The Quality of Pussy

It’s going to be a lot analogies here so bear with me.

A couple days ago I dropped a blog and stated “Pussy is literally everywhere and readily available but unlike any other commodity it’s not regulated by exclusivity or price to determine the lesser or the greater value.” Somehow this spiraled into a conversation of “all pussy ain’t good pussy ”. I laughed. I let it simmer for a while and had a few conversations with a few good people then thought to myself “self maybe I should expand on this”.

This is me expanding…

You’re welcome.

I’ve never met a woman in my 37 years of life that didn’t live under the impression that their vagina is the best thing since sliced bread. (Side note – What was the best thing before sliced bread came along? Was sliced bread that much of a game changer that we forgot what the other thing was?) Here’s the thing if you think you have good pussy it’s a 94% chance that you are correct. It’s like 3% terrible pussy and 3% exceptional pussy. Pussy is very much like bananas. Hold on let me explain. If you like bananas chances are you can’t remember the last time you bit into a bad banana, but at the same time you probably can’t remember when you bit into an exceptional banana. Bananas for the most part are consistently good. Bananas are great that way; if it’s ripe and not all battered and bruised it’s going to be satisfactory.

Did that make sense to you?

You got it?

Ok good.

Now with anything good you can add things that either improve or worsen it. This is fundamentally true for vagina. If I get a stock BMW and throw some crazy color paint on it, neon lights on the undercarriage, zebra print on the seats and a wild ass wing on the back; it’s still a BMW. The performance is still the same, but I’ve clearly alienated some of the appeal. Now I can take that same BMW and toss the black matte paint, black out the rims and tint the windows. This car might have a broader appeal, but it’s still a BMW. Which bring me back to the fact that good pussy is readily accessible and easily obtainable but the only obstacle maybe (strictly adhering to preference and lifestyle) is finding the correct add-ons.

Did that make sense to you?

Are you sure?

Great; we are on a roll. I’m about to wrap it now.

We all know what the general consensus deems to be attractive. Small waist, hips, round ass and breast size is still really a mixed bag but let’s just say at least some boobs for the sake of argument. If you need confirmation slide over to IG and pick a random half naked woman with 100k followers; I’m sure she’ll fit into these parameters. With that said we have pretty good idea of what the consumer is interested in physically (and by consumer I mean the people interested in pussy of course). You don’t fit into any of that shit but you still get more play than elementary school recess? Good for you. Here’s a gold star. Congrats. When it comes to the physical we pretty much know what’s a sure fire draw. Now let’s side step that because it’s so many other things besides looks when it comes to appealling to the consumer base. Before a company rolls out a product they typically test the market to see if it’s something that will go over well; gather a focus group or two and do some survey’s and shit. That’s not being done with pussy. Nope. Pussy owners do their own add-ons sans any research and believe themselves to be a catch to their anticipated demographic. To say the least this garners mixed results.

So yeah your pussy is probably good, but maybe all the things that come with that pussy … not so much
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Dating Fiscally Sound

She has her own money

We all (and by “we all” I mean you dudes; I’m 37 now I’m off that shyt) have this ideal of a woman that’s earning or has the potential to earn a high wage in some sort of white collar profession and becoming some sort of power couple. Who doesn’t want a boss bitch? Nobody tells you that it is a cost to play and you might not see a return on your investment.

Three weeks ago I posted a question on the Facebook timeline…

“You ask your dude for some money but you don’t say how much. He leaves you 500 on the dresser and tell you take what you need. You only need 150. How much do you take?”

Then it was posted by a few other people. Most of women opted to take more than 150. To be perfectly honest the women that opted to take the entire 500 were of middle class income or higher. It went on to further prove my theory that women of greater success expect more and typically cost more.  It will never be 50/50 in almost every relationship and somewhere some woman is reading this and thinking “you can put a price on the things she provides”. I can argue that down with an itemized list but that’s another blog for another day and it’s just the cost of doing business of being a man seeking companionship.

“I can do bad all by myself”
This line has been around all my dating life and I often dial down into what it actually means in private conversation but you’re in luck because today I’m putting it down in print. I can do bad all by myself – I can maintain status quo on my own so I’m not interested in dating someone whom can’t better my current position. With this being said to date a woman with an above average social-economic status, your social-economic status needs to be equal or in most case greater. This brings me to my next point…

You ain’t building no fucking empire homie
The funny thing about power couples is there isn’t many of them. If it was common and the formula was foolproof we probably wouldn’t call them power couples; they’d just be couples. You find a mate, gather resources, have some kids and split the rent. That’s the real American dream and if you really want to stunt for the Gram you get matches Benzes. The truth is if you’re a go getter you can raise your own capital and build your empire all by yourself. Jay-Z was already Jay-Z before Beyoncé. I'm just saying though. It’s a handful of women that come into a man’s life and significantly better him professionally but that’s the exception to the rule and we aren’t here to talking about the Mr and Mrs Gucci Mane’s of the world.

Vagina is not a limited commodity
I can hop of Reddit right now and find out anything I want about anything but the vagina of the woman sitting 2 barstools over from me at happy hour. Pussy is literally everywhere and readily available but unlike any other commodity it’s not regulated by exclusivity or price to determine the lesser or the greater value. Unlimited access and zero quality control makes the hoops most men jump through rather unnecessary because it guarantees no level of success for the level of energy, time and money applied. With that said leap frog over all the social-economic status BS you’re left with the ability to successfully execute adulthood tasks consistently, attractiveness and character.

They ain’t do nothing special
There aren’t any clearly defined talents or perks. Women with hirer social-economic status don’t suck more dick. Wash clothes better. Keep a cleaner homes (well they might; I can’t think of too many women that clear over 100k that didn’t maintain a spotless home; so I’ll have to get back to you on this). They’re not rubbing feet. They’re not showering men with gifts (ugly women do though, if they acknowledge that they are ugly). There is no evident level up in character or treatment from a woman in a better than average financial standing. On the flipside; there is a guaranteed addition of attitude to dealing with a woman that was already comfortable before a suitor comes along.

If that’s your driving purpose the juice might not be worth the squeeze; I’m just saying tho
Jean DeGrate has spoken

That Time I Should Have Won Side Dude of the Year

Gather around boys and girls it’s story time with JD…

Technically I wasn’t actually the side dude. She was legit my homie. We’ll call her Teresa and yes; I was hitting Teresa on occasion throughout the span of a couple of relationships. And by occasion I mean 5 times tops. One time was exclusively out of curiosity of what that mouth might do. Ok story within a story time…

I was kind of dating girl called Sunday. I called her Sunday because I only saw her on Sundays and by only seeing her on Sundays I meant I’d come over to her house and fuck. Sunday was a pioneer of this internet stalking shit. She literally befriended every one of my female on social media. It sounds bad but back then it was like 60 in comparison today’s 2400 or so. Somehow, someway Teresa and Sunday became phone buddies and they were discussing skin care technics because Teresa has flawless skin. Anyway Sunday erupted with laughter out of the blue and exclaimed “Bitch you crazy”. Sunday turns to me and said “She says she keeps her skin clear by swallowing at least once a week”. Needless to say my interested was peaked and I immediately plotted my exit to see what that mouth does. You don’t need all the details, but I left Sunday’s house and 45 minutes later I was seeing what that mouth did. It was wonderful by the way.

Ok back to the story…

Boyfriends hate me. The only boyfriend in the history of my females having boyfriends that didn’t hate me is the homie Tangie’s husband, Russell. Anyway Teresa’s current boyfriend was really uncomfortable with her having a male best friend which is ironic for two reasons; first I didn’t have sex with her during their relationship and second he had a female best friend. On the flipside his female best friend was unattractive as in the moment I finish writing this blog I’m unfucking her unattractive. Teresa cooked up this whole scheme of me “talking” to her boyfriend’s best friend; let’s call her Ant because she kind of looks like an ant. Basically I’d go out on a date or two with Ant and her boyfriend would stop feeling uncomfortable. I agreed to this arrangement prior to seeing Ant. Upon meeting Ant face to face I threw the whole plan the fuck out the window.

Teresa pulled up on me with Ant to make the introduction when I was chilling around U Street at a random bar and BOY there was much to be desired. It’s no way I could be out in these streets with this young lady. Ant was brown skin slim built with big breast and no ass at all but that face was an absolute deal breaker. A total lack of ass is a hard mountain to overcome on any woman and when you accompany it with an unpretty face; nah son. Ain’t no mother fucking way. I needed a plan B. I was going to put her in a “phone bone and text her to death” type of situation. I’m a beast on the phone. I’m a fucking professional conversationalist. (If you’ve ever been on the phone with me for longer than 20 minutes you’d know that I’m gifted.) We exchanged info then Ant and Teresa headed on their way. I walked back into happy hour and tried to drink the image of her face out of my head.

Anyway… the next day I started operation chatterbox. I’m telling you this; I’m charming as fuck when I put my mind to it. For about 2 weeks I had her crying laughing and hanging on my every word without even hinting at a date or any sort of face to face interaction. I was ready to do a victory lab because I heard no new gripes about the friendship between Teresa and me. It was to the point that Teresa would hit my line and shoot the shit with me while her formally jealous boyfriend was sitting on the couch next to her. Mission accomplished right? Wrong. In week 3 of our usually cool and casual conversations became instantly littered with “so when am I going to see you” and my hand was pushed. I tried to duck and dodge it but she wouldn’t let it die; I was really going to have to jump on this grenade. BLOWN.

Since I was backed into a corner I set it up for a Netflix and chill type of situation well after sundown. I intentionally lined it up on the day the crew was celebrating one of the homies birthday so I could already be on some day drinking shit. I was sipping from 4p right up until she pulled up at 10p. I had a bottle in the house for her and a movie lined up. The plan was to have her come over, throw the movie on liquor her up then we’d both pass out. Nope; it didn’t play out that way. We never discussed her hidden talent of drinking like a member of a biker gang. I had a 5th of Goose and she was going shot for shot with me and I was already halfway done. I probably made it 2 thirds into the 5th before I was staring at the inside of my eyelids. I wake up to her reaching into my pants whipping my man out. My intent wasn’t to smash; I swear it wasn’t, but she started in with the head and she wasn’t half bad. She was no Teresa but it kind of sobered up me; I wasn’t anywhere near 100% lucid but my dick was 150% ready. On everything I love I normally mail it in with chicks I’m not digging, but I’m going to do like Jamie Fox and blame it on the liquor because I balled her ass up in that bed. Twice. She creeped out like 3a with a possible limp and I woke up to the meanest hangover several hours later. About 3p when I finally started to get my appetite back and my life in order; this ugly broad had the audacity to send me a selfie caption “I had fun last night”. I threw my phone across the room then jumped up and started punching the air like Trey in “Boys in the Hood” after Ricky got shot. I was mad at her. I was mad at myself. I was mad at Teresa. I was mad at Grey Goose and my head was hurting. I maintained my professionalism and tucked Ant back into the conversation only zone and eventually phased out talking to her completely over a 4 week span. No awards or plaques came for my sacrifice on that dark night. I still can’t watch documentaries about ants to this day and Teresa broke up with dude like 6 weeks later.

Not all heroes wear capes
Jean DeGrate has spoken