Love Trips: No More Tears

I don't remember crying as a teenager. I don't remember a time when teardrops streamed down my cheeks. I didn't cry at graduation or even when I left home for college. The sadness was indeed felt, as was the moisture in my eyes, but I produced nada.

Then I met Kurt. I fell in lust with Kurt and was convinced he was it. This bad boy on campus didn't want anything serious with me. I was a virgin - an innocent little, skinny girl lacking in the ass and boobs department. At least, that’s what he’ d say. But I was still convinced he was it. So I wrote him a letter. Pen to paper, I scribbled down my feelings frantically and repeatedly. The words in cursive revealed I wanted him to be my first, and with that realization I sobbed. Read more of Love Trips: No More Tears.

Love Trips: Bad Girl?

I've never been the bad girl, the sucia, the sneaky sneak, the master manipulator, la otra. That chica who scoots down in the leathery seat of a cab as she does a quick peep-my-man drive-by. He flinches when a girl struts past and there she goes! Cab door swings open and she is flying. Up, up and away into the air like a possessed, badass villain or - depending on whom you're speaking to - a glorious, female superhero. And how about the female who answers her phone while her hips are in motion? She swerves on top of a naked man who isn’t her man and, just like that, whispers, “I love you” to her real man through the phone.

No. Definitely not me. Read more of Love Trips: Bad Girl?