Black Girls Be Dishing on the First Time

When most people talk about their first time they are talking about the first time they laid down with someone and found out what all the fuss was about. But Im talking about another first. The Real First.  The first time you take a dump at your boyfriend’s house.

As little girls we are taught that our bodily functions are nasty and should be kept as quiet and as untraceable as possible (all while our brothers belch and fart for the Olympic gold is gassiness).  So we grow up covering up our little mouths every time we burp and clenching our butt cheeks together so that we are not the culprit of oppressive odors. Except when we shop.  Quiet as its kept, store aisles are specifically designed so that women can release gases that they have been holding in all day and quickly walk away with a box of banana nut oatmeal as if it is on their shopping list even though they know that they are allergic to bananas…. or maybe that’s just me (>_>)….. (<_<)….. (>_>)…..

So when we get older and we start dating, we confuse bubble guts for butterflies because we have been bound up since the 8th grade and the Browns are divas and will only play in the Superbowl on home turf(Get it, Browns…Superbowl! I’m a 12 year old boy on the inside. Forgive me).  So a few things start happening 1) The New Boo is attractive and makes you feel all fuzzy in your nether region just like Steve Urkel did every time he turned into Stephan so your stomach is doing flips  2) The Olympic cross-room dive you do whenever he texts/calls is more calisthenics than you’ve done all year 3) New Boo is taking you out to eat to share great conversation, libations and greasy, cheesy goodness  and 4) Any light to heavy petting is getting your blood moving  which is kicking up the Cupid Shuffle in your intestines.  Needless to say, New Boo is doing a number to your digestion.

So you’re chillin with New Boo, watching movies (or maybe the movie is watching you *winkity wink wink*) and New Boo is rubbing up on your booty (if you’re into that) and you feel that oh too familiar feeling of bubbles on the back end so you clench your cheeks together. New Boo asks if you’re ok cuz he felt your soft sumptuous rump turn into a bag of bricks and you say in your cutest little voice, “I’m fine,” as you hope that those bubbles will travel right on up until you can discreetly release them. But they dont! Those bubbles stay right there like you owe them money and you gone pay what you owe! And what’s even worse you can feel that they brought their bigger, more troublesome enforces and they have no intention of leaving.  So now you are standing at the precipice of the biggest issue you have had to deal with thus far in your relationship with New Boo.  Will you do number 2 at his house?

You excuse yourself as you make your way to the bathroom in slow motion, replaying your entire interaction with New Boo.  The laughs, the stories and all the meals. WHY!?!? WHY LAWD!?!?! WHY DIDNT I ORDER THE SALAD!?!?!? You bemoan as you walk through the bathroom door.  You sit down on the throne, still in disbelief that this is what your life has been reduced to. “Its too soon”, you think.  “I dont even know him that well”. “Im not ready for this” (mind you, you know all about the diamond mole on his behind and that disturbing face he makes when he *clears throat*…yeah) but before you know it has started.  As soon as you hear the ploop! you flush the toilet with the quickness of a Black woman grabbing her slipping Church hat-wig 2 piece combo during a Holy Ghost dance break.  But even with the lightning fast reflexes, smells still linger so you search this bachelor’s bathroom for some spray, incense, candle, matches, AXE… Something!  You find the aerosol under the sink, turn the water on high and do your loudest, raspiest Chaka Khan impression of Tell Me Something Good to hide the sound of spraying.  But the spray gets in your throat as you wash your hands.  So there you are hacking up a lung and praying that no disrespectful scents wafted under the door.

Then you hear it. His footsteps walking towards the door.  Its the moment of truth.  Will he pass the test or diss you for taking a dump and make you take the sh**ty walk of shame? You open the door.  “Are you ok,” he asks with a look of genuine care and concern. “I’m fine,” you reply as you quickly shut the door behind you. You know, just in case.  “I paused the movie. It’s getting good.” Ahh, he’s so cute and oblivious to the major milestone that ya’ll just achieved. Number 2 with the New Boo, excuse me, Boyfriend. Because, whether he knows it or not, yall go to together. And he just might be The One.

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Black Girls Be Trying to Lighten the Mood… with Wine

Ok ok ok I know I got really mushy on the last post. And if you are a punk like me you are trying to figure out what to do with all those fuzzy things in your chest.  And the answer is pour yourself a glass of wine, or 3, and watch this:

Now if you didnt even find that mildly amusing I want you to exit out of this browser, erase all the cookies and history and pretend as if you dont know that this blog exists because you are an alien life form and you already know too much about my life.  Please dont anally probe me.