to get to know me if I was a man. A man or even a woman looking for a platonic bestie! I don't have not one pic of me posted on the hood of a luxury vehicle. There are no pics of me smiling seductively at my fancily plated dinner. No pic of me from the back, standing with my hands outstretched on top of a mountain. It's depressing!

"You don't want a guy who wants you for your pics. You want a man that wants to get to know you," said Tiesha. What a good friend. She had time for my bellyaching even as she recovered from COVID. But she was mistaken and had no room to talk. All of her pictures, even the most casual ones, make it clear that she has a showstopping rack and good skin. 

"I am going to call Von and see if I can get booked for one of his sexy, boudoir photoshoots," I grumped into the phone. I was half kidding. Even if I had the $3 Trillion bucks to book the shoot, I'm not that excited about a guy I went to college with seeing me hogtied in a thong. Tiesha let out a sigh/moan/cough. I don't think she was crazy about the idea either. 

When I was too young to understand what she was talking about, an older woman in my grandma's retirement home told me in a hushed voice that men are visual creatures. I guess she thought to tell me this after watching me rub melted chocolate across my t-shirt and the lap of my jeans. I hope that this is not true, for I haven't taken a flattering pic in years! How does Megan the Stallion do it? Rubi Rose? Oprah? On top of this, my desire to get dressed up and be presentable dies with every passing day! But now that I am aware that folks are out here asking for socials...God, why do I even still care? If a picture is worth a thousand words, a few of mine are over it and exhausted with the process. 

The End of Third Ryan

It is now fall. My lukewarm hot girl summer has come to an official end along with my pointless, going-nowhere crush on Third Ryan. You remember him? The nice guy from my writing group? Well, he has a crush on one of my good friends and that is simply a road I would rather not go down again. I've been going down it since the 6th grade afterall.

I am so, so tired of investing in the time needed to get to know men who aren't interested. I mean truly, I am exhausted. I could fall asleep right now while typing this post! And what I am even more tired of than that is the unhealthy way that I deal with unrequited love. I don't pray it away or dance it away like Solange. No. I transfer it away to another unavailable man like a loser. 

So, once Third Ryan casually proclaimed his love for my friend during a cute conversation that I had thought was otherwise going well, I decided to start the transference process. Sadly, I decided to transfer it to another man in writing group, Jack. Jack is annoying but hot. To even my own surprise I could not sustain the crush, so I transfered my now two-times-over RyanJack love to a man named MaxTheBody, a male bodybuilder that I found during a thirst search on Instagram. My crush on him will end soon enough, just like my crushes on that IG male dancer and the IG fetish trainer that makes adult movies with his wife. 

Not too long ago, someone asked me if I never found love, would God be enough. I originally said no, but I am parachuting towards 40 at a speed you won't believe. I don't think I have a choice! Hopefully God likes long hugs and slow dancing to 90s R&B. I have always wanted a boyfriend that could do a box step to Forever My Lady by Jodeci. 

The Thirst Hole

Hello, I'm TheBGInTheCity, and I am writing you from my 6th consecutive day of thirst. That's right, I'm thirsty.
Oh, the thirst of it all! Last Thursday night, I was alone and lonely surfing Instagram, when I innocently fell into what has become a Thirst Hole. While liking pictures of interiors and Christmas cookies, I came across a picture of a good looking man. I clicked on it, then went through his page and looked at all his pictures. I should have stopped there. The thirst didn't completely set in until I looked at some of his videos. The moment he started gyrating to a Jacquees song, my thirst switch flicked on, and I have not been able to turn it off since! Every day gets a little worse. The other night I actually stayed up until midnight to watch his Instagram Live, where other thirsty, sad women like myself watched a 27-year-old topless male stripper roll a blunt and play with his dreadlocks.
For those of you that have never been in a thirst hole, allow me to give you the honest, non-exaggerated symptoms: increased libido, lack of sleep, vivid dreams.
I have taken small solace in not being one of the thirstbots that actually comments during the videos. You know, with water splash and heart-eyed emojis? These ladies are relentless. Some of them are hella out of order, asking for penis pics and kisses. Some even send him DMs of their vaginas. I know this because he thanks the ladies for the pics before he ends every video.
Guys, this guy is such a hunk. He is young, he has a sexy accent, he has muscles, he is tall, and he is LOADED with tattoos. And no, this is not the guy that I usually would go for, at all. But he has a certain something. He always seems so happy, grinding on the chairs around his house. Which is a pick-me-up for me, seeing that I always get sad during the holidays.
All and all, I think we all knew that I would end up here. Hopefully, I will get out of my hole soon and re-enter the real world where a have a chance, although slim, of finding a real man.

Sickles and the 'like'

So the other day I was nodding off when my phone buzzed in my hand. Has that ever happened to you? You wake up panicked!
It was none other than Sickles. He was texting me, saying hey, essentially. He sent me a selfie of himself smiling. I said hey back...essentially, then proceeded to return to my nap.
I may have been asleep a full two minutes before my phone buzzed in my hand again. And again, I woke up startled, only to find that the buzzes were alerts from Instagram. Sickles had liked three of my pictures. I screamed. I didn't even know that Sickles knew my last name!
I can't tell you whether or not I was scared or shocked in that moment. But what I can say was that I was uncomfortable. Yes, I have known this guy for about four years. And our renothingship has had absolutely zero progress. I know his full name but that is about it. I don't know where he works or where he lives. Knowing that he could go through my IG feed and see pics of me with friends and family and colleagues made me feel like my face was being ripped off; like I was naked. And vulnerable. And yes, even spied on.
But then it dawned on me: I could now look on his page. Yesssssssss.
When I first met him, I think I looked at his IG once. He wanted to show me a picture of someone, and I kicked myself later for not remembering his IG name. So I was eager to see what was on his page, and was disappointingly greeted with a whole bunch of memes. Memes with jokes that I didn't get. I couldn't believe this! People put their whole life on IG. I have seen live births on IG! But somehow, after looking at Sickles' page, I was more lost as to who he really is than I was before!
Something that was of value was a picture of him from a year ago with a pretty woman that he referred to as his wcw. I wonder who she is. But it's not like it matters. You don't have to answer to people you are in a renothingship with.

Barry and Wayne: Cyber Lovers

My friend Cassandra thinks that I should try to get out and date. Can you believe it? With all my issues and with all the things I need to accomplish IMMEDIATELY in my life, she wants me to go out on a date. That, my friends, would be a distraction. She doesn't get that though. What she also doesn't get (because I haven't told her) is that I don't need a date because I have crushes and imaginary relationships with men on Instagram.

I met a girl recently who told me that women change every five years. Their minds, their body chemistry, their career positions- all of it. They change every five years. I found this to be interesting since I have had the same boy crushes for about ten years. Sadly, I guess this shows that I am not progressing in life. I am prepared to accept that. You can't have it all. 

One guy, we will call him Barry, is tall, dark, and clean cut. He is my Obama. I like stalking his Instagram to see pics of him going to church and working on his abs in the gym. The other one, we will call Wayne, looks like he should be living out of a V Wagon on the beach someplace. His hair is wild, and his only vice is taking expensive trips around the world, cocktail in hand. 

I often imagine what life would be like with these two. Barry would buy me a dream house with a huge kitchen where I would bake cookies and prepare us smoked salmon. We would slow jam in this same kitchen to Earth, Wind, and Fire. I would be wearing the same black and white dress that Grace Kelly wore in Rear Widow. He'd be looking presidential in an all-black suit. Wayne and I would sit side by side in his unfurnished loft, eating Chinese food with our hands and watching random reruns. 

This whole thing is funny (or scary) because I know both of these guys. I went to college with them. And if either of them knew I had a play-play romance with them, I assure you that they would block me on all types of social media. 

Cassandra is married and she has kids. She is absolutely cradled in love. I have dipped my toe into the septic pool that is Atlanta dating, and have retreated comfortably into my mind and phone to partake in fake love. I have watched enough Iyanla Fix My Life to understand that this may be a symptom of a deeper problem. Until I am ready to address it, I will just continue having fun with my two boyfriends...in my head.