the complexities and harsh realities of my mind stand out in my words. i get that. the gravitational pull that I have on you infringes upon my duty to be politically correct. you infringe on my "politically correctness". when you yank and scream and pull at me out of genuine lust, my response offsets your pleasurable view of me and that's fine. because I'd rather turn you off than allow you to disrespect who I am as a young Black woman. call me stuck up. call me rude. talk about my attitude. call me ugly. to me, it's just more $$$ in the bank. see, i like men. mature.young.men. i don't find your jungle like behavior satisfying or amusing. to me, it's down right distasteful.
I despise the argument that young women dress for young men. I can't speak for all young women. but this young woman dresses as she pleases because I like the way I look. I know the concept of individuality and poise are hard for your hormones to grasp so let me break it down for you. I like to be intellectually stimulated but not to the point where I feel like every day I'm talking to my grandfather. I like to be complimented on my beauty and not necessarily my body and not necessarily all the damn time. there's more to me than just a pretty face. yes, I'm demanding. cocky ? not at all. however, I do possess standards. I don't get caught up in the superficial glamour or the idiotic clamor of guys who can't hold their liquor and say and do things that they won't remember the next day. that's okay sometimes. but if that's all you are . . .