I hear faint sounds of the running water from the shower. Steam billows out of the shower stall. Condensation beads up one the mirror. Silence as the water shuts off. Slam. The shower door slams and he steps out. Water is running down his body. He checks himself out in the mirror as he roughly drying his body off.

The towel is tightly wrapped around his waist. The bulge of his manhood is visible…like it's calling out for someone to listen. Lusting… someone keeps watching from the doorway, peeking as he prepares to put his clothes on.

Slap, slap, slap. The sound his hands are making as he puts lotion on his body. Those hands, nothing gentle about them. He lotions up like he is washing his car.

Yet someone is distracted. Someone is remembering how gentle he was. When his mind opens to his special place in his mind he lets his naughty side come out.

Those fingers, slippery tongue, and passionate lips that kissed, licked, and stroked those special places. Those fingers had someone lusting for him. As they moved methodically and rhythmically in all of the right places.

Slap, slap, slap. Just like that someone was reminded that those hands wreak destruction. There's no gentleness in them.

He's standing by the bed in his boxers all oiled up. Preparing to put on his clothes and someone is just watching, lusting and needing more.

No more watching. Someone walks in…close the doors behind them…



Words spoken like they came out of my own head.


Social media and mobile games are a bane to my time drainage. They literally sucked my time out of me, and splintered my attention into probably a million pieces after years of over-utilizing these platforms.

Fragmented attention, a term coined by a person who was speaking at Ted talks about quitting social media, is a very prominent syndrome that is eating the living attention out of me. My focusing range is impaired significantly over past few years, I could not sit still and study, or do the things I am supposed to do, unless I am unplugged.

Social media is something that gave me the enigmatic anxiety, the extra burdened information for my mind to run through, there are tonnes of freaking posts about virtually anything, as your eyes brushed through them, your attention is splintering right in front of your eyes, and the burden that your mind have to…

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Lately I've had this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. You know one of those feelings that you just can't shake deep down.

Maybe I should start from the beginning. As a reminder, I normally leave current events out of my stories because I like positive vibes but here goes.

Three weeks ago, I was slightly speeding on my way to work when a cop going in the other direction immediately makes a u-turn and comes speeding up behind me.

The feeling that immediately washed over me was sheer terror. My hands and legs started shaking, my heart was about to come out of my chest, and my vision became blurred because my heart was beating so fast.

I just griped the steering wheel wondering if today was the day that I was going to die. Never in a million years would I imagine feeling the way that I did.

Luckily for me, after the cop turned on his lights and I proceeded to pull over, he stepped on the gas and raced past me.

I was so rattled by the notion that I was getting ready to get pulled over I had to stay where I was and get myself together.

My ears were ringing, my vision was all over the place and I honest to God thought I was having a heart attack.

I was just so glad that I was by myself because I never ever want my kids to see that kind of fear on me ever. Once I got myself together to drive the rest of the way to work I just couldn't stop thinking about one major thought.

As kids we heard stories about driving while black and of course every single day there's another story of a man or woman being shot by a cop. Today it seems like an everyday occasion and it's not limited to black men any more either. It's not even limited to people of color.

I respect the shield, the law, the Constitution, and even the office of the President of the United States but I don't like having this feeling.

I pay my taxes, I don't do drugs, I'm not a criminal, I've served in the U.S. Navy for the last twenty years, and I've never been to jail. Why should I feel terrified to receive a speeding ticket?

Then I ask myself, if a cop shot an active duty service member would it matter? Would I matter? Or would I be just another statistic? What if a cop shot a some body, would policy change? Would there be more convictions for killers?

I lie awake at night replaying that scene over and over again. I look for places that I can put my license and registration so that I don't have to reach over to the glove box.

I think about all of the families of the victims. I think about why some cops feel like the rules don't apply anymore? I think about the lag in the Judicial system where guilty officers keep going free. I think about my children, especially my adult child and I worry about her safety.

I'm not broken just slightly torn…

I'm not going any deeper than what I wrote because I'm not trying to get into banter with anyone. I just wanted to express my thoughts.

A Birthday Letter of Sorts 

Today would have been your 75th birthday. I still hear your voice but sometimes it sounds like a faint whisper. 

I know your okay. I’m okay too. I wanted you to know what I’ve been up too since it’s   been so long and we don’t talk like we used to…

The week before last, I was in charge of a very big command milestone. I wore my brand new uniform (I can’t remember if I told you that the Navy finally made me a Chief).  So crisp, white and shiny. When I looked in the mirror, I thought I saw a glimpse of you…

Can you believe that in October I will have completed 20 years in the Navy? I reenlisted for 4 more. I wish you were here to see me finish what I started. 

I hope I still make you proud…

My oldest has been working her real grown up job for a year now. Can you believe she’s 23? Where has the time gone?

These tears as I write this feels like it was just yesterday and not 8 years ago. 

The girls are getting so big and so are their mouths. I find myself pulling a play from your playbook. Who knew…I would morph into sounding like my mama completely. 

The boy…a big handful. Spoiled rotten. Attached to my hip. Yet, he keeps the laughter in my house. He forces me to keep using my imagination. You’ve never seen him before. He’s so silly. He looks just like his dad. 

Yesterday Roderick and I celebrated our 8 year anniversary. Can you believe it? Someone has been able to put up with my crap for 8 years. His hair hasn’t turned white yet so I guess I haven’t “plucked his last damn nerve yet.” Your words. Not mine. 

After 8 years he finally got me a present with real meaning. Guess squawking really pays off. I wanted you to see it. 

Some things haven’t changed much. I still drink my MT Dew, vacuum my floors in the same direction, love my bacon, and desserts. I have stepped up my cooking game. I will probably go to culinary school next year if I can fit it into my schedule. We will see. 

I don’t want you to be mad because I haven’t been to your grave. I can’t bring myself to do it. I hold you in my heart always and I don’t need to go there to be reminded of who you are. 

Until next time, I love and miss you. Happy Birthday, Ma!

Love always,