Girl... Beyonce

Yeah, this is totally not what you think this is. Seriously, it's not.

A while back, I dropped a blog called "Why Women Are Better Cheaters," proving why women are able to pull the wool over the opposite sexes' eyes when it comes to sleeping around. Today, I'm going to tell the story of this chick who I was cracking. Like the perfect fuck buddy, she had a man, and she also had the stepping out game on lock (like most women do). We're going to call her Angel.

I ran into Angel in a CVS, and I mean I literally walked directly into her while I was watching some ratchet fight video on WorldStar. I smoothly knocked her into that aluminum cage full of those cheap plastic balls. She was mad as fuck and on the brink of spazzing the fuck out, until her homie bent the corner. "Hey Mr. De-Graw-Tae" because women who know me solely via the internet never ever say "DeGrate". And, just like that, Angel's face changed from "curse-a-nigga-out-mad" into "oh-you-know-him-calm". So there I was chopping in up with one of my random ass FB homies, who, by the way, I couldn't point out in a room with only me and her in it, and there Angel was standing within earshot hearing all about my miscellaneous rants and adventures that I've posted on the net. After about 10 minutes, Angel chimed into the conversation, and we ended up exchanging FB info.

Angel didn't start off cheating on her dude. She started off reading blogs and inboxing me for advice related to her relationship and his behavior that she found disturbing. We jumped from inboxing to texting, then from texting to actually talking on the phone. Needless to say, with every change in communication method, we strayed farther and farther away from the topic of her dude. As a precautionary measure, she created the "Beyonce" code to avoid any type of falling out if her dude were to become suspicious of some dude she was just cool with. I mean guys never trust dudes that just randomly pop up out of nowhere. If I was an insecure dude, I totally wouldn't trust me; I totally look like the type of guy that would fuck some other guy's girl. It made sense to me; after all, I wasn't fucking her. I had only seen her that one random time in CVS so the shit seemed on the level. The code went like this...

I could only initiate contact via text, and I'd have to say some toned-down shit like "Hey", and wait for a response. If her dude was around, she would respond by saying something about Beyonce, i.e. "Girl, have you seen the new Beyonce pictures in Vogue," and that would my cue to say something like, "Of course, you know that's my bitch," (don't judge me) and just allow the conversation to wane off. But, if he wasn't around, she'd just call my phone.

The big fight
In almost every relationship, there's a big fight (or several) that puts the relationship into a gray area where neither party is exactly sure of the relationship status. This subsequently leads to questionable behavior by both parties that probably won't be brought up during the reconciliation process (or any other time unless to be used as with malicious intent). Newsflash: During that "break" when you were living life as scheduled, rekindling old flames with college-sweethearts and shit, random John (no pun intended) had his dick down your girl's throat, but hey... it was a "break" though. Anyway, I'm bullshitting down U Street on a random ass Wednesday night, and my phone rings... Angel's name flashes across my screen.

JD - What's good? (Unfortunately, I still answer my phone like that.)
Angel - What are you doing tonight?
JD - I'm uptown, on U Street, just bullshitting around.
Angel - How long are you going to be out?
(Once a female asks me 2 questions back-to-back, my inner "I don't want to be questioned" reflex kicks in.)
JD - Why? What's up? What's going on?
Angel - I'm trying to hangout.
JD - What's going on here?
Angel - Me and Greg broke it off, and I'm just trying to get out of the house.
(This was my first encounter with the "dick in a glass" maneuver that didn't consist of a woman I had fucked previously so I was in uncharted waters. I was confused, and almost parted my lips to ask her, "But where your real friends at?" However, cooler heads prevailed.)
JD - Oh ok; well how long do you think it's going to take you to get up here?
Angel - I'm already ready. I'll be there in 15 minutes.
JD - Bet; I'm outside of Liv now so I'mma just post up here.

45 minutes later she walks in. We drank, and I told some jokes. At about 11 o'clock, I was ready to wrap shit up, and she paid the tab. Yeah, it surprised the fuck out of me that she paid for the drinks. I was sleepy, buzzed, and was about to attempt to catch a cab while black on U St. She offered me a ride, and I gladly accepted. We pulled up to my house, and she decided to come up. Right about now, you're probably thinking it went down as soon as we got thru the door. Nope. No such thing. I turned on the TV, sat on the couch, and we were both knocked the fuck out moments later.

I woke up around 3am to her laying on me in the "I fell asleep on the plane now I'm leaning on your shoulder" position. I was literally sweating. I pushed her off me, got up, and went to my bed. I got up when my alarm went off and hopped in the shower, all the while assuming Angel was still sound asleep. Nah. Two minutes into the shower, she busted through the bathroom, pulls back the curtain, takes a good look, and steps back out. I was heated (mainly because of the gust of cold air she let into the bathroom), but I finished my shower. I walked out of the bathroom to find her standing by the door in her bra and panties. She grabbed me by my neck and kissed me dead in the mouth. It felt mad rapey, but I went with it, and we all know how the story goes. Plus, there weren't any sexual highlights. But if you need details: the mouf was mediocre, and she had a surprisingly phat ass.

Later that afternoon, Angel and her dude patched things back up; it was accompanied by a sappy FB status just for the "haters". We all know that "breaks" usually last no more than 48 hours, so I wasn't surprised. We also went back to exactly how we were as if nothing had happened, that is until the next hiccup in the relationship. By the second time around, she was in "cut the shit" mode.

JD - What's good?
Angel - You home? You Busy? You got anything planned?
JD - Yes, no, and no. (It kinda made me feel like a loser because I was literally sitting Indian style on my living room floor counting my DVDs just to be counting DVDs.)
Angel - I'll be there in 30 minutes.

... and she just hung up; she didn't even wait for me to say cool. This just amplified my loser status. How did she know I wanted some no strings attached pussy at that very moment? I could have been enjoying my "me" time. Anyway, she showed up within 20 minutes and brought her A game. It continued on that way for a few months. Every argument at her home ended with my penis in her mouth that night or following day. Yeah, by this time, she was just flat out cheating. One week she came thru twice, and I said, "Damn, two breakups in one week," and she replied, "Oh we not broke up. He's just been acting funny lately so if he doing something on the side, I don't want him to be the only one." I almost stopped her from taking her clothes off to ask what type of sense did that statement make, but it was too late to ask; my dick was already hard. It turns out that nigga was acting "funny" because he already bought the engagement ring and was waiting for right moment to bring it out.

She said, "Yes". I was still her FB friend long enough to see her post pictures of the engagement ring. Then, she deleted and blocked me on FB. I didn't even try to text her, but I'm sure I was blocked on that too. She cleaned all traces of me from her life. When I ran into the initial FB homie two weeks ago, she said Angel is happily married, with a kid, and they still talk about my blogs; so I know she's going flip when she sees this.

Out of all the girls with boyfriends I've smashed, she might have been the best who ever did it.
Jean DeGrate doesn't even like Beyonce.

4 Things Fellas Should Be Telling Ladies About, but Don't

Because you women folk need to be put up on game, and I like to make lists...

1. When you're on top and pull us forward to suck your titties, that shit hurts.
Seriously that maneuver is all types of ergonomically incorrect, especially if your fuck buddy is at least 4 inches taller than you. The strain on our necks alone is enough to make us say, "Bitch get up off me," but we power thru the pain because we want the nut. Stop trying to do the most. Just let us lay there, with our eyes closed, enjoying the ride. And, if you're one of these A/B cup Bitches pulling that move, you owe your dude mouf as soon as you finish reading this blog.

2. All of yall ain't that fresh down below.
I know every woman thinks her pussy smells like roses and tastes like water; I personally can't vouch for the latter, but I'm 100% certain that 3 out of 10 of you aren't as fresh as you'd like to believe. This is another thing guys just take on the chin. He's wined and dined a female, spent hours upon hours texting and talking, and the moment of truth is here. He does the classic "two-finger test" (you know the one where he pretends to be interested in fingering you, but smoothly runs his fingers by his nostrils after two finger pumps?). Yep, 30% of the time, that box smells a little tart. Oh, trust and believe, he's still fucking away. You're already naked, you're already wet, and you've already wasted half his night on a so-called "date". He's fucking, and he won't even say a fucking thing about the smell. (Side note - fingering a chick in this day and age doesn't have shit to do with female pleasure. We need to know if the pussy is wet enough and what it smells like. It's a necessary evil.)

3. You might not be relationship material.
As men, we date a lot of women knowingly that they don't have what it takes to actually acquire a title. And by "date", I mean invite them over for a Ciroc and Simply concoction and a BluRay after 10pm maybe even the occasional Sunday matinee movie that been out 4 weeks already.  Whether it be the Party Girl, the owner of several kids, the seemingly hoeish hoodrat, or any other criteria that would make it unacceptable to bring her home for Thanksgiving, we'll just keep them in that gray non-girlfriend area. That moment when a man pulls a hoe with the best mouf in SouthEast to the side to say, "You know this ain't going anywhere, right?" ... yeah that never happens.

4. We don't give a fuck about your designer shit
Right now, it's a 1000 bitches running around with leggins with crosses all over them, and I guarantee you no straight man on the face of the Earth knows who makes that shit. Men typically don't follow trends for women's fashion, but we are fans of form fitting and revealing clothing. We don't know and don't care who makes the things that make you look fuckable. We especially don't care about your designer bags and heels. Nope not even your "fuck me pumps" that you leave on during sex; the brand of those aren't even of the slightest importance. Now, thanks to JD, you can pay your rent instead of buying those Loubs you've been eyeing to wear on your man's birthday. Aldo pumps do the same sexy trick.

Consider this bit of information charity, and thank me later.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Choosing Season Protocol: Ladies Play Fair

It's September. Real football is only a few days away, the kids are back in school, and the last few days of summer are upon us. As we enjoy the last of these 80 degree days, we can all see that choosing season isn't too far off. It's time to get a few things in order before we kick the season off. I observed many interactions during last year's Choosing Season, and a lot of you ladies weren't playing fair. Women down right took advantage of men out here looking to get chose. (Yeah, really women taking advantage of men; I'll probably never get to use that ever again.) So I've made a list of the top 3 choosing season fouls women commit.

Don't accept that drink at the bar
I've seen it time and time again... Some unsuspecting misguided guy that thinks a great icebreaker is buying a perfect stranger an alcoholic beverage, just to see the lady say "thank you" before returning her focus elsewhere. Just to see the lady twerk on the next man when the DJ plays "Single Ladies". It's so cold. It's so unnecessary. You knew what he was expecting when he asked you what were you drinking... some light conversation, maybe a dance or two, and hopefully a phone number that would turn into a date later down the line. Don't let a guy buy you anything if he's only worth the time it takes him to hand the bartender the money and pass you the drink.

Tell him off top if you're celibate
Women decide to put the box on the shelf for all types of reasons: religion, been done wrong too many times, or caught something *cough* along the way in her dating adventures. Whatever the cause is, that doesn't really matter; all that really matters is that you're not fucking. He's privy to that information before a single outing is set, before you exchange FaceBook and Instagram information, and before a "get to know you" phone call turns into a 4 hour conversation extending into the wee hours of the morning about everything but the fact that you're not fucking. When he approached you, I can assure you that he wasn't thinking, "hey she's probably a really nice person that I'll like to feed, entertain, and spend time with and money on with no hopes of ever seeing naked". But you already knew his intentions (just like you know the intentions of those lames you let buy you drinks in the club), and since you know his intentions, you're dead wrong for allowing it to happen.

If he's in the friend zone let him know he's in the friend zone
Ladies you know if he's a cool dude that will never make it to the pussy promise land. He's just missing that certain something and that pushes him all the way out of the running to ever see you naked. Don't wait until he gets all rapey and then call him your brother or until some other guy has you confused and in your feelings so you turn to him for advice. Nah. Let that man know the moment he's out of the running for panties. Shoot him a text, make one of those goofy tweetgrams, then tag him in it. Hell, whatever you do, just be sure to make it clear that he's just a friend. Don't get endless free dinners, platonic massages, and moving help from a guy that's applying for a job he's not qualified to fill.

If you're going to play the choosing season game, at least play it fair.
Jean DeGrate has spoken