Floor boreal.
She sits alone, athirst.

She waited for him, weathering all the storms. She had no choice. Her heart would not allow her to abandon her love. As their time together apart past, one grew in another direction.

Footsteps approach from the distance.
Heart beats with each step almost silencing their touching of the floor.

She loved him so. She continued to wait.

She knew he was coming.
Her mind bemused.
Her body paralyzed.

There was not in which he did not consume her thoughts. As her mind spun with work, to do lists, children, life, death he flourished in the forefront always.

Beyond the footsteps there was a sound.
Metal against metal making a jingling sound.

She loved him for his mind. His deep thoughts. A man with wrinkle free skin with the wisdom of the oldest of men. His eyes encroaching her soul, spoke to her as if they had seen centuries of life.

A warmth besieged her.
Her chest pounding muting the his steps & keys.

Laughter was their lovemaking.

Labels: Poems

I love you car. Well not exactly love but a serious like. You were cute and sporty when I first saw you. You were a convertible to let my dreads fly. You hugged the curves of the road, as if a drunk guy coping a feel on a crowded dance floor. In the morning your heated seats warmed my fat @ss, our way of spooning. Oh I liked you so my dearest car. You got me to where I needed to go. Along the way I needed to fix you. It was okay no one's perfect. But now as if some f*cked up loser boyfriend you have entirely too many problems. I can hardly listen to a decent radio station without static. I feel like I am at the movies and my date won't shut up. Driving you is like bad sex. I feel as if I am being humped but there is nothing between my legs. So as I was just about to send the $140 check into the DMV to register you, I had to stop. Yes my dearest it's the loathsome PNO sticker for you.

I adore the time we spent together. You by far have been my favorite car. The problem is lights keep coming on as if Christmas. Let's face it Xmas isn't all year round. So I have to park you for now. Yes, don't say a word. I know I could fix you. And I swear I will. It just doesn't make cents to drop $$$ on you at this point. It would be like Joan Rivers getting more plastic surgery. It's like a never ending cash pit. And though my pockets aren't as light as Bobby Brown's, I am no Bill Gates. As much as it pains my soul to let you go. I must do this for the both of us. Overtime I will get this and that fixed on you. And as a final goodbye I will get you a beautiful paint job & detailed. Then I'll sell you to some Marine whose been in the desert too long with money burning holes in his/her pockets. I promise they'll like you as much as I liked you.... maybe even more. (Hell nothing will be wrong with you by then.) With the $$$ I make from you I think I'll go on a trip to Africa. You know I've always wanted to go to Africa.

I know you are worried about how I'll get around. Don't you worry about this. She's silver with black leather interior. She has Logic7 stereo, Steptronic, Bluetooth, Sports package and Xenon lights. I mean this b!tch is fully loaded. She has sh!t I didn't even know existed. Between you and I... I will most likely not use most of it. The point is you don't need to worry about me. I'll be just fine. Baby Doll I got to say it, 'You've been upgraded.' But truth be told she could never replace you. She doesn't have heated seats. I'll miss you every morning and so will my fat @ss.

Farewell.

Credit: Motortopia.com

All content is exclusive property of it's authors and are protected by copyrights or other intellectual property rights. You are prohibited from using, copying, altering, modifying, or changing our work. Unauthorized use of this is strictly prohibited. Violators are punishable under federal law.

Labels: Car, Qmoment, Relationships, The Q

I must apologize for Qgasm being down for so long. To be honest I left my geek days behind me the minute I received my DD-214 from the military. A friend mentioned missing Qgasm & suggested I go into settings and figure it out. I did just that. Here we are back up!

Also as you may or may not have read in the post below I've been suffering the lost of my brother. I haven't stop crying since he went into a coma on February 2. So I haven't been much up to writing. Definitely haven't been feeling sexual. Hopefully this will change soon, be patient.

Thanks for stopping by!

The Q.

All 2 of you who read my dyfunctional blog may find it odd to read the title of this blog. One doesn't necessarily (hopefully never) think of their siblings in a sexual context. I don't. Yet my brother passed away Feb. 15, 2009. Today, we bury him. I thought it appropriate in my demented way to share a story of my beloved brother on Qgasm. Yes it is sex related.


My brother was having sex before I. Frankly I never understood this fact. Who is the hell would want to have sex with my brother?! I mean really. One evening I noticed my brother was spending a lot of time in the bathroom. I heard a few moans & curse words. No foul odors were seeping from the door seams. My logical assumption was a case of constipation.

20 minutes or more he made his noises of discomfort. Then to my horror, he called my name. I ignored him, turning up the television volume. He in turn yelled for me louder. Finally, I got out of my comfortable bed, interrupting Family Feud. Reaching the hallway I replied, "What?!"

He said, "Come here, please."

"No."

"I need you to come here."

"Are you crazy? For what? You need toilet paper?"

"No I need you do look at something?"

"What?"

"My dick."

"Gross! I am not looking at your dick!"

"Seriously something is wrong. I am in a lot of pain."

"I am not looking at your dick. Ask one of your friends."

"No, I can't trust them. And they are idiots. I really need your help."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It hurts and I think there are blisters on it."

"Wow, you better tell Mom."

" I can't tell her. You are the only one I can trust with this. Will you come take a look at it?"

"No."

"Please, I need your help."

I open the door. He is sitting on the toilet. My stomach turns. I feel nauseous. He lifts it, so I can see the downside of it. There are chancres. I feel bad for him. "It looks bad. You have to tell Mom. You need to go to the doctor. How did you do this?"

"Are you stupid? I had sex with this girl. Damn you are slow!"

"You are having sex?!"

"Yes."

"You didn't use protection."

"The first time... not the second"

"Oh and I am the slow one" I reply laughing.

"This is serious."

"I am serious. You need to tell Mom. I am going to call her."

"No!"

"Well if you don't tell her, I will. What if it falls off?

"Why did I tell you?! God, you are dumb!"

"Yeah okay I am dumb. But you the one crying and moaning with a diseased dick. You tell her. Or I'll tell her" as I leave the bathroom. I decided not to call my mother. Instead I decided to wait until she returned home from work. In the meantime, I attempted to kill some germs. I first poured peroxide on my brother's diseased member. As a devoted sister that just wasn't enough discomfort to my liking. So I decided alcohol was in order. I thought about pouring straight from the bottle. It seemed on the extra cruel side. So instead I poured a bit of alcohol into it's cap. As if a seasoned nurse I said, "Hold still this may be a bit uncomfortable." I poured. He screamed and cried. I laughed evily inside. On the outside the face of a very concerned sister.

Mother came home. Greeting her at the door, I told her that her beloved son was ill. She instructed him to unlock the bathroom door. He cried claiming I had tried to kill him. (Until this very moment, I evily laugh at my antics this day.) Mom shot her typical, 'What did your evil ass do to my son' look. I smiled. She begged and pleaded with my brother to tell her what happened. Frustrated she looked to me and said, "What did you do to him?!"

I replied, "It's nothing I did. Your son is of loose morals. He is a slut. He didn't use protection and has gotten a bad case of some sort of STD."

With some coaxing he came out of his self imposed quarantine. Mom immediately took him to the doctor. Results in: my sibling had had a run in with a busy little bee who pollenated man to man with a variety of STDs. He had caught Trichomoniasis, Syphilis and something else. My memory fails me now. I just can't remember the third one. It is no biggy. The moral of this story is never have sex without a condom. And more importantly at your weakess moment your sibling will be there to make it worse. *snickers*

My brother was a character through and through. I could not stand him until I hit my 30s. It took me only 30 years getting over the fact that I wasn't my mother's baby any longer. Once I did. I enjoyed my brother's ridiculous antics. He would drive down to spend the weekends with my family. He adored his nieces & nephews. Never in all my years have I met a more devoted uncle. I'll never forget my childhood nemesis/ partner in crime.

"Brother you are missed. You are still an asshole! I can't believe you left me stuck here to deal with ....... alone."

All content is exclusive property of it's authors and are protected by copyrights or other intellectual property rights. You are prohibited from using, copying, altering, modifying, or changing our work. Unauthorized use of this is strictly prohibited. Violators are punishable under federal law.

Labels: Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Siblings

Recently the contents of my stomach have been moving up my throat. Why you ask? Well my sisterfriends of late have been lusting over Michael Phelps.

::Ladies' Room Break::

In fairness to Mr. Phelps he isn't a half bad looking chap. However, the lust that Babykin and Kit are displaying is just disgusting. Not to put their business on blast; I am lying. Their pornographic lust of this man is just gross. I am almost tempted to write Mr. Phelps and warn him of these two hot in the panties hussies. I mean is the boy even legal? He is so fresh face with an American Pie innocence. How could one lust after him? I know he is one of the greatest Olympic champions of all-time but a sex symbol?

Now Barack Obama is being proclaimed the finest candidate running for The White House since John F. Kennedy. I cannot argue this point of view. Senator Obama is one attractive man. Soon to be first lady or not Michelle Obama is one lucky woman. You know those two be gettin' it on 'Animal Kingdom' style when the kiddies turn in. Let's pray one of them never reads this blog. (Highly unlikely but one never knows.) I ain't trying to be disrespectful. I am just saying Michelle knows her man got it going on (as he equally knows she has it going on). Senator Obama is fine in that book smart with backbone type of way. Our next president *knocks on wood* has a swagger about him, there is no denying it.

What's my point? My point is a lot of women are swooning left and right over Phelps & Obama. So I asked myself what do these two men have in common? It hit me staring at the pictures. Size does matter! Both of these men have huge ears. In 2008, ear size may vary well be more important than penis size. Thigh warmers are a definite turn on if you ask me.

Well I know y'all didn't ask. I am just typing. Don't most ladies like big thigh warmers *coughs* ears?

Labels: Barack Obama, Ears, Lust, Michael Phelps, Sexy Men, Size

I didn't mean to see you dancing.

Labels: Legend, Poems

I met a woman once,
her breath upon the wind,
and eyes amongst the skies.
I touched her hand, laid in the sand.
I've felt her skin, and where it's been.
She's bare;
I stare.

Within her eyes;
I know she cares.

Her touch, was too much.
As such,
I asked for her to submit.

Masturbatory domination,
Kinky sexuality,
Flawed reality,
Twisted humanity.

She before I.
I formed in her,
my heart from hers.
But from her knees,
moans didn't strike my ears.

I am deaf.
She is lame,
with a broken spirit.

She has been tamed.

Bruises easily,
while I treat her sleazily,

A bleeding whore.

But the clinic's closed,
unlike her mouth,
unlike her legs,
pried and held open,
without a choice.

I remember her name:



It was Earth.

I used to speak so freely with you,
now it is just impossible
to tell you how
I would like to be alone
with you
in a room
no one would ever find,
locked in by a door
that
can never be
opened..

Or tell you
of my heart,
a foolish creature the best of times,
and even more so
now,
with thoughts of you
filling the walls
of its four dark chambers
like a thousand silent movies
all playing
at once..

Can I tell you
that I wish to hear your voice
inside my mouth
wrapped around my tongue?

Or how my teeth
hurt
with want of you?

Maybe I can tell you
that all my memories of her
became memories
of you,
and every time I kissed her,
In my mind,
I am kissing you?

No, maybe I should not
be telling you such things,

Maybe,
maybe;

I can tell you
that my fear,
is strangling my fortitude,
but yet I yearn,
to be with you?

Can I tell you
all these,
and the others
that wish to be told,
and have you repeat them,
deep and close
into my ear?