Secrets of a single girl

I remember bemoaning my dating troubles to a male co-worker and he said, ”Bettie, you scare the crap out of men.  You need to dumb it down a little.”  I took his advice and stopped talking to men in my true voice.  I started staring at them. Laughing at their jokes and started listening more.  Even if I already knew about a topic, I would lie and say I had no idea.  This makes men feel smart.  I can act scared, weak, timid and best of all DUMB, just so I can hit it and quit it as much as I want.  The male ego is a fabulous toy.  This is a genius and fun game.  They don’t mind it at all as long as they can see me naked.

I often think of men like dogs or lions.  They’re primal and I love it. If your girlfriend asked your man to come over to her house and help her move the sofa, what would happen?  If she put her ass up in front of his face and said fuck me, do you think he would say no?  Scary, isn’t it girl?  What you have to do is gain that type of confidence and attitude that men have about sex.  You have to love it more than anything and want it more than food.  You must work at the skill of not caring.  You have been trained and pre-conditioned your whole life to put his needs above yours.  That is wrong.   You have every right to enjoy it. You have permission to want it badly all the time. The idea that fucking and love must go hand and hand is utter bullshit. It has NOTHING to do with love. You hear me darling? NOTHING.

How about his best friend?  The one you have so much in common with.  What if he showed up on his motorcycle and said “Let’s go for a ride.”  What would you do? “Hop on baby lets go.”  Those are some of the sweetest words you will ever hear.  Do you want to live your entire life wondering what if? Get on that bike AND that jock faster than anyone can say CHEATER!  Cheating is such a stupid word.  Cheating at what? You are just openly exploring the other gender.

Once you have officially put your name on the naughty list, you will thank me.

My first gift to you darling, is how to become a real woman

I hate monogamy.  I find it dull and boring and dreadful. I don’t believe that human beings have it in them to be monogamous.  We are creatures with innate desires.  I don’t know very many animals that are monogamous.  Most of the males have sex with multiple females each spring.  They usually have a gigantic fight to decide who will get the girl.  How romantic is it to have two alpha males fighting over you?  Nobody ever fought over me.  Not even once. 

I’ve heard a saying “everyone cheats.”  “People who say they don’t are lying.”  I wonder if we are holding ourselves up as couples to an unattainable standard?  As I have grown older, I have a much more open mind in terms of relationships. Being married is not easy.  It takes hard work, determination and most important; imagination.  I’ve taught myself how to be a grown up and sacrifice my desires for the greater good.  My younger self had little self-control.   I doubt the word no was in my vocabulary until I turned thirty.  I have a good friend who says “sex is like pizza, even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.” 

My efforts to maintain serious romantic relationships led to epic failure.  It always ended with drama. I always acted scorned and ridiculous.  How embarrassing.   I knew in my heart, all of them were Mr. Right Now.   Dating was tedious and tiresome. I never uttered the words “let’s just skip the small talk and get right to it then!  I don’t want to watch your sporting events. I could give a shit.  Shut up and take your pants off Mr. Wrong.”

Society teaches girls that if they want sex they are bad.  If you admit to enjoying it, you’re a slut.  Oh the utter guilt and shame for having a fucK for fuck’s sake!  This double standard caused me so much pain and suffering when I was young. I stayed in horrible situations with men who were totally wrong for me and should have been shown the door the morning after.  After my daughter was born, I decided that I would free myself from the ridiculous pressure to have a “relationship.”  If I want it, I’m going to get it and NOT call him the next day. I didn’t hate men, I loved men.  What I hated was the relationship part.

Freeing myself from the lies that I was taught about sex and gender brought me a new found happiness.  I enjoyed life before but it was always marred by all the turmoil of trying to escape the confines of men who were selfish pigs, abusive jerks, simpletons, or whores.  I was finally putting myself first.  One day I woke up and said, “hear me world, I will never, ever, ever attend another sporting event, concert, festival or party that I do not want to attend just to make a man happy.”  I don’t even like watching baseball or hockey.  They’re BORING! I would much rather be at a punk rock show salivating over men with questionable morals and hygiene.

That is how I became a woman. I became true to myself. I put my needs first. If you make yourself the number one priority in your life and do the things you love, I guarantee you will be happy.  As a result of becoming a true woman, magically a man will appear that you can stand the sight of in the morning.

Love always –

Bettie Parker

Maturity is back en vogue

I find it interesting that a women's writing web site that has over 15,000 users has not one user group  dedicated to romance or erotic literature.  Is it that women do not want to read about sex?  Is it because feminist writers find pornography offensive?  Is it that “true” writers don’t consider this type of literature legitimate?  If erotica isn’t popular, why are three of the top five books on the New York Times best sellers list about BDSM? I have not read any of the “Shades of Grey” books, yet I am thrilled to see us coming out of the sexual straight jacket we have been ascribed.   Obviously romance is a huge market and from what I have read the Grey books are fairly tame and accessible to a wide audience.  I pray this brings us all back into the joy of what it feels like to be mature.   

I long for a time when more people act like adults, read adult books, and have adult relationships.  Everything that is mass marketed to us has to be watered down for a teen audience.  The entire country has become teenitized (yes my word) to a similar common denominator in literature, music and film.  I have no desire to read young adult fiction and fantasize about vampires.  I don’t care about adolescent post- apocalyptic survival.  I’m fed up with pop tarts singing about their boyfriends in blue hair and edible clothing.

Adolescence is a death sentence.  It is the death row of humanity.  It is temporary, certifiable insanity that I never want to re-live.  The teenage brain is nothing but that of a mental patient, salivating for things that they cannot identify, or understand. Why are so many people hell bent on staying there?

I’ve met many a man and woman with a serious case of Peter Pan Syndrome.  I find this behavior reprehensible.  I try and be diplomatic, yet all of the insanity remains there as well.   I struggle to understand people who have fallen victim to this mysterious affliction called permanent suspended adolescence.

Being an adult is joyful.  You have made it through the great Darwinian challenge and have proven yourself worthy.  This life is yours now and yours alone to make what you will.  You should run away from everything you know with reckless abandon and seek out the truth.  I wanted nothing more than to be a grown up when I was an adolescent.  This is why I am so confused by adult desires to stay young forever. I cannot imagine living with my parents. I would rather be homeless.

One of the most pleasurable things about being an adult is sex.  Teenagers are just fumbling around in the dark or trying to find a place to sneak away.  As a girl, I quickly tired of the fumbling, stumbling, chasing, running, faking.  I made a concerted effort to find older boys.  They were not yet men, but no longer fumbling.  I enjoyed their apartments and disposable incomes. I liked boys who knew about gourmet food and pornography; Boys who rode motorcycles and threw fabulous parties with hot tubs and drugs.   Why hang around a keg with a plastic cup in your hand, when you could be at a mansion on Summit Avenue drinking gimlets and playing billiards? Life is short.

I realize now that all of this behavior was risky, illegal and debauched.  I think I was trying to get all my Darwin tests over as soon as possible.   As I aged, the boys started catching up.  They didn’t become my intellectual equal by any means, but their ability to understand complex concepts and hold meaningful conversations increased.  I was able to start dating men only one year older instead of six years older.  What a nice surprise.  I enjoyed the fact that these quasi-men never tried to tie me down.  They never once talked about marriage, a concept I abhorred.  They shuddered to think of what I was doing over in Europe while they were stuck at home.  I suppose they secretly wished I wasn’t going anywhere.  Wild Horses cannot be broken right? At least that is what I thought. 

A bird in the bush is twice as nice. Don’t believe their lies.

Always your girl

Bettie Parker

Being a black bettie is more fun than you will ever know

There is nothing that makes me feel more afraid and free, than being on a motorcycle.    I like to wrap my hands around his waist and bury my head in his hair.  I can always smell the fresh soap after his shower as the wind rushes past him and over me.   I love the smell of him and the deafening sound of the bike.  The machine radiates through my entire body and into my guts.  This ride touches every sense at once.   It has stolen my heart, this freedom.   I never want to let go.

Sometimes I’m shocked at how quickly we take off from a stop. I think to myself, “oh my god!” “I almost flew off this bike! Doesn’t he care or even realize that I could die any second?”  I guess that is what makes it so sexy.  He knows EXACTLY that I might die at any moment.  He enjoys how terrified I am.  The terror translates into something I need to be protected from.   It gives him power over me. I scream in horror and he laughs a gigantic belly full laugh.  “Hold on GRRRL GEEZ!”

I like riding in big packs of motorcycles.  It leads to a sense of camaraderie. The boys try and one-up each other with their horsemanship.  Men with motorcycles can round up girls faster than cowboys and cattle.  Even the fugliest of the fugly, get tons of pussy. You know that right? Fugly is a combination of fucked up and ugly.  I like the fucked up ones, not the ugly ones. 

Lately I have been with a man who looks like a stereotype of Satan. He has dark, dark skin, long black hair, and a black goatee.  He looks nice in a red bandana.  I like him the best in a black leather vest and black chaps over tight jeans.  He wears big black boots with a buckle on the side.  I’ve never been able to figure out how someone who looks so bad ass can have skin so soft.  When you touch it, it feels like a child’s skin.  It’s smooth and tan and not hairy at all like most guys. The first time I saw him with his shirt off I thought.  My god it looks like he had his entire body waxed!

He has his ear pierced twice and wears a hoop.  It kinda makes him look like a pirate.  I love how he walks with his chest puffed out.  He is all brutal and cocky.  If you put him up against everybody I have ever known in my entire life, he seems surreal.  The beauty of him is otherworldly. 

I’m also surrounded by an equal amount of jocks, preppies and social climbers who are rude and look down on me.  They don’t think I have any class or money.  All I want to be is with the devil.  Diablo loves me for who I am and where I come from.  

I think about all those ugly bitches at my school with their perfectly manicured hands and short bob haircuts.  Anyone can look good with all the money in the world.  Money cannot buy you character. Those rich girls are going to have to purchase (should they ever want it, which I doubt) what I get for free every weekend.  To be in the arms of a man wearing black leather chaps.  Maybe during their midlife crisis they will seek him out.  They will discover how it feels to ride through a big city in a pack of machines.  Every care and worry, every bit of sadness, regret and hurt you ever had, fly out of your soul with the guttural roar of the bike.

 I’m certain that they’re not having anything close to the kind of fun we’re having.  They’re all together in the suburbs behind gigantic gates that say “KEEP OUT” “PRIVATE PROPERTY.”  Their parents were just looking for the most expensive school they could find, so they send them twenty miles away.  Why can’t they build private schools in the burbs to keep them out of my reality?

No I don’t think those stuck up bitches will ever know the thrill of a diablo man.  I’m sure they’ll have some country club man in a sweater who plays tennis.  A man that has no idea what drives women crazy in bed.  A man who will never understand what makes a woman truly happy.  I bet they wish in their hearts that they were free.   They may feel contempt for me, but I feel nothing but sadness for them.

Your gal

Bettie Parker

Old Souls

Today I am fifteen.  I met some boys with trucks and cars and freedom.  I am awash with a feeling of utter awe.  They turn me alive and interested.  I am awake for the first time in my life.  I don’t know what love is, but I feel sick inside.   There is something about these boys that says they know things.  Adult things, that I had no idea were even a possibility.

My favorite always drives barefoot and chain smokes.  He has a terribly broken crooked nose and a rasp of a voice.  A voice like he was gasping for his last breath every time he speaks.  I think he was just born old, worn and tired.  He’s only sixteen and smells like cigarettes, cologne and leather.  He looks at me sideways, like he knows something.  There is something just on the tip of his tongue that never seems to free itself. He smiles and cackles and looks away. 

He loves the boy in the passenger seat with crystal blue eyes.   I’ve never seen eyes so sparkling. They are like diamonds. Looking in his eyes is better than looking at the full moon.  You cannot bear to look too long because your eyes fill up with tears.  It hurts my heart to think of him. His eyelashes are onyx black and he always seems on the verge of tears.  Yet he isn’t sad at all.  He’s joyful and happy.  He beams when we play his newest music discoveries and when he plays the drums.

Sad puppies are always attracted to the strongest of the pack.  That blue eyed boy and I, we are the runts and we love standing behind the biggest barker of them all.