We let go to grab my bag to leave the airport. She had a bear strapped in the seatbelt of the passenger's seat. Our first child. Christian Malik, we named him together. I presented her with a bag of her favorite candy. During an unplanned tour of the city, she told me about how she wasn't where she was supposed to be on 9/11 and because she wasn't, she was alive to tell the story. I leaned towards her to kiss her cheek, she turned and presented her lips instead. It was a moment. I was nervous because I didn't know what she was thinking. I didn't know if this felt the way she had imagined and this moment put me a little at ease. Once we finally got settled in, we both started pulling things out of our suitcase. She had packed a fun bag. And the fun bag didn't contain one sex toy. She had packed puzzles, crayons, coloring books, board games. We starting sharing pictures from photo albums. We started making drinks. Drinks led to me being "fresh," as she calls it. Me straddling her lap and kissing her. I kept trying to behave myself, but I couldn't. At some point, ...

We met rather randomly. A string of people between us. I interacted on twitter with other people that knew her, but she was never online. When she popped up, I spoke. I wanted her to know that I supported her movement. She responded in a DM. Which led to more DMs, a little flirtation and her phone number. I remember calling Tami and leaving a frantic voicemail about how she had given me her number. We had exchanged a few texts by that time. I was excited to like someone. I wasn't excited by the fact that she was in NY. Why couldn't I be excited by someone local? She went to my blog and I had recently written about being sentimental. Her first text to me, she asked me to write her a letter about myself and mail it. She included her address. Such a simple thing, but she had my full attention. From the very beginning, she wanted to learn me. She read all of the posts here and moved on to the posts on wordpress. I had mixed emotions about her reading my posts. I wanted her to know me, to know where I've been so that she could understand ...

I am certain things happen for a reason. I have been asked countless times to do interviews with different people on blogtalk radio. Sometimes I don't get the request until its too late, or the scheduling is just impossible. And sometimes, it just works... I was interviewed by the charming & energetic Claudia Moss and the interview stayed with me long after it was over. The boo & I rehashed the entire interview with her making a request to have it put on cd (gotta love her!) Claudia asked a lot of questions I never considered asking myself. And it left me motivated, inspired and challenged. I have more in store for you. Hope you're ready... Listen to the interview here.

I suppose this is the time of year where people start to reflect on the past. I think about all of the mistakes I've made and I wonder why I didn't see them coming. I think about how I could've done things differently, how I could've made better choices. I think about the consequences of the choices I've made... In church, they always say that God has a plan for us. No matter what choice or decision I make, the plan for my life has already been written. Makes me feel a little foolish when I think about it. I'm walking around contemplating my options when the outcome is going to be whatever He wants anyway. I may end up taking a longer, roundabout way to get there, but I'll always end up in the destination He's chosen for me. Reflecting back on how my life has change in the last 2 years gives me a headache. All of the things I deemed as important no longer exist. My life is simpler. I have everything I need and I'm happier than I've been in a long time. To say that I've been humbled would be the biggest understatement of 2009. I don't believe ...

The most detrimental thing you can ever do to your self esteem is stay in a relationship with someone that makes you feel bad about who you are. There are things about yourself that you will never be able to change. They are deeply embedded into your soul and those are the things that make you uniquely you. It takes a strong person to recognize that type of relationship as damaging. Unfortunately, that was not me. In the last year or so, it seemed as though every woman I dealt with made me feel like shit. I mean, I was happy with them (for the most part) but there was something underlying that made me feel inadequate. Someone was always telling me how I handled my life the wrong way and here I was handling things the only way I knew how. It boils down to acceptance. They needed to accept me the way I was or move on. People don't have the right to make you feel bad about who you are in your core, in your heart. Those things about you don't change, so they either have to accept you how you are, or stop wasting their time trying to ...

I noticed it the first time I cheated on my boyfriend. Yes, that was a long, long time ago, but I'm developing a pattern here... I was excited about what would be my second sexual partner, so excited that I went out and purchased new panties. Now if I fast foward about 4 years, when I began to cheat on the next boyfriend, I was once again buying new panties... I used to tell men that a clear sign that I was cheating was if I started buying new panties. Like I said, that was a long time ago. I realized that it wasn't as simple as that... I buy new panties, sexy panties, usually something sheer & lacy, when I'm excited about being intimate with a new person. Special occasion underwear, I call them. Why am I reflecting on this? I feel the urge to go panty shopping. For special occassion underwear. I like someone. I really, really like Her. And I think being with her will be a special occasion.

Kara and Michelle left their small sedan with the valet of the large hotel. Kara caught sight of herself in the hotel’s expansive windows. She paused to smooth her light brown bob, adjusting a hair that wasn’t out of place. Michelle smiled at the tension in Kara’s face, stood on tip toe to place a kiss on her high cheekbones. “Baby, relax.” Michelle gave her a warm grin and a reassuring squeeze before grabbing Kara’s hand and leading her into the hotel. They stood in the lobby, in awe of their surroundings. Marble floors, chandeliers, lush greenery, a gold gilded ceiling. Low music directed them towards their destination. The hotel restaurant was just as elegant as the lobby. The couple headed towards the bar. Kara smoothly sat on a stool, crossing her light brown ankles at the knee. The movement brought attention to the curves of her strong calves and bright red stilettos. Michelle executed a little hop to slide onto the upholstered stool. She crossed her legs too, her white hot pants contrasting against her chocolate complexion. She swung around on her stool, facing the other guests instead of the bar. She kicked her crossed leg back and forth, watching the light ...

I'll be reposting some of my old short stories to build up to the launch of I Bleed Ink next Sunday. If you enjoy reading the work of creative LGBTQ minds, be sure to check it out. If you write like this, submissions are still open. Send them to submissions@i-bleed-ink.com. I watched her from my seat at the crowded bar. She stood on the edge of the dance floor, a beer in her hand and a smile on her face. It was slightly crooked, but full of confidence. She was surrounded by a group of pretty bois. All of them looked as though they had spent just as much time in the mirror as the more feminine girls. My eyes were drawn to her. What was it about her? Was it her fluid movements? The slow rhythmic way she bounced her head to the beat of the music? Maybe it was her smooth brown skin. No, it was definitely the way her locks surrounded her head like a lion's mane. Wild. Free. Untamable. Tap.Tap.Tap. My friend, Jazz, saved me from my stalker tendencies by tapping my shoulder. "Grab your glass and let's dance. You didn't drag me out here to watch you salivate ...

I met this girl about a month ago. The first time I saw her was about 2 months ago. I was excited about her, but I think part of the excitement was that she was obviously gay. I don't see a lot of obviously gay girls just out and about. I saw her a few times before my obvious flirting motivated her to give me her phone number. She wrote it the back of someone else's business card. The way she signed her name, it was like some abstract piece of art. Then I got excited about her, I love a creative mind.... That night we exchanged a few text messages before we talked. She had a slight northern accent. She's a chef! She doesn't do the whole lesbian role thing...So many things I learned, that I liked. So many things, but...that spark wasn't there. That ended up being our first and only phone conversation. And I don't feel like I'm missing anything. The spark wasn't there. I wasn't excited about talking to her again. I wasn't excited about the possibility of hanging out with her. How did that happen? Especially when she had so many of the traits I ...

Being sentimental is something I've always been. Not sure where I got the train from, but I've always had the habit of collecting and saving bits of memories, reminders, that might otherwise go forgotten. I have cards, love letters from men and women that are older than a decade. Many new lovers have questioned why I've kept them, often voicing their concern about underlying feelings. I feel connected to these items, but not to the people who are part of the memory the item conjures. Looking at my boxes of memories, I realize it's been a long time since I've added anything new. Sure I have saved emails, texts, IM's...But everything is electronic. Yes, the memory is still there, but different. Much less tangible. I get excited when I can find a scrap of paper with my deceased grandfather's handwriting. There is something about being in contact with something he touched that does it for me. I can see the words he chose, it's like an intimate look into his mind. With that in mind, I've started handwriting everything. I hope that maybe, one day, someone will actually get a kick out of seeing my handwriting.