I wanted to write something about the Black women sex educators I look up to.

I was reminded this morning about my first time tripping the brownie fantastic. In this moment of pandemic, allow me to share a trippy-ass story involving a good sis edible-wielder.

There’s something about wearing headphones in the sex shop that informs how you navigate the space. Pasty-white mannequins with bad wigs and flat asses dot the storefront that houses shit that’ll remind you single life ain’t that bad.

I, a former indoctrinated prude, by definition of wayward ash-hats and the ever-changing scope of Twitter politics, would now fall under the jurisdiction of hoe. And by the power invested in me by the charge of my vibrator, I now pronounce me heaux for life.