Mentally Infatuated

There’s so many perks to being a BBW. People don’t want talk about it much because being plus-sized has a “No-No” stigma.

Being plus-sized has its perks. (I actually stopped while writing to look in the mirror to admire, and yes I am indeed thick, plus-sized and a BBW). The best and greatest thing I can do is to live in my thick and plump truth, and share it with others because the stigma is so 2002.

Yup, the curves still here under my Forever 21 paper thin leggings, BCBGMaxazria sweater, Victoria Secrets boy shorts and Clarks leather combat boots. Oh, and today I’m wearing a bra. Not just any bra, my bad-ass Torrid caged bra that gives the vibe of me being two to three notches kinkier (which could ultimately be the case depending on who you ask).

There actually becomes a moment where looking in the mirror is an addiction, I promise. The more you do it, the more you’ll want to take a glance at that reflection. The more you stare directly into it, the more you’ll see things you’ve never noticed before. Maybe even things or parts of you that other people are always seeing, but you never really stopped to notice.

But what about the deeper, intangible parts of you unseen to the human eye? All of that, could and should be so damn attractive.

After working in a unisex shoe store for the last three months, scenarios began to play out that typically didn’t when working in a women’s only store. I began to notice men initially talking to me a lot more, then smiling with me much more…to downright hitting on me a lot more. Now I know what you’re thinking: Have you never been hit on in your life? Girl! Well yes, but this time around is truly an eye opener! Of course, there has been physical, obvious attractions inside and outside of the job. The parts of my body that I can see in the mirror. However, what happens when someone becomes attracted to something deeper than your physical appearance and you’ve only just met? They’re intrigued with your intellect, energy or tone of voice even? The way you greet them or stimulate them mentally sparks an interest? How out of the box is that and low key hot is that?

One evening when working alone, a gentleman stopped in with a magazine in hand. He had been in the doctor’s office and came across a prominent men’s boot we carry in the latest GQ, and wanted to try it on. I could tell by his disposition that he was more seasoned. Between him constantly scrolling through his phone and giving me minimal eye contact, I presumed that he was a very busy man. So I gave him just enough conversation to keep him focused on the shoe, without distracting him from whatever had him preoccupied in his phone.

“How was your day?” I politely probed.

“Good, I just finished a novel I’ve been working on.”

At this point my interest was sparked. Who isn’t interested in hearing a good novel or from an author for that matter?

Seasoned Gentleman filled me in on the book, which was mildly impressive. I told him some of the writings I venture in, including this blog. At this point the “intrigue” energy shifted from me to him, because he was now a bit curious to learn more about my writings. After jotting down the link and handing it to him, I didn’t think much. I was certain the odds were slim of ever running into him ever again.

About an hour later, he came back into the store to tell me how good my work was and I should actually keep pursing it. I was flustered. I thanked him a couple times for the feedback and innocently exchanged numbers….one writer to another right?

Wrong. So wrong.

Later that evening around 10pm, I received a text from guess who? Seasoned Gentleman inquiring about my day. Now, to be quite honest, any communication I receive after 10pm should be personal or an emergency at this stage in my life. His initial texts began in an extremely harmless manner; curious about my day which still was perplexing given the time of night. A professional connection is going to text between professional hours. Right?

My correspondence ended abruptly after he started to tell me about his bath that night. This was where I drew the line, because obviously he wants to talk about topics other than just writing.

I’m flattered this seasoned gent took a keen interest; in my writing, me and all of the in between. I’m even more flattered that he didn’t initially point out my physical attributes he found attractive when first meeting. What captivated me the most, is that his infatuation came from something more than I can see in the mirror. In spite of how inappropriate he may have come across, his infatuation stemmed from my nerdy, intellectual brain based off of my writings. I say respectfully, that when someone can see you, skin-deep and more than what you look like or what you’re wearing, is s really weighty compliment. They notice the richness and beauty of your mind, and that is a strong and enticing attraction.

Aside from physical, a mental infatuation is the strongest attraction someone can want to share with you…….When you’re not in a relationship, and they’re not in their tub. Besides those two things, mental infatuation is extremely hot.


LA ✈️ UK & Back to PA.


I’ll just come right out and say it: this celibacy journey is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. Not only have I been abstaining from sexual intercourse, I’ve focused a lot of my energy into trying to catapult my professional career to the next level. Working 50+ hours a week combined with a “no-sex” diet equals a lot of cheesecake and emotional eating. Going to the gym is satisfying in the moment once I muster up the energy to finally get there. I won’t kid myself; I still felt the urges to express a “bad girl” factor, so the gym and clean eating seemed like a lot of “good girl” all at once. I needed to make love to cheesecake. A lot of cheesecaking has been going on right now.

Throwing myself into work hasn’t been completely horrible, definitely stressful but not horrible. I’ve taken on a multitude of projects in attempts to keep me occupied, gained new clients for my company, traveled to LA for a half vacation half business trip, and managed to meet a British Gent in between. Sometimes I don’t realize all of the things that I actually do until I visually see them in writing. In a matter of two months, I did a bucket list of things that some people spend their lifetime trying to do. This is where I insert the smallest pat on my back and remember to be grateful for all the feats I experience and overcome in such a sort time.

With all the traveling, dating and overwhelming feelings that I would’ve normally concealed in sex, I’m handling head-on in celibacy. This is no walk in the park or “hee-hee, ha ha” situation. Everyday feels like another day that my patience is running low and getting weary. I want sex. Good sex. Memorable sex. Sex that will lead to something real with someone just as real. 

I’ll know I’ve completely lost it when I start grinding my teeth down in my sleep. Chain dating hasn’t made anything easier either. I end up wondering if every guy is thee guy worthy enough to have sex with, so you can imagine how things in my mind may escalate quickly and I end up yet again, heartbroken and making out with cheesecake.

British Gent, I can’t even consider him much of a gentleman. Again not horrible, but there’s always that notion of not settling. Call me picky, but I tried to imagine settling and of course in my mind we were a great episode of “Pleasantville”. In real life, he was standoffish with little to no desire for commitment. Obviously, there were signs he displayed that I tried to overlook. He always wanted to chat via Skype but never wanted to make eye contact. I even noticed in many of his pictures, he didn’t make contact with the camera and if he did he was wearing sunglasses. Call me crazy, but I took this as a sign of someone with commitment issues. He won’t even commit to the viewfinder on the camera for goodness sakes.

The way we met was a modern day Pretty Woman scene (minus the prostitution of course): “We met while he was out of town on a business trip…”. That was the beginning of the story, however the way I scripted the end was far from the way it actually happened. Thankfully, I managed to get out of the situation without sexual intercourse. (You can sarcastically insert, “Yay you” here with a bunch of eye rolls). I’ll completely understand.

He wasn’t the only one I dated without giving away the cookies, just the only one I really wanted to attempt something serious with, and the furthest international zip code. He was like something you order off EBay or Instagram: You know there’s risk involved but you’re willing to take it anyway.

The GodMother

My number one goal in life is to teach the unteachable, and guide the misguided. There are those who have been counted out for one reason or another, whether it be their financial, demographical, racial or educational background. These are the individuals that I aspire to teach because for some reason, I could’ve once been in their shoes. Untrainable, unreachable and definitely a lost cause by various definitions. The greatest part of my story is that I was fortunate enough to have a handful of people who believed in me. They believed so much, that I had no choice but to believe them also.

The first person outside of my family to see something in me was my first grade teacher, Mrs. Preggler. Unfortunately I wasn’t a shining star in her classroom or academically with my stellar grades. No, I was the outcast on her playground who taught all of her students about sex. I can still recall that day I stood in the middle of the playground, educating a bunch of elementary students that they were actually brought into this world because their mommy and daddy had sex. There wasn’t any stork, birds or bees. Their mom laid on her back, and their dated inserted his penis into her vagina. That was how they came into this world or (ended up on the playground that day). That was my explicit conversation to a group of bewildered kids.

Talk about the horror on their first grade faces when I exposed their parents’ truths, and the horror on my first grade teacher’s face when she eventually had to sit me down and tell me she would have to tell my mom. The horror came full circle when I burst into tears, and informed my teacher there was no way in hell she could tell a Jamaican mother that her child got in trouble in school. Much less the contents of the trouble. I assured my teacher I would come back to school with my behind split in half if she told my mother.

That was the first time I had someone believe in me. She believed in my truth, and I’m pretty sure that first grade teacher took my secret to her grave. From that moment, my destiny of leading and mentoring others became my purpose. My first grade teacher mentored me about sex and made me promise to never talk about sex on her playground again. I promised and learned my lesson. Teaching my peers about sex in exchange for my behind was nota question at this point. Those little white babes would’ve had to learn about sex on someone else’s watch.

Fast forward more than two decades later, my purpose is to not only teach and mentor others about adult topics, but how to become a great human. I’ve realized in 2018, we may need a refresher course of what it means to be a great human now more than ever. Through my education and experience, I’ve had no choice but to be a greater, stronger, yet ethical person and I love to share what I’ve learned with others. If I didn’t share what I’ve learned, I believe I would be doing those inspiring individuals that believed in me a great disservice.


Rules for the Exes

Lose contact if there’s still feelings or unfinished business there. 

The End…
Lol, that would be so rude to just leave you like that right? Probably. But nonetheless, that sums it up. If you and your ex are playing “who’s better off”, then stay away. Focus on the present, because the past doesn’t have much for you right now. 

What else can I say?  Tons of water and good eyeliner? That’s a good segway. 

So yes. God is good. The universe is in my favor…continue being Prayer Warriors. 
Trump is our President (Sigh).




Real Friends Are Not for Sale!

Hello 2017.

How are you? I’ve been waiting on you for the last few months now. Since you’ve finally arrived, a billion hours later (like a true Jamaican) I think it’s time we had a talk….

We’re going to behave this year okay? None of that craziness… on either end. You’re gonna keep your a** in order. No losing your marbles. No, wondering if stripping is an option to keep Sallie Mae off your back. No, picking fights for no good reason. We’re going to be a great humanitarian this year. We’re going to stay away from excessive cheesecake binging, and more importantly: remember that real friends are not for sale!!

I thought about adding a smooth transition, but forget that…this is way to pertinent: You can’t buy real friends. Period.

You may be wondering, where is this coming from? What did I miss? What are real friends??

 Sometimes it isn’t nessciarly what we missed, its what haven’t we been paying attention to. Pay attention to the real people in your life. The ones that can’t be bought. The friends that won’t only come over to finish your wine, but they’ll actually cook you dinner while they drink it. A real friend will go in your fridge, complain of the little options you have, then make a sandwich and possibly share some with you. 

A real friend won’t wait until you’re at your worse to ask if you’re okay. That’s the epitomy of real friend, and the mall buddy you want to roll with. I see “faux” friends way too often. They come in shopping together, asking if this shirt looks nice. The fake friend says, “Yes” when it looks horrible. Or, “No, take that off,” when it really looks amazing on their friend (that really eats me up inside).

Your real friend will call you out on that new low life jerk you’re dating, yet help you stalk his social media page at the same damn time. Your real friend should almost be a free therapist: there’s an unwritten confidentiality waiver floating around, and you can tell them all of the crazy thoughts that come to mind without fearing backlash. That’s a friendship that can’t be bought, and shouldn’t be compromised. 

So do yourself a favor: Welcome in 2017 with great times, better underwear and real friends. Think of this change as a store purchase return policy. You have thirty days to return that hideous little black dress, and that fake friend that talked you into buying it. 
Sincerely Your Friend,



Jamaican Stew Chicken 

This is for my client, that requested a stew chicken recipe. 

Here you go ; )

-Chicken (10 pieces. Your choice)

-Vinegar or lemon juice (to cleanse)



 Seasoning salt

Haberno (Scotch bonnet pepper 1-2)





Jamaican Choice meat & pultry seasoning 

Black Pepper

Pimento (optional)




1 potato

*insert. I wish I had measurements but I don’t roll that way. I just freestyle. 💁🏾


Remove all excess fat, and cleanse with 2/3 water, 1/3 lemon juice or vinegar. Rinse well. Combine all seasonings. Not too heavy on the browning. Not too brown stew chicken (unless you like it really dark 😊).

Next…let it marinate. For at least an hour. If you can. 

Get frying pan. Deep enough to build up some juices. I’m still talking about chicken by the way. Just for the record. 

Okay, so next is preheating your pot, with oil. Coconut, vegetable, or olive oil. Really your choice honey. Whatever’s in your pantry. Get the pan well hot (Jamaican accent just slipped. I hope you caught it. )

Take your frying fork and marinate chicken one last time before getting ready to fry. Remove all onion, potato and carrot pieces before frying. Save those vegetables for stewing. 

Once your pot is well heated, prepare to fry chicken on all sides building a nice brown. You kind of want to fry your chicken lightly all the way through. Fry it enough to be able to taste a small piece to know when it’s time to stew. 🙂

This is the fun part and time to have a minute to relax soon. (Climax, are you keeping up?)

Get your stewing pot ready, preferably the one you fried in (hence frying in one deep enough to build juices). You want those juices… For the chicken. Continue…

Turn your stove to a medium heat. Don’t forget those carrot, scallion and onion pieces. They’re going in the stew too. 


Add chicken. Vegetables. Ketchup and a bit of sugar. Not too much. Just a bit to taste. Also optional. 

Let it cook down on a medium high heat for at least 25-30 minutes. Half way through, turn the stove down….very important. 

So yes, at this point your grain and veggie should be about too. Rice and peas and cabbage pair nicely too. 

Probably a cocktail fruit drink on the side. And yes…,Let me know how it goes. I’d love to hear. 🙂


Just A Sports Bra

The last few days have been lazy ones. I don’t know what it is, but I’m hoping it’s a combination of the weather and all of these comfort meals. The gym’s been on the back burner. So has writing. So is fashion. So is sex. (Lord forgive me.) Now that I visually see the words, it seems like a bit of the “d” word is lurking around. Not dick, the other one. Depression… 

I don’t know what it is, but I feel like that woman in the horrible anti-depression commercial just staring out the window. Damn I dislike admitting that. I’m pretty sure depression rates amongst others increase during the holiday season. The holidays should be such a joyous time of year, right? Wrong, especially when you work in retail. Long hours, long shifts and longer emotions.

 The most important part of the work week is to not wear those emotions on your sleeve, especially when 99.9% of your job is to set an example for your staff. Oh, I’m setting alright. As much as possible. Doubling up on SPANX, makeup setting spray and Robert Cavalli’s last fragrance he physically put his touch on. I’m setting… I promise I’m setting. So now that I’m actually looking back on the past several weeks, maybe I’m not entirely depressed. Just extremely mentally and physically exhausted. I have no energy or drive to fashion, fuck or write about either. (The Lord knows my ways better than I do I’m sure.)

What has been saving me the last few weeks? My BCBGMAXAZRIA faux leather skirt. Pairing this skirt with my dominatrix/bondage bras, has been my fashion pick-me-up. Whenever I grab that black vixen skirt, you better believe a bad b*tch is coming as well. This faux leather or a piece like it, is one of many I recommend every woman keep in her closet. You know, that piece of clothing or accessory you have to pull out whenever you want to remind people you’re not to be taken lightly? Yes, I suggest owning a few ensembles dolls. 

Ladies if you need a new piece of clothing or wardrobe that exudes the message, “This is a woman that shouldn’t be taken lightly” (or I just came off the runway), please contact me. 

Every woman should own a “I am not your b*tch today” outfit. 

So on the days you just want to lounge around in just a sports bra, it will make much more sense and feel well deserved. We may click around in heels and a push-up bra all week by professional standards, that no one really wants to admit: is bat-shit draining. In essence, there’s nothing wrong with ‘just a sports bra day. We’re entitled and allowed to claim a”recharge” day. Let those twins relax ladies. They work damn hard. 👯


Tamara Styles💄