Category Archives: Guest Socks

Outside submissions provided by readers and guest bloggers to add different perspectives to the forum and blog community


Are You Willing to Experiment in the Bedroom? Pleasure Principle


It was the sound of the arm and leg restraints lifting that woke her. Everything was padded: the floor… the walls… the chair… The room had a series of trap doors only marked by the timing of released air through a small slit in the padding.

Dawn began to adjust herself in the chair, wiping her eyes and stretching her petite frame, acutely aware she was naked. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Then, a voice entered the room.

“Relax, Dawn. This is a study in pleasure points. This process will not be brief, but we hope that you enjoy your time with us.”

As the lights dimmed into darkness, Dawn sat back, unsure of what to think. The sound of air compressing and other unfamiliar echoes surrounded her. Suddenly, everything came to a climatic halt. Lights illuminated the room.

“We will now test your chair, to ensure quality of execution. Please try to relax,” said the voice from the speaker in her chair.

Dawn leaned back, took another deep breath, and tried to relax.

Simultaneously, the chair reclined to a full horizontal position. Dawn, flat on her back, stared at herself in the network of overhead mirrors that covered the canopy of the room. As she came to grips with her loss of control, she heard, “Please put your arms and legs into the locking plates.”

She did as she was instructed and rested the parts of her body gently on the plates, which snapped into a locked position.

The chair began panning in a circular motion, giving Dawn a full panoramic view of her surroundings. As the chair slowly lowered, the locking plates separate, spreading her legs to a full open position.

Involuntarily, she moaned.

[dc]O[/dc]n the other side of a one-way mirror stands Dr. Lana Sands, who stares out at her subject.

“Dawn, my name is Lana and I will be your controller for today’s session. You volunteered for this study two weeks ago, do you recall?”

Dawn nods quietly, “Yes.”

“Well, take a deep breath…now another… try to enjoy yourself. I promise this will not be a disappointment. Now let’s get you nice and wet.”

In the silence comes life. The machine comes alive, opening the floor up beneath Dawn’s chair. A selected mirror slides into view for Dawn to watch.

“Subject #1, oral pleasure.”

The chair slowly opens Dawn’s legs, her paper-thin robe riding up her stomach and her freshly shaven pucci exposed.

Dawn watches as “Subject #1″ approaches, a dark chocolate, attractive woman with a professional dancer’s body. Naked with socks on, she places her face to the chair and moves Dawn’s pucci to her mouth. She smiles while slowly running her fingers up Dawn’s upper body. She touches her breasts one at a time, rubbing her nipples. Putting her fingers in Dawn’s mouth, she directs her to “suck them.”

She complies.

Subject #1 slowly pulls her wet fingers away and rubs the moisture into Dawn’s nipples, caressing them slowly. Dawn reacts, moaning very low between breaths. Subject #1’s eyes are focused on Dawn’s facial expressions and reaction to her touch.

“Are you ready,” she whispers.

Dawn nods.

Subject #1 opens her lips to reveal a long pink tongue. Straightening her oral muscle, she moves it up and down. Her face moving slowly towards Dawn’s wet and waiting pucci. Dawn watches the mirror underneath her chair as Subject #1’s tongue approaches, vibrating up and down, penetrating her thick walls.

Creamy pre-cum soaks Subject #1’s lips and tongue.

Dawn watched in awe as the tongue tickled her clit without assistance from her busy fingers. Subject #1 strokes it over with a consistent movement that makes Dawn’s pucci explode from the inside and gush onto Subject #1’s face. Dawn screams aloud in one note that she carries until her body stops vibrating from the orgasm.

“Subject #1, retire,” Lana’s voice instructs from over the loud speaker attached to the chair. “How was that, Dawn?”

“Grrreaaaat,” Dawn replies.

“Good, we have more in store for you. Subject #2, penetration.” 

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Would You Have Sex With Your Ex One Last Time?


I knew I was playing myself telling him to come and meet me at the nail salon, because I was already lit up off of the two Mai Tai’s I consumed right before getting here. I wasn’t actually thinking of fucking but…

Well…wait. Yes I was.

But I knew I had to go home so it wasn’t really an option. Besides, all I truly wanted was to just lie down and sleep.

But I digress.

So he came. He walked in with this light grey, slim-cut suit on, a leather pebble grey bag, purple and grey tie knotted to perfection, with his hair cascading way past his shoulders. I looked up and felt my face get hot immediately as I glanced at my watch.

“I know…I’m four minutes late.”


I gathered my things and since he said he was hungry I suggested BBQs. Fast-forward a couple frozen margaritas with extra shots later.

“You’re coming to Brooklyn tonight,” he informed me, matter-of-factly.

“I can’t. I have to go home.”

“What do you have to do at home?”


“Fuck that. You’re coming with me. I’ll put you in a cab home.”


[dc]W[/dc]e weren’t out of the restaurant 15 seconds before he threw me up against the storefront gate next door and pressed his body up against mine while burying his tongue in my mouth.

He was right: I was going to Brooklyn.

Twenty minutes later I was walking through his door. He disappeared into his bedroom as I slid my jacket off and just took a moment to take everything in. Three years had been a long time.

He’d come back into the living room and poured me a double shot of Pure White.

Well, damn.

He was buzzed, which was totally fine, but I could tell he was ready. He walked up behind me and unbuttoned my slacks, slipping his free hand into the front of my thong to cup my lips. He got me out of my clothes in record time and spun me around. Next thing I knew he was on his knees with his mouth buried in my pussy.

Not many guys know what to do with a clit bar but THIS man was not one of them.

At some point I finished that double shot before we made it in to the bedroom. He shoved me onto my back and opened my legs so he could finish what he started. All I felt was the base of his tongue flush up against my box. He pulsed in. He pulsed out. My body began to tremble severely as he tightened his grip around my waist while I squirmed.


I came.

All over his mouth.

I closed my eyes for a moment and felt him climb up on the bed. I felt him grab my wrists and opened my eyes to see him wrapping a long black rope around them.

What. In. The. Fuck.

[dc]S[/dc]ee I don’t have a problem with bondage. Unbeknownst to you all I’d just never done it. There was something about not being able to move the way I wanted to and being vulnerable to anything that quite frankly scared the shit outta me.

“Shut the fuck up,” he barked, as if he was reading my mind.

I’m telling you. This motherfucker’s hands must’ve had wings on them because before I knew it, my wrists AND my ankles were bound.

I tried to wriggle out of the seemingly masterful Club Scout knots to no avail. I finally gave in as he once again buried his mouth into my still oozing folds. I was uncomfortable not having full control of the situation so I began to shift around to try and loosen the bondage. No deal. Finally, I submitted to the experience and pleasure he was giving me.

My head was hanging off the edge of the bed as I tried to figure out what he was doing. He walked around and stood over me positioned so that his dick was in my face.


“You didn’t have to tie me up for me to suck your dick,” I said.

I slid back to angle my head where I could take him into my mouth. As he slowly began to slide in further, I felt him get harder with every inch. His heart was throbbing through his dick and it turned me on. He began to rock back and forth as I relaxed my throat to try and get him in as far as I could at this inverted angle.

Look, Ma…no hands.

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10 Things That Hurt Most When You Break Up


[dc]I[/dc]t’s no secret that a break up is a painful process, no matter which side of it you’re on. Almost everything about it is miserable, but there are some things that are particularly hurtful; these 10 things are among the worst parts of ending a relationship.

The Initial Conversation: Whether you knew the breakup was inevitable or were taken by surprise, the first discussion about ending a relationship is one of the most difficult. Hurt feelings can cause both parties to say things they’ll later regret, resulting in even more pain on both sides.

Separating Your Lives: Long-term relationships have a way of intertwining two lives so thoroughly that extricating yourself is a complicated and hurtful process. Sorting belongings, closing joint accounts and moving all hammer the point home; the finality of these necessary tasks can be heartbreaking.

Questions From Family and Friends:When family members and friends become accustomed to viewing a couple as a unit, it can be difficult to answer the inevitable questions. Being forced to explain the reasons behind a breakup to loved ones over and over can be wearing; watching mutual friends take sides and grow apart can often make things even worse.

Finding Forgotten Belongings: Stumbling over a forgotten piece of clothing or other left-behind belongings inevitably happens, especially if the couple shared a living space. The regrets and memories of happier times can almost be overwhelming in this situation.

Adjusting to Single Life: After creating a life with someone, their absence can be even more upsetting when it’s time to make adjustments to single-dom. Mundane tasks like eating dinner alone are often among the most depressing reminders of everything that has been lost.

Rumors and Gossip: Even the most well-meaning friends can’t resist the urge to pass along gossip and rumors about an ex; regardless of their truth, these second-hand news items can make an injured party even more unhappy.

Being Reminded Unexpectedly: Hearing a particular song on the radio or smelling your ex’s cologne/perfume on a stranger passing by can almost be devastating; being unprepared for the onslaught of memories that accompany these things often leaves a person bewildered, reliving the relationship and its painful end.

Accidentally Running Into One Another: Unless one half of a couple leaves town altogether, you will eventually bump into one another. The stunted conversation between two people who were once so close is heartbreaking in its awkwardness.

Finding Out That They’re Dating Someone New: Hearing that your ex is seeing someone else, especially if you haven’t been ready to date anyone yourself, can make you question the depth of their commitment and feelings for you.

Realizing That You Haven’t Moved On: There often comes a point, after a breakup, when you realize that you’ve been fooling yourself into thinking that you’ve moved on. Realizing that you’re still not quite over an ex can feel as if you’re reliving the breakup, going through it all over again.

Starting over after ending a long-term relationship is a challenge, and almost never happens quickly. Because moving on is a series of small and gradual changes, it can sometimes feel as if there will never be an end in sight. Patience and optimism is key; by taking things one day at a time and realizing that the pain won’t last forever, you might find yourself ready to face the world sooner than you expect.

What’s your worst breakup? How did you get over it? What’s the hardest part of breaking up for you? Have you ever bumped into an ex on the street? How did the impromptu meeting go over? Do you agree with the list/ What would you add?

Speak your piece…

Do Best Friends Make The Best Relationship?


Being friends with the opposite sex can easily be the most complicated thing in the world. Thanks to Steve Harvey and company there’s the assumption that every man’s female friend is one that he would sleep with, which is not entirely true—at least not for me. Then, there’s the issue of being placed on the back burner when your friend gets a new partner in her life, and, ladies, let’s not pretend it doesn’t happen! Being in the friend zone, at times, may seem to be the worst situation ever, but is it actually for the best?

With practically every romantic comedy that came out over the past few months being about best friends who fall in love with each other (i.e. Friends With Benefits, No Strings Attached, etc) maybe we’ve got the whole “getting to know someone while dating” thing wrong. In actuality it might be the smarter decision to know someone as a friend first, and not have to worry about surprises in the future. But where’s the fun in that?

In contrast, there are a lot of cultures where you don’t even get to choose whom you marry, and the challenge of the relationship is learning to adjust and make it work. You grow with the person and learn what works and doesn’t in a relationship with them.  You can even say the same thing applies for friendships, learning limitations and what makes the friendship a good one can also be applied to romantic relationships.

However, you’re also left with the huge possibility of ruining a perfectly good friendship by crossing that line for a failed relationship. What if you decide to date and things take a turn for the worst, is it worth jeopardizing years of alliance? NWSO and I were debating about this the other day and clearly had different views. What I decided to do was ask 50 people under the age of 24 if being friends with someone first is better for a relationship and 39 of them said, “No.” I followed that up by posing the same question to a group of people over the age of 40 and 33 of them said, “Yes.”

Some of the most interesting responses to my survey included:

Being in a relationship should always be about being best friends before being lovers.  Being a best friend is a full-time job, anyone can be a lover.”

“Dating a friend is too much of a liability.  I usually keep guy friends around to be able to compare my boyfriends to them, but I’m not brave enough to try a transition.”

Based on my survey it would appear that people’s view on the subject varies by age, but love is something that can’t be placed in a box. Some friends manage to find a way of making things work romantically, while others just are better as friends. Still, the idea of someone marrying their best friend sounds intriguing. Sometimes, you have to take that risk.

What are your thoughts on best friends of the opposite sex dating? Are they generally matches made in heaven or doomed from the start? Would you be willing to cross that line with your best friend? Why or why not? Do you like the concept of your spouse being your best friend? What do you think of the results of my survey? Do older people know something that the younger people don’t when it comes to dating? Have you ever been a relationship with someone who was a really close friend before hand?  How did it work out?

Speak your piece…

Can You Love Someone & Still Have Feelings For Your Ex?


She woke up angry—incensed. Body shuddering in 85 degree weather from the chill of pure, unadulterated anger. She couldn’t believe it all ended like this.

Three months ago, she was being kissed in unimaginable places. The whispered “let go” in her ear causing her to release long moans of satisfaction and unimaginable orgasms galore, had her clinging to his white shirt, his earthy sweet smell, combination smoke, combination sexy, all surrounding her, his kisses echoing on her bottom lip like the tannens on a good pinot noir, his noir skin against her mahogany, all the memories of his wood on her mind even still as she contemplated all of the ways that she could make his emotions pay for just leaving her.

You don’t leave your soul mate, right?

She was angry.

She still hadn’t quite figured out what exactly happened; how the passion became distaste; how the love became hate—it literally happened overnight. An innocent question, not meant to be anything innocuous or malicious and suddenly, it was all over.

She hadn’t had any desires since.

She moved from day to day, night to night, event to event, meeting to meeting without any feeling. Ate food without any true flavor. She got a paper cut, watched the trickle from the accidental nick pool in a tiny, pin sized bubble and yet didn’t feel a thing. She was numb to just about everything.

He recognized numbness when he saw it. He saw her jogging in the mornings, her stride strong and true, her face an empty focus. It was an unusual combination of pride in what she did and yet emotional despair. He watched her push herself to unimaginable limits—run nearly double the normal miles she would do every other day, her legs clearly feeling the burn—her face belied nothing. No emotion. No feeling. Nothing.

He fantasized about making her feel again. Conjured up images of her body pressed against the brick wall of the neighboring house, his sweat mingling with hers, their breaths in sync and yet staccato from the movements their bodies were making, his thrusts matching hers, her feelings all over her face. Finally, he envisioned his lips to her chocolate neck, leaving his mark there, dragging his tongue to taste her where her natural salt trailed. He wanted to make her feel again.

If only he actually knew her.

He had to fix that.

[dc]S[/dc]he stopped and took a deep breath. She woke up the morning, chest heaving and heart in a vise grip from the pain. Heartache was real—it was real and frightening and anyone who said otherwise was just being completely dishonest. She couldn’t deal with the pain, she just wanted it to go away but nothing she did to calm herself down would work.

So she ran.

She threw on her shorts, pulled on a sports bra, tossed on a tank top, and she ran. She ran past the fruit stand she usually walked by, past the barber shop, the Rite Aid, past her usual benchmark, ran until she couldn’t run anymore, until she couldn’t run anymore, until she looked up and realized that she was at least four-and-a-half miles from home.

She leaned against the storefront. Her legs were on fire. It was the only thing she could feel. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to feel anything else again.

“That was brutal,” a voice uttered.

She paused; her thoughts interrupted, and looked around.

He was standing there, leaning against the wall, sweat dripping into the crevice of his pectoral muscle, bald caramel head glistening, curious brown eyes peering at her. Smiling a lopsided smile, he said again, “That was brutal. 5.5 miles in 20 minutes… Got something to prove?”

She shook her head as if to clear it. “Huh? Were you following me? Wait…who the hell are you? And why were you following me?”

She shrank away from the wall, shielding her eyes from the early morning sun, and peered at him. His baritone, deep and true, chuckled. “We run the same route every day for the most part,” he responded. “I usually pass you by but today you blew by me. I stopped at the Rite Aid about a quarter-mile back. My car’s parked around the corner from here so when I saw you leaned up I decided to stop. So…something to prove today?”

He smiled again, a bright white tooth smile, complete with two tiny dimples in the corner of his mouth. She peered at him again. “Don’t worry,” he continued, leaning into the wall. “I don’t bite.”

She frowned.

He straightened, looking her in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he said, extending his hand. “I didn’t mean to catch you off guard or anything. I was just curious and I truly thought you were beautiful and I really did want to know what caused you to run twice as long as before and now I’m just sorta babbling so maybe I should just start over by saying, ‘Hi, my name is Bryan…what’s yours?’”

She looked at him for a long moment.

He stood there, hand extended, patiently waiting.

She took his hand. “I’m beautiful…is that the best you got?”

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Would You Sleep With Someone You Were Breaking Up With?


I knew I was going to sleep with him the minute I met him. How I ended up in a relationship with him is a whole other story.

This part of the story, though, starts at the end…

[dc]S[/dc]itting in front of my computer, editing yet another story and working on yet another aspect of my business plan, my email lit up with a message from my boyfriend. The boyfriend that I hadn’t seen in a week. The boyfriend who, unbeknownst to him, was seconds away from being dumped because something was not right in his and I’s world and I was not invested enough to try to work through whatever it was.

Little did I know how right I was about to be proven.

I opened the email, hoping to see that he had come to his senses and was finally going to explain what in the hell was going on with him. Instead, I read:

This is his girlfriend that’s been messaging you. And thank you for letting me see that this side isn’t worth it and I advise you to do the same. I’ve seen all your guys’ messages back and forth and I’m just so devastated. If you would like to talk to me you can/

I paused.

Looked around.

What the hell did that just say?

I read it again. It still said the same thing. Well, that would explain a whole lot.

It explained his chronic lateness to things we had planned. The late night phone calls that he passed off as his “mother.” It explained why I’d never seen even the outside of his house though he’d seen mine quite a few times. Most of all, it explained the long ass hair on his shoulder I came across when I hugged him that he waved off as one of his “co-workers'” who hugged him.

I read it again. Then I started laughing.


I let a bit of my intuition go these past few months because I was caught up in the idea of him. In the idea of caring about me and wanting to marry me and wanting to be there for my child and wanting to move in with me and just wanting me. I had finally accepted that that was what I wanted for my life and I thought that he was presenting that to me.

His kisses were pretty fire, too.

And maybe that was more of what I was caught on. The way his kisses made me so wet I had to start carrying around wipes every time I was around him. The time walking down 14th Street in the rain and he held me and fingered me to orgasm after orgasm leaning against a Duane Reade window when everyone else thought we were just hugging. Playing pool in the pool hall where the sexual tension was so high even the hipsters across the way saw it—heavy petting in the car that led to leaving my favorite cream lace panties in his pants pocket.

And we hadn’t even slept together at that point.

After reading that email, I didn’t mourn the demise of our relationship…didn’t throw a fit about the blatant level of disrespect his infidelity had shown…all I could think was, “Does this mean we can’t sleep together anymore? This is some bull” And after I acknowledged that thinking that way couldn’t possibly work for any reconciliation at all, I decided in that moment that I was going to get some mind-blowing, earth-shattering, amazing sex from my boyfriend.

Then, I was going to dump his cheating, no good ass.

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Am I Racist If I Don’t Date Outside My Race?


Everyday we’re inundated by relationship books, corporate bought-out magazines, blogs, and conversations devoted to Black women and the struggles they face while dating. Despite this topic being discussed over and over and over again, we often forget that dating has much to do with personal preference and happiness, which doesn’t rely heavily on color boundaries.

From baring the economical brunt of the household to disparaging statistics surrounding advanced education, the white-picket-fenced image of a Black woman being content seems to be farfetched. So why won’t she marry someone outside of her race? In theory, doing so should solve all of her problems or, at the very least, give her more prospects, right? However, often these answers allude to hopelessness prompting Black women to consider other avenues.

The Internet has been abuzz with the recent release of Ralph Richard Banks’ new book, Is Marriage For White People?: How The African American Marriage Decline Affects Everyone. Before you begin to wonder, the author of the most talked about book is Black. And so is his wife.

After reading the advanced excerpts from Essence’s September 2011 issue, I only imagined the amount of attention the book would garner. In the book, the Stanford law professor examines the relationships of Black women when it comes to interracial marriage. The author suggests Black women would benefit both themselves and the Black race if they decided to marry across racial lines.

From the “psychologists” researching if Black women are least attractive, to the myriad of “relationship experts” that dole out advice on what women are doing wrong, criticisms of Black women seem to be en vogue these days. And seeking solutions to why they have such a hard time dating never dies. Black women and dating will never become a lackluster topic. Regardless of polarized judgments, assertions and even sometimes-pointless commentary, the title alone used by Banks has gained much traction, discussing marriage and relationships issues Black women face on a daily basis.

There is a huge market dedicated to sensationalizing this issue. And not to mention, marriage itself is a huge cash cow racking in millions and millions of dollars each year. Black women are a driving force behind the economy. In fact, it’s been reported Blacks love to spend their disposable income even though studies seem to project our wealth levels are low compared to our spending power. Companies know this and work to ensure they entice the Black dollar. More and more products or “services” are being released targeting Black women and their “woes” of dating. Don’t be stunned that the media has an effect on how we view race relations when it comes to dating. Because various forms of the media have been objectifying the traditional couple for so long, researchers have started to generate a body of literature

There’s nothing wrong with having preferences when it comes to dating. But whenever we decide to limit ourselves, then we have to deal with the consequences or realities. If you want to limit your preference, I don’t see the problem because you’re going to have to deal with those restraints when finding a partner. You are allowed to have unwavering standards and choices, but at the end of the day you must be aware that those standards will limit your dating pool. Those who limit their possible candidates to one race should not be shamed. If someone chooses not to date outside of their race does not mean they’re “racists,” they just don’t date outside of their race.

Let’s not forget that interracial relationships are nothing new. Given the historical relationships between Blacks and the majority race, interracial couples have been around for many years—starting from behind Master’s closed doors. It’s difficult to paint all relationships with the same brush or color. There is no special technique when it comes to finding the perfect mate. The ultimate goal of marriage is for two people to be happy. Even though happy might sound like a place in a far off interracial land, if you decide not to date outside your race please don’t feel bad.

I know I wouldn’t.

Do you think it makes someone racist to only date people within their race? Or, does racism have nothing to do with romantic preferences and what someone finds attractive/ Do you think that women of color would have higher marriage rates if they dated men of other colors? Have you also noticed the media trend of bashing women of color? Why do you think Black women and their dating habits are under attack? How many of your female friends do you know that are happily married or at the very least on the path to marriage? What did you think can be done to change the trends? What did you think of Drew-Shane’s guest post?

Speak your piece…

Can a Single Father Do It On His Own?

[dc]S[/dc]ingle fathers don’t get enough PR. When it comes to parenting most people only think about the mother. Very rarely are a father’s contributions to rearing a child given most light, especially a single father.

Now, that’s not to say that a man doing what he’s supposed to do for his children deserves more praise than the millions of women the world over that do the exact same thing because it is his job too, but oftentimes (Black) fathers are painted as “deadbeats.” That’s not the case with my boy Khalid, who is one of the most dedicated fathers I know to his twin daughters, Aniya and Kayla. Last week, on their eighth birthday, he sent out an impassioned email about how it’s taken a village to help raise his children that I wanted to share with y’all:

Steve Jobs, 56, founder of Apple Computers died this past Wednesday, and while devastating, an even more profound impact is the gaping hole he has left in the world where his ideas, passion and innovation once flourished. The planet lost an amazing visionary that literally changed people’s lives here in the United States and across the globe! This recent event led me to reflect on my own life, and on how influential one person, one idea can be to countless others. How just a SPARK of hope, an IGNITION of creativity can gift thousands, or even millions of others the permission to challenge and embrace the limitless possibilities for what they can do with their lives.

It occurred to me that Steve Jobs’ influence might never be matched. Steve Jobs reached continents and touched millions with his thoughts and ideas many of us may never rival that impact—but many will never have to. It is my firm belief that raising a child and pouring in your emotion, your thoughts, your lessons, your ideas, yourself is one of the most impactful things anyone, anywhere can accomplish. One idea, one spark in a child’s mind can shape the adult they grow to be. As a parent I know and respect the power I have in who I am helping to create in the world. I am not Steve Jobs, but I can achieve Steve Jobs’ influence on others.

Which brings me to the reason for this email, just like Steve Jobs, my accomplishments have been aided by the contributions of countless others both large and small. I have and will never take full credit for raising [my twin daughters] Aniya and Kayla, I truly believe that it takes a village to raise a child and since I have two I have a small town behind me: YOU. On October 7th I celebrate[d] my daughters’ birthday, my own anniversary as a parent as well and I want to take the opportunity to acknowledge the people who have helped Aniya, Kayla and their dad get to this point.

So if you have ever given me money, asked to babysit, sent a gift, let me vent, kept me from losing my mind, helped me buy groceries, let me and the girls eat for free, bought clothes, sent an email with a cool place to go on the weekend, answered a question about the girls’ hair, or just genuinely shown concern for Aniya and Kayla’s well-being then you are part of my village. And if you have never once asked about my daughters but have helped me sustain myself, emotional, mentally, physically or financially then you have made sure Aniya and Kayla has a father who is always at 100% for them, so you are also a part of my village.

This list changes every year but its importance remains stagnate. I have been a parent for eight years today and I’m still standing!! So to my town: THANK YOU!!! And happy birthday!!!


Do you think that single fathers don’t get enough credit? Should they even get credit for doing what they should be doing anyway? Is it surprising to hear of a father being so involved in his daughters’ lives when he’s not with the mother? Could you imagine raising twins on your own? Do you believe we’ve lost that it-takes-a-village-to-raise-a-child sentiment? For the single mothers/fathers, who has helped you mange parenthood over the years? How often do you thank those people for their contributions no matter how small? What are you thoughts on the passing of Steve Jobs and what his legacy will be?

Speak your piece…