AfroerotiK

Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Long Distance Love

You have to work really hard to maintain the delicate equilibrium of a long distance relationship in order to make it work. The time apart, the distance, the lack of stability can wear on anyone’s nerves. Even under the best of conditions, fragile long distance relationships can disintegrate, even if both parties want it to work. Add to the mix the pressures of an interracial relationship and it would seem virtually impossible for a couple to make it under those circumstances. Chris Henderson and Michelle Givens seemed to be the exception to the rule.

They met quite by happenstance. Chris was in Atlanta on a business trip. While he was checking into the Hyatt, minding his own business, he noticed a woman carrying a rather large painting, trying to navigate the heavy glass revolving door of the lobby with the large canvas. He ran to her assistance, holding the side handicap door for her like a gentleman would do, his midwestern manners integrating well into his temporary southern residence.

As she passed, sparks of electricity singed his very soul, igniting a chemical reaction that could have caused an explosion. She maneuvered her heavenly body through the door, positioning the painting as a barrier between them. For a brief moment, they both froze, maintaining intense eye contact. Chris took in every detail. Her butterscotch colored skin was flawless and her naturally curly hair was pulled tightly on top of her head and exploded in a poof of curly q’s. Her full, sensual lips looked so inviting, her smoky eyes were captivating, and her fragrance smelled like a delicious blend of fruit and flowers. The stood eye to eye, taking in details of one another, held captive by an immovable force of attraction. As she eased her way past Chris, she whispered the words, “Thank you,” softly. Chris watched her lips part and he was captivated by the way her pink tongue seemed to sensually caress her ruby colored lips and sort of make love to her words.

“Whoooo was that? Do you know who that woman is? She’s breathtaking,” Chris asked the desk manager, staring back at the doors, watching the captivating woman delicately arranging paintings in the back of a plain white van.

“Oh, that’s Michelle Givens. She’s the director of the Apex Museum here in Atlanta. They lend us paintings for the lobby every February for Black History Month. I have her business card and a brochure here if you want to check it out.” Chris fingered the card, distracted as he watched her drive off. The manager added, “Yeah, she is pretty hot,” as the two men shared a moment of appreciation for her beauty.

Barely able to concentrate, Chris couldn’t wait to pay a visit to the Apex later that afternoon. He was trying not to look conspicuous as he browsed around, trying to run into her again.

“Did you see something you were interested in today,” Michelle queried as she approached him?

Chris turned to face her and was again overwhelmed with her professionalism, sophistication, and sheer beauty. He took the flirtation ball and ran with it. “Very much so. In fact, I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of what I saw today, I had to make it my business to come and let you know personally.” He reached for her hand, held it to his lips, and kissed it softly. Michelle was overwhelmed by his charm in that moment and the rest, as they say, is history.

The two became rather inseparable from that moment on, at least every time Chris was in town for business. They would dine together, go hiking on the weekends; Chris would even attend all the events Michelle coordinated for the Apex. He was extremely proud of her and it became increasingly more difficult to return to Fargo after they would spend time together. North Dakota became bland in comparison his time in North Carolina and was losing its appeal the more Chris realized that Michelle was his soul mate.

It was their perfect, symbiotic relationship the fueled them. Neither of them had to compromise themselves or their identities to be with the other. Chris loved that Michelle was so unconditionally supportive of him and his endeavors. He felt like he could accomplish anything with Michelle by his side. She loved that she could be unapologetic in her blackness and not have to conform to an identity outside of her comfort zone. They just fit well together.

It was sexually, however, where their compatibility went off the charts. Never before in his life had Chris met a woman who understood his desires and matched them so perfectly. Every fantasy, every fetish, every kink, Michelle mirrored in delicious desire. It was as if they were created from the same erotic mold.

The time spent apart was becoming more unbearable. After nine months of long distance love and what was sure to be a tumor forming from endless hours of talking on the cell phone every night, Chris was contemplating ways in which he could make the relationship more permanent. He fingered the ring box in his pocket nervously as he deboarded the plane. Michelle was there to meet him, looking as stunning as ever, and her eyes lit up when she saw her man struggling with his two carryon bags. He took her in his arms and held her close. It never failed that every time he saw her, he felt the same jolt of electricity in his body as the first time he laid eyes on her. She kissed him rather sensually and every man in business class that was behind him felt a stab of lustful envy.

Michelle seemed to be particularly excited to see Chris and she was anxious to get home. She let him take the wheel and she sat in the passenger seat and wasted no time lowering her mouth to Chris’ lap and removing his hard cock from his pants, sucking him while he was doing 70 miles per hour on I-75. He was trying to concentrate on driving safely but it was damn hard to do that with his incredibly sexy girlfriend giving him the best head of his life.

He pulled the car into her garage and he was practically undressing before the ignition was off. Michelle had other plans and left Chris in the carport to get his belongings as she rushed inside with a mischievous smile on her face. Chris unloaded his bags, brought them inside, hung up his coat, and made his way to the kitchen, being led by the aromas of a fabulous seafood meal that was simmering on the stove. He was opening pots and inhaling delectable smells when Michelle approached him from behind. “Welcome home,” she said. Chris felt so at home, so at peace, she was reminded of the important question he wanted to ask Michelle.

He turned around and was caught off guard as he took in the full image of his ladylove. She was wearing black latex thigh-high boots and a matching latex bra. Completing her outfit was a black strapon dildo sticking out from her body. He felt a lump in his throat and instinctively dropped to his knees. He wrapped his lips around the hard black cock and looked up at his lover. She placed her hands on the back of his head and guided him to suck it. Turned on, she started pumping her full hips, fucking his mouth as Chris struggled to free his raging hard cock from his pants, stroking it in time to the pumping his mouth was getting.

They were both too turned on to make it to the bedroom so Michelle pulled his hair gently, signaling for Chris to stand up. She bent him over the kitchen counter and reached for a bottle of olive oil to pour on her strapon. There was something primal about fucking in the kitchen, with his pants around his ankles and his face pressed against the cold granite. Chris looked back at Michelle, pulled his asscheeks apart with both hands, and said, “What are you waiting for, girl, FUCK ME!”

Never one to disappoint, Michelle lined up the head of the Ebony strapon with his pink hole and pushed forward. She was slow but she was relentless, not stopping until every inch was buried deeply in Chris’ ass. He started grinding, squirming, and begging her to fuck him harder, deeper. They were grunting, groaning, moaning and fucking like animals. “Yeah, you like this hard cock in your slutty hole, don’t you baby? You love me fucking you like you’re my little bitch. Or would your prefer a real dick? Is that what you want? You want to get fucked by a real thick, stiff, hard dick? You want hot cum shooting deep in your asspussy?” Michelle clearly knew all the right buttons to push for her man to turn him on.

“Fuck me harder!”

“Take it deeper!”

“Fuck!”

“Shit!”

There was no stopping the endless string of profanity and the intense heat that the sexy black and white pair was giving off. Michelle was like a machine, pounding him with a steady rhythm, using his asshole for her pleasure. Chris was about to explode, in love with the sexy woman with whom he was so connected, literally and figuratively. He could smell her pussy, wet with excitement. He could feel her black hard cock deep inside him. They were both rushing to orgasm. Michelle was like a woman possessed and Chris was a like a crazed slut. He was fucking her back and begging her like a desperate slut for her to give it to him deeper. He stroked his cock; it was aching it was so hard. He shut his eyes tightly and reveled in the pleasure he was experiencing in every pore of his body as he felt the sensations overtake him.

Michelle kissed him softly and pulled him towards the bedroom for rounds two and three. They were sure to enjoy all sorts of sexy and loving encounters in the upcoming week. He scrambled to pull up his pants and check for the ring he would present to her later that evening, assured that he had found his perfect match and the end to his long distance love.



Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

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Friday, December 23, 2005

Tantalizing Letter

The Tantalizing Letter is perfect way to find just the right words to let the person in your life know how you feel. Let us give you the words that you want to say but can't quite formulate. Consider it a tempting quickie for your lover. Printed on beautiful stationary, it will be a keepsake and a reminder of your intimate bond for a very long time. It's great for those that are deployed overseas.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

My Beloved AfroerotiK

I've created several tracks that I want to see made into a CD but I haven't gotten any feedback, comments, or criticism. I don't know if I'm wasting my time. I don't know if they suck or not. I know they aren't professionally done, but I get tired of putting work out there and not getting any feedback from people to let me know if I'm wasting my time or not.

Words copyright 2005 AfroerotiK Music copyright Rasa music

Monday, December 19, 2005

Saturday, December 17, 2005

The Ultimate Black Strapon Domme

Warning!!! This is NOT for the faint of heart. It explores hardcore interracial themes and intense sexuality. Listen to the story of a commanding Black Mistress control, use, and manipulate a submissive strapon slut. It's about the exchange of power and the dynamics of psychological domination. Enjoy!

Friday, December 16, 2005

The Admiration of Lovers


Sit back, open a bottle of wine, and enjoy this soothing track with your lover. Let your mind drift off and enjoy the soothing words and melodic sounds that speak to the desires of your soul. It's AfroerotiK . . . your passion and your pleasure. It's AfroerotiK . . . your ecstasy divine. Revel in the sumptuous gift that only lovers can share.
Music copyright from A Gift of Love - - Deepak & Friends Present Music Inspired by the Love Poems of Rumi. The album shows physician/author Deepak Chopra, MD and numerous guest artists (including Madonna, Demi Moore, Rosa Parks, Robert Thurman, and Goldie Hawn) reading poetry by the famed 13th century Persian poet Jalaleddin Rumi. Featuring new translations by Fereydoun Kia and Chopra - - as well as translations by Rumi scholar Coleman Barks - - musical backdrop composed and arranged by Adam Plack, Yaron Fuchs, Richard Horowitz and Sussan Deyhim.

AfroerotiK Couple's Delight Story

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Talking Dirty

For many people, sex isn't hot unless they it's accompanied by dirty talk. The dirtier the better. What are your thoughts on hot talk in bed? What do you like to be called, what words do you like to use in bed? Share your steamy sex talk with us. Click on the audio and listen to a little hot audio erotica and share your feedback about what gets lead in your pencil and your juices flowing.
Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Sunday, December 11, 2005

AfroerotiK is . . . Podcast






You are invited to listen to the very first ever broadcast of AfroerotiK is . . . a titillating talk show that takes a peak into Black sexuality and discusses topics that dismantle offensive stereotypes and that provides a forum for the healthy expression of Ebony sensuality. This month, AfroerotiK is tackles a lot of myths and false perceptions about Black male sexuality and includes a VERY sexy erotic reading. It’s informative as well as entertaining and you are invited to listen and give your feedback.

It takes several minutes to download and your patience is appreciated.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

My dearest love


I was in deep reflection today, thinking about making love to you. For some reason, thoughts and metaphors and analogies kept floating around in my head like lyrics to a song. I couldn’t stop thinking about how when you are deep inside me, and our bodies are moving together, we are like an instrument. A guitar perhaps; your fingers gently strum my taut and tense places which elicits a sounds that serenade the angels. Perhaps we are more like artist and instrument; I am your harp, cradled gently between your legs as you play my body with artistic flair. More than an instrument, we are like magical music together. The staccato rhythm and pounding beat of our bodies making that hot sweaty passionate love is a concert to the senses. Your taste is the melody, your scent the rhyme, your moans of pleasure are a sensual harmony and the feel of your dick deep inside me keeps time. You are Marcus Miller laying the baseline for my Miles and miles of orgasmic bliss.

Damn, what have you done to me? I can’t stop thinking about how you make me feel. You hit my sweet spot and get my pussy soooo wet. I can’t decide which sensation I like the most. Your tongue is magical; licking me, literally, from head to toe. Your arms envelope me and make me feel like I’ve found home. Your hands grab my hips and let me know you are steering this ship of pleasure and I’m a passenger on the Lust Boat.

What do you say to the idea that we not let all this passion I have for you go to waste? I have a taste for your dick in my mouth and it’s not going to be satisfied by anything else. I want to hear you moan and tell me how good I make you feel. And if you are a good boy, there might be some other little surprises in store for you as well. I think I owe you a night of selfish pleasure for all the times you’ve made me cum so hard I couldn’t see straight. You like full body massages, right? If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll tie you up so you will have no choice but to let my hands and mouth pleasure you any way I see fit. Can you imagine, my love, me bringing you to the very verge of orgasm and stopping until you are more desperate to be inside me than you’ve ever been?
Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Funky Jazzy Cafe

Jason moved effortlessly around the Tabernacle, making sure everyone was being entertained, that everything was flowing smoothly. There were so many details, so many things that could go wrong but he managed to pull everything off and make it look like he didn’t break a sweat. Kemit was spinning, getting everyone’s juices pumping with old school house jams and the place was at capacity early on in the evening. He was stealth in his movements, he greeted people, and smiled did everything a host would do to make you feel welcome like it was his home, not a 20,000 square foot venue.

She was there by herself. She stood out from the crowd but there wasn’t one particular reason why, it was everything about her. There was something in her eyes and the moment Jason saw her, he was left . . . speechless. He approached her with caution, careful not to make too many sudden moves lest he reveal how anxious he was to meet her. She watched him, her eyes never leaving his, as he walked up to her. Without saying a word he extended his hand. She gently placed hers in his and they shared an electrical moment. The chemistry between the two of them could be felt from those that dared to peek at their intimate exchange.

She stepped close to him, pressing her smooth brown body against his and embracing him like they were long lost lovers. Jason’s knees buckled for a moment, he wasn’t used to a woman being so confident and so breathtaking. She cradled his face in her soft and delicate hands and they stood like that for what seemed an eternity. It was merely seconds but the way she held him created a glitch in the time and space continuum.

He regained his composure and pulled her to the dance floor. As fate would have it, Kemit started spinning reggae and the sexual tension between the two began to rise. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her to him with just enough pressure to let her know his intentions were more than that of gracious host. He whispered in her ear, “I’m Jason.”

“I know,” she whispered back. She continued with her sensual and seductive grind without missing a beat.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he said.

“Would you want me any more than you do know if I did?” she replied.

Jason was outdone. The smell of her fragrance was an intoxicating elixir. Her smooth bare shoulders looked like silk waiting to be tenderly kissed. He could detect the swell of her breasts against his chest, even through his white linen Moshood dashiki. He slid his hands down the small of her back and rested them on her full hips. She started grinding on him more, fully aware that her actions were getting him aroused. Her hands roamed his body freely, caressing his thighs, his arms, his neck, shoulders, and waist. The evidence of his arousal was more than apparent as they danced and the couple seemed to have a glow about them that emanated from the heat they shared.

She stepped up the pace and she started gently kissing his neck and earlobe. She began whispering naughty things in his ear. “Jason, my pussy is soooooo wet right now, and my clit is so hard it’s throbbing. I can just imagine what your mouth would feel like on me right now. Are you going to take me home tonight Jason? Are you going to fuck me senseless until we can’t do it any more?”

Jason was insane with lust. He grabbed her ass hard and thrust against her and her body moved with him like two well choreographed dancers. She lifted her leg and he held her thigh in his hand. She teased him even more with her words. “Jason, I want you inside me, I want to feel your dick inside me and make me scream with pleasure. I want to let you taste all that sweet and tasty treasure you are getting all worked up. I want to lick you from head to toe. Complete me Jason, I want to feel every drop of your cum inside me.”

“What’s your name?” he asked again, “who are you?”

She laughed playfully and turned her back to him. She made sure to rub her soft ass all around his erection. She closed her eyes, lay her head back on his shoulder and drifted off to a place where no one else was around. In her mind, they were alone and he was behind her, thrusting himself in her, making her scream, making her crave every ounce of his passion. She could feel her juices coating him, her muscles squeezing him, she could feel the steady rhythm of their transcendent love making. In that moment, she was his little girl, his mommy, his mistress and his lover. Jason was lost in his own intense fantasies. He needed to feel the softness of her breasts in his hands as he gently licked and kissed them. He wanted to feel her silky smooth lips as they licked and sucked him to the verge of orgasm. He was desperate to feel the soft, wet, hot folds of her tight pussy give way the very first time he penetrated her.

Just then, someone called his name. There was a situation that needed to be dealt with. He let her go momentarily to get the details of what happened and when he looked up again. . . she was gone. He felt his heart drop for a brief second until he reached in his pocket and felt a card. He pulled it out and it was an invitation to continue in private from his mystery lover.


Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK


Custom Photography Session

Friends and Lovers

In my lifetime, the men that I’ve maintained substantial and meaningful friendships with have been men with whom I’ve had no physical relationship. Often times, my attraction to them grows because of the communication and intimacy that we share but it’s not based on an initial romantic attraction. Occasionally, Men that want to get me into bed and then realize that it’s not going to happen, they usually make a half hearted attempt at being a friend. That illusion doesn’t last for very long, a couple of months at best. Once it sets in that they aren’t going to get any pussy, they stop calling and aren’t available when I call.

There are exceptions to that rule. I have one amazing male friend with whom we were both immediately attracted to one another but our respect for each other’s intellect and individuality allowed us to set boundaries that we’ve never crossed. We’ve engaged in sexual play that has included everything but penetration. He’s one of the two men that I know that can sleep in the bed with me and will not try to have sex with me. There are times when I ask him to come over and snuggle and he lets me know up front that he won’t be able to do that because he can’t handle the temptation and I respect him tremendously for that honesty. On other occasions, he’s called me and asked if we can explore some of his fantasies and we share an evening of sensuality without intercourse. Once, we got together with another friend of mine and had a threesome, without penetration. Our friendship has lasted for years and even though we don’t see each other very often, we have a mutual respect that transcends our sexual relationship. He’s been there for me anytime I’ve needed him and I know without question that he respects me as a person above all else.

Women often have friendships with men with whom they are not physically attracted. The stereotype of the “faghag” is all too common. Women often seek friendships with men with whom they can share non-sexual male/female bonds. Men, not considered attractive by societal standards often relegate themselves to the role of buddy to attractive women because women overlook them as potential partners.

Men choose friendships with women based on physical attraction and the prospect of a sexual relationship. Men don’t have the same standards for their male friends; a guy can have a friend that is fat, sloppy, slovenly and they are still their boys. It’s extremely problematic for us as a people if we can’t form friendships unless they are based on sexual attraction.

Married women express objections when their husbands have friendships with women and I’m not at all convinced that married women pursue friendships with men unless there is some sort of romantic undertones. Friendships formed prior to marriage must, inherently shift and be redefined when a person gets married. I’m pessimistic enough to believe that the vast majority of intergender friendships within a marriage are unhealthy. Women afraid of their husbands having with women is problematic and I know personally that the married men that identify me as friends to their wives would all like a shot at my panties. The only platonic friendships I have with married men are those in which I am friends with the wife as well. I have had married men that attend church every week, good providers, the model of the perfect husband try to fuck me. Men that say they are perfectly happy in their marriages have tried to get the panties.

I have a friendship with a gentleman that has survived years of evolution. It started as an internet romance and has evolved into genuine love and respect for one another as individuals. We got together recently and we ended up in a pretty steamy situation and it has altered our relationship. Where we go from here is going to be based on our communication but it seems evident that we are both holding back now. I don’t see the potential for a relationship even though I was the one that had the stronger attraction when we first met. Sex fucks up friendships.

I’m not questioning if men and women can be friends; yes it’s possible. It’s possible for men and women to have friendships but under the current conditions it’s highly unlikely that male/female friendships are based on a solid, healthy foundation if attraction as the motivation for the friendship. I am well aware that the level of friendship between genders that exists now is dysfunctional but there has to be a shift. Men must decide to look at women as human beings, beyond the physical to form friendships. Friendships should be based on common interests, personalities and experiences, not on how attractive a woman is. Women must stop putting “men who are attractive on the inside” in the friends category and pursuing pretty boys as mates. We can get to the promised land but we have a lot of work to do to get there.

Raising Biracial Children

One of the stories I wrote for my upcoming book is a story about a biracial man that has to face the fact that he was raised by a white mother as Black a black man and has never once had to deal with the fact that he was half white. I intentionally created his character to be raised in a way that I think is atypical of the way that the vast majority of biracial children are raised to bring light to the numerous biracial children, raised by single white women, with no attempts whatsoever to expose them to any sort of authentic positive black experiences. The beauty of being Black is not going to a Klan rally to witness racism first hand. I’m not criticizing the effort; I’m just saying that seems to me to be a little reminiscent of showing the worst of being black and not having the exposure to the beauty of being black to balance it. The beauty of being Black is going to South Carolina for the summer and playing with cousins all day in the oppressive summer sun and getting blacker than coal and eating watermelon like it’s going out of style. It’s sitting next to your grandmother in church, with Vaseline on your Mary Jane’s, white tights, and $.55 cents, red and white peppermints, and an embroidered handkerchief in your little purse. It’s visiting the sick and shut with your parents in on a Saturday afternoon in a house that smells like liniment, lavender, and urine and not being able to wait to get outside to play. Being Black is sitting in the beauty parlor on a Saturday morning while your mother gets her hair done and getting that tingly feeling “down there” looking at the pictures of the Jet Beauty of the Week and then going straight for the Top Twenty Songs to see which ones you like and which ones suck.

The ugly question behind all of this is, how does a white person know how to raise a Black child? It’s not an easy answer. For generations, the foundation of our parenting was to teach our male children to assume a passive attitude with authorities in order to keep from being lynched, in order to keep your job, in order to avoid the constant racist behavior that was often a threat to life and limb. Now that racism has changed, now that it’s more stealth and institutionalized, how does a person who has never experienced that or who has no historical knowledge of what it is to be black raise a child to deal with it? Where’s the happy medium between teaching your child to internalize racism and to not acknowledge it at all? I don’t have that answer. You see, Black men not staying around to raise their children in not just a burden on the Black community, it’s creating a race of people that have no cultural identity to hold on to. Sadly, in far too many instances, when a brotha chooses to date and procreate (sorry, that sounds so gross but I can’t say in most instances they choose to be a parent) with white women, in a great many instances, his motivations to do so are based on self-hatred (although they don’t see it that way) and a strong desire to have children that aren’t Black. Those aren’t necessarily the best individuals to raise a child to understand the beauty of being Black and I’ve seen far too many instances (at every single one of my family reunions . . . the number of my male cousins with biracial children is staggering) Black men raising their children to be white, as if that is some sort of preferred status.

I do know that a lot of white people think that because they have a sexual or romantic preference for people of color they believe deep down in their heart that means the are not racist. While they may not be sheet-wearing Klansmen, it does not mean that person is totally devoid of racist beliefs. I’ve spoken with a lot of white women, my age and older, that tell me that their daughter has “Black” children and I’ve heard the most outrageously insensitive racially tinged statements come from their moths followed by, “I’m not racist.” Teaching your child that he or she is brown, or some amalgamation of black and other, seems to me to be the most offensive and damaging practice possible. Being Black is not a matter of skin tone its an identity. It’s like teaching light skinned African American children that they aren’t really Black. If you can’t raise a child to be proud of being Black, that being Black is more than a color in a crayon box, then you have failed as a parent to teach your child their true identity. They will never relate to the fact that they are descendents to the Black Africans who were the architects of civilization, who survived the single most horrific act of genocide known to man, and who have the blood of heroes coursing through their veins.

Is a Black woman more capable of raising a more well-rounded biracial child? I’m going to say that I’ve not seen many instances of healthy parenting in the Black community with Black children, I can’t imagine that somehow that adding another element to the mix somehow creates a better parenting skills. There are too many unresolved issues that need to be addressed before I can give us a clean bill of health. The said fact of the matter is we are raising our boys to become emotionally immature men, we are raising our girls to become women that think that their value is in their physical beauty, and creating a materialism that is pathological. If a Black woman isn’t comfortable with her own natural hair texture, then it’s not possible for her to raise a child that is going to love their inherent African-ness. One has to ask themselves, what exactly is the benefit of being an Oreo? Color issues, internalized racism, unprocessed emotions . . . all the things that are unresolved issues when raising a Black child don’t magically disappear when raising a biracial child. We as a people don’t even have a real grasp of our own history; it adds more complexity when raising children with two different histories in which one has historically oppressed the other.

I know my own two mentees feel that racism is over because they can see both black and white videos back to back on MTV. When I point out that their school system is under funded and they don’t have the same educational opportunities of white children in other school districts and that is racist, they tell me that Justin Timberlake is cute and tell me that racism ended back in the Martin Luther King days. Are any parents, of black, white, or other children, teaching their children about the Long March, the Trail of Tears, Blood Sunday, or why isn’t something to be ashamed of to be a descendent of slaves? Who will honor the enslaved African in all of us that fought to survive so that we might have breath in our lungs today? Who will keep that memory alive and honor them? I think this “browning of America” that everyone says is the saving grace of all of us and the signal that racism is over, will erode away Black identity and preserve whiteness. I don’t see that as being a good thing.

Soul Mates


At the beginning of time, the Creator split one soul into masculine and feminine energies. Those energies evolved over the course of many lifetimes, perfecting themselves so that they could be reunited in the physical plane as one. You, my love, are my twin flame, my divine right partner, the yin to my yang and I am now made whole again with you.

Making love to you is transcendent. Every breath you take I feel as my own. I can’t tell if I’m inside you or you are inside of me. My vibration rises and my senses become overwhelmed when I’m with you. I have nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Your gentle moans of pleasure fill my ears when no one is around and your touch caresses me throughout the day.

My fears, dreams, hopes, and aspirations are wrapped up in you. Your fingertips hold my pleasure; your shoulders carry my insecurities and doubts for me. Your mouth speaks the words that soothe my savage soul. Your tears wash away my hurt and I am baptized in the sweetness of your nectar.

I want you to know that only you can fulfill me and there is no reason to for me to look elsewhere. I feel electricity and sparks every time I see your face, every time I look in your eyes. I want to kiss you for hours, losing track of time. I want to be late for work because we can't bear the thought of starting the day off without connecting. I want to bathe in your essence my soul mate.


Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Ebony Latino Love

She held her breath as she waited amongst the masses in the terminal at Hartsfield Airport. After more than two years of loving and fighting and loving again, they were finally going to meet. Theirs was an Internet/interracial love that had gone through more stages of development than an unborn child. Metaphorically, if things went well, Chantal and Juan were about to give birth to a love that defied definition.

He ascended the escalator and a lump formed in his throat. All of his dreams were wrapped tightly in this encounter. Finally, he was to know deep within his heart if the love he had felt for her the minute they virtually met so long ago was real. I was her openness for learning Latino culture and his adoration of the strength and resilience of Black women that kept them together. It was their stubbornness that kept them apart.

Their eyes connected instantly, as if they were drawn together like two inseparable parts of a whole. He dropped his bag at her feet and took his Ebony beauty into his arms. She fit perfectly in his arms as she stood on tiptoe to find her spot in his arms. He became erect immediately, not because of lust but because he knew immediately that he belonged to her. He had found his spiritual home within her soul and he knew his search had ended. Her tears flowed steadily and he comforted her with his soothing, gentle voice and whispered his professions of love to her. The crowd around them disappeared as they melted into each other’s arms.

The ride to her home was made in silence. Juan had to adjust himself at times to accommodate the raging erection that he couldn’t control. Chantal was afraid to speak because she thought the magical spell would break. Juan was too busy staring at his wife to make idle conversation. Not his future wife, but his wife in the most spiritual sense. No license or ceremony in the world could validate the love that emanated from his very being for her at that moment. Nothing could keep them apart from this point on. He couldn’t help but stare at her beauty and poise and enchanting curves.

Chantal fumbled with the key to her apartment for a few seconds; afraid to open the threshold to what could possibly be her wildest dreams becoming a reality. Juan knew he was home the second he stepped in the door. He would have to call his job and take a leave of absence while he looked for a job in Atlanta because he knew there was no way in hell he was going back to Cali without her. The door was barely closed when he pulled her to him and showered her neck with kisses. She responded more passionately this time, uninhibited by the presence of weary travelers and Homeland Security personnel. Her nipples were hard and the moistness between her legs was only a tiny signal of the passion that was about to transpire.

They kissed and it cemented in both their minds that there was no turning back. Chantal pulled Juan to the floor on top of her as their lust consumed them. She was grabbing for his dick and he was ripping the blouse from her body as buttons flew everywhere. They were two passionate, lust-filled animals in heat writhing on the floor as they surrendered to the years of intellectual and emotional foreplay they had shared.

Their kisses fed their hunger for one another. They feasted on each other, drank of each other’s essence. Chantal spread her legs and awaited her moment of reckoning. He lowered his mouth to her sweet center. Her slippery and sweet juices were flowing freely. Her lips were parted slightly, exposing her silken and pink center. His tongue softly flicked at her clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. Chantal’s body jerked and shook every time his lips sucked her sensitive button. The more he licked the wetter she became. Her moans and utterances of profane and graphic directions were music to his ears. “Baby, I love the way you lick my pussy . . . oh shit . . . fuck . . . yesssss. . . finger me. Oh Papi, it feels so good. Ay Dios mio. Mas duro, por favorrrrr. Ahora.” Juan cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her pussy to his mouth and drove his tongue deep inside her. I need you inside me now. NOW,” she screamed. Chantal was lost in so much pleasure her tears began to flow as freely as the cum that now coated Juan’ face.

Juan held back the tears in his own eyes as he prepared to take his final journey home. They moaned out in ecstasy as he penetrated her very soul. Juan was content that he had found his reason for living. Every trial, every pain and hurt that he had ever suffered, was washed away by the sweet juices that coated his raging hardon. He was so deep inside her, so completely enveloped in the core of her being, he got lost in her identity and they became one.

His orgasm hit him hard. More than just the physical sensation of pleasure overtook him; it was the realization that they could not be separated ever again. He had left his mark inside her; his seed would surely grow. He collapsed on top of her and she cradled him and comforted him in her sweet and loving embrace.

“Te quiero mucho,” she whispered, as they drifted off into a peaceful slumber—forever to be man and wife.



© AfroerotiK.com

1001 Nights Collection

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Time

Every time I taste your lips, I’m reminded of how intense every second is that I spend with you. My senses are aroused and I’m lost in your eyes. I can feel my nature rise and my juices begin to flow simply melting into your tender kiss. Every second is a gift in your presence and I want to unwrap them slowly, methodically and with tender loving care.

Fifteen minutes. All I need from you today is one quarter hour. Steal away on your lunch break and love me down intensely but for a few brief minutes. I need to be rejuvenated by your touch, your taste, and your sweet, sexy scent. Save the foreplay and romance for another day and give me that hot, sticky passion only you know how to give me.

Time is really an illusion, it doesn’t exist. Time is really man’s way of measuring the passage of events that occur; it is really just a figment of our imagination. What is real are my feelings for you. Reality is that feeling I have when I hold your body close and I don’t know where you end and I begin.

Timeless love, that is what we share. Weeks, months, or even years could go by and you’d still be connected to me. No amount of time will alter or diminish this chemistry, this magic. You touch will forever send shivers down my spine. I will forever long for kisses from you. Your caress will always ignite my flame. We will spend eternity as lovers.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Sexy DVDs

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

One of the real joys of the holiday season is how the kink community comes together to celebrate. It seems that everyone is allowed to let their hair down that much more, to party like pagans, and to lose him or herself to pure hedonistic pleasure. This holiday season, the Houston kink community was coming together not only to celebrate in grand style, to say goodbye to ’05 and usher in a brand spanking new year, literally and figuratively, but also to raise funds for those in their BDSM family that were displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Meaning, quite bluntly, insurance companies left many Black Dominas from Crescent City to fend for themselves when it came to replacing many of their custom built pieces of furniture, equipment, and paraphernalia while their white counterparts got a check cut, no questions asked. Houston PEP recognized the disparity and decided to have a fundraiser for its newly adopted Lousiana transplants to help them re-establish themselves and to embrace them with open arms and have a hell of a blowout party at the same time.

The generosity of the partygoers that evening was beyond compare. People brought everything from whips and paddles to swings and straight jackets, to a St. Andrew’s Cross and everything in between. One generous benefactor was even kind enough to donate space so that Mistresses Eden, Cree, Ana, Ebony, and Chocolate would have a place to set up shop without much hassle.
Electricity was in the air as the ladies mixed and mingled among their newfound family to introduce themselves. Charlie Papadopoulos was particularly aroused at the presence of the guests of honor. He had always been attracted to women of color and he had acknowledged that he was submissive for nearly two decades. He was like a kid in a candy shop, distracted and fidgety. His wife, Eva, was barely able to have a conversation with him because he was so preoccupied. He hadn’t even heard her inform him that he was going to be a contestant in a very special selection process to serve and worship the honorees for the evening. It wasn’t until she led him to the stage by a leash where he stood among four other subs and waited to be inspected to see if he would have the privilege of serving the Black Dommes that he truly got an understanding of what could potentially happen.

His heart was beating fast and his face was flush. His cock was so hard it ached as he stood for what seemed like hours. People passed by, making comments and speculations about who would win and be subjected to the sadistic whims of FIVE strict Dominatrixes. Charlie swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the floor. He dared not look at the other subs that stood next to him. He felt inferior; his body not as young, lithe, or muscled as his other competitors. He could hear their laughs and taunts as they described his small cock and middle-aged paunch, assured, in their minds at least, that they would get a place at the feet of the Dominas and the opportunity of a lifetime.

The lovely Dommes examined the submissives one by one. First was Mistress Eden. The youngest of the group at 21, she had a lot to prove. She wanted everyone to know that she was truly a dominant and not just a kid playing at being domme. Charlie only saw her well-pedicured feet as he kept his eyes on the floor but he certainly felt the pain in his nuts as he grabbed them and twisted them enough to bring him to his knees. He wouldn’t, however, crumble that easily and he kept his composure through the pain. His honor was at stake and he focused his mind to endure whatever was necessary in order to serve. He would endure more humiliation, more degradation, more pain than the human mind and body was capable of for the honor of serving. Mistress Cree, dressed in a full-length latex gown, and Mistress Ana, wearing a leather corset and panties, poked and prodded Charlie like he was a piece of livestock. They opened his mouth and examined his teeth like they would a horse as he stood stoically as the onlookers took bets to see who would survive the next elimination. They bent him over and fingered his ass and Charlie couldn’t help but whimper. He felt his knees weaken slightly but the prize was too close. Two of the others had been eliminated and it was down to just him and two others. He felt them shoving fingers in his tight mancunt and he looked out into the audience and saw Eva casually chatting away with her friends, oblivious to his predicament while everyone else in the room seemed to have their eyes glued to the makeshift stage.

Mistress Ebony was a super-sized BBW, tipping the scales at well over 300 pounds. Her red see-through negligee showed her pendulous breasts and rolls of fat. She seemed to be intrigued with having each sub on his knees to swat his tender flesh with her riding crop, listening to the most creative pleas for more punishment. Charlie was in sub space. He was intoxicated with lust. The words came tumbling out of his mouth as the crop came down on his body. “Oh Mistress, I crave your punishment. I’m a dirty, filthy, lowly white pig that lives to serve your Superior Ebony whims and desires. Make me endure the most cruel penalties, the most degrading tortures and I’ll prove to you that I want more by begging your to push me further. I’m a disgusting white slut that needs to be used and I will gladly eat your ass, drink your piss, or anything that you desire to show my submissiveness to you.”

By the time Mistress Chocolate stepped on the stage, it was down to Charlie and one other sub. The crowd was in a frenzy. Mistress Chocolate didn’t lay a finger on him. She simply whispered in his ear with a sweet melodious voice, that if she selected him, she was going to make regret his desire to submit to her. She began stroking his cock, twisting it, slapping it, and rubbing it gently with her black satin-gloved hand, trying to bring him to orgasm. Every tendon, every sinew in his body was tensed as he focused on her words and kept his eyes focused on the crowd. She pressed her very muscular frame into his back and whispered, “I’m going to take you down. You’re the one I want to see suffer. You have the most to lose. You, with your high paying job, your middle class air of superiority. I want to see you kneel at my feet and worship me.” Charlie let out a moan like a wounded animal and fought with every ounce of his being to hold back his cum. Everyone was in a state of arousal. Subs were licking wet pussies and being forced to lick feet as the all white crowd watched with wide eyes.

Charlie passed out. When he awoke, he was trying to figure out what had happened. Had he won? Had he cum? He tried to speak but he was overwhelmed with the sensation that he was firmly secured in a stockade in a room with a glass window. He couldn’t turn his head to see anyone but he assumed that there was a large audience.

For the next few hours, Charlie was the plaything of the five black women. Mistress Eden was intent on using his asshole with her black strapon like he was a whore. No longer feeling the need to hold back, he moaned, groaned, and begged for more. “Oh Mistress, I need your hard, thick, black strapon rammed in my sissy pussy. Fuck me. Fuck me harder, make it hurt. It feels so fucking good, ram me. Use my white slutty asshole. Can’t you fuck me any harder than that?” His taunts were met with the Domme fucking him like a rag doll. His pleas for more weren’t to be heard for very long because he his mouth was quickly put to use licking the huge, sweaty asshole of Mistress Ebony. He could barely breath with the fleshy mounds of her enormous ass covering his entire face. He worked his tongue in and licked the musky flavors as he could hear the muffled laughs as he felt he was going to pass out.

Deeper in sub space than he had ever been, being watched by dozens of onlookers, Charlie felt the sting of even more punishment applied to his ass. Mistress Ana administered a cat-o-nine tails on his back, ass, and thighs, hitting his tender balls. He would have cried out if Mistress Cree hadn’t grabbed his hair firmly in her hands and pressed her hot cunt to his mouth and forced him to drink her hot piss. It was a never-ending onslaught of sensation, each woman demanding pleasure in different ways.

It was the mysterious and gorgeous, Mistress Chocolate, however that stalked her prey. She wanted his singular focus and she waited patiently for the others to tire of using him. Charlie wanted more; he was desperate to be pushed past his limits. His neck was aching as he strained to look up at her. Her toned brown legs were inches from his face. She lifted her skirt slowly, making the crowd gasp in shock. Underneath the short miniskirt was the fully functioning cock of a transsexual. It was a full 8 inches in length and impressively thick. Charlie swallowed hard and started begging, “Feed me that hot black cock, shove it in my mouth, fuck my face, make me suck it like the depraved cocksucking whore that I am.” Not one to disappoint, Mistress Chocolate fed him her entire dick, making him choke and gag. In the zone, Charlie used his tongue, lips, and mouth to make that gorgeous cock shoot loads of creamy cum in his mouth.
Exhausted and sore, Charlie and Eva made the trip back home the next day in relative silence. Charlie could be proud because his actions were part of a terrific fund-raiser for a very worthy cause. It was a night to remember and the stuff dreams are made of for a white sub named Charlie with an incredible desire for chocolate.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Friday, December 02, 2005

Vacation Paradise

Fantasy and reality are lines that can easily become blurred when the right mix of elements are combined. When chemistry and passion mix with pure unadulterated lust, add sensuality with a touch of sweltering Jamaican heat, top off with downright uninhibited fun and the results are downright explosive. Such was the case when Lisette and Phillip got together for a much-needed vacation to Jamaica that would leave them scorched by the flames of hedonism.

Leaving the damp and rainy weather of Seattle behind, Lisette and Phillip headed off to the sunny shores of Kingston to revel in decadence and pleasure. It was the first time to visit the Caribbean for both of them and Phillip could barely wait to get to the hotel to get the fun started. Lisette was intent on igniting passions even before they left the runway. As they slid into the seats she leaned over to Phillip and whispered, “Honey, I’m so absent minded today. I think I forgot to put on my thong.”

Phillip tried to remain as calm as possible but he was visibly moved by her naughty revelation. He glanced down at her smooth, butterscotch colored legs and ran his eyes up to the bottom of her floral-print silk sarong. Lisette, feeling particularly bold and empowered, shifted in her seat and spread her legs ever so slightly. She raised the hem of her skirt a little more to expose more of her sexy thighs as Phillip glanced around to get an idea of who was around and get his bearings. No one was directly across from them, thank goodness, but across the aisle and one seat in front of them was a guy who was already harassing the stewardess about a pillow and had three empty little bottles of JD rolling around at his feet.

Phillip, always one to be in control of his environment, was at a loss. He hadn’t expected such a bold move by Lisette so soon in the game so he conceded to her that she had the next move. He was going to enjoy the ride, literally and figuratively, and with any luck, it would be an extremely bumpy one.

Lisette leaned closer again; this time whispering in his ear of how wet her pussy was, of how she couldn’t wait to have his big hard dick pounding in and out of her pussy. Phillip was feeling light headed and they hadn’t even begun to taxi on the runway. If she wanted to play, he was going to make her work for it. He leaned in closer and slid his hands up the silky smooth skin of her inner thighs. Lisette held his gaze firmly as she spread her legs just a bit more. As his fingers explored her legs, as he began caressing her silky folds, he discovered that Lisette had recently gotten a bikini wax. Electricity shot through his body as his fingers felt the baby smooth skin and the slippery juices of her wetness.

“Okay, enough of that sweetie, let’s wait until we land.” Lisette was being playfully coy and flirtatious but Phillip had other plans in mind. He gently pushed her legs apart more and began softly circling her clit with his index finger. Lisette hadn’t planned on things getting so public so soon, her plans were to pace themselves, and let the tension build. Phillip had other plans in mind.

In a smooth, commanding tone, he whispered, “Spread your legs for me.”

Lisette felt powerless to do anything but comply. She began nervously looking around, to see who could see their goings on. She tried to push his hand away but the way he was touching her was causing her mind to be clouded. Her pussy lips felt so good and the wetter she became the more her inhibitions were washed away. She regretted her rather flimsy plan almost immediately, being willing to concede that Phillip was far more gregarious in his behaviors than she had ever been. He was the quintessential man’s man, friend to all, adored by the masses. His personality lit up a room wherever he went and he certainly had the confidence and charm to schmooze with the best of them. Of course it was nothing for him to think that he could get away with the most obvious of public displays with little or no repercussions.

The stewardess was making her way down the aisle with lunch and Phillip’s fingers got more adventurous. He pushed Lisette’s legs open wider and searched for her sweet spot. Lisette, practically panicked by the thought of being discovered, was doing her best to dissuade Phillip’s antics as quietly as possible. She began making negotiations, bargaining, whispering whatever she could to get him to stop what she was sure was going to cause a very public and embarrassing scene.

Phillip would not be denied. He spread the lips of her sweet pussy and began his digital assault on her aroused clit. Lisette squirmed and waged a battle in her own mind about her conflicting emotions. On one hand, she loved how her man was making her feel, on the other, she was too conservative, too scared to be discovered. Her body was winning the war as her pussy was leaking and her juices were actually running down her ass. Phillip stepped up the pace and inserted a finger in her pussy and Lisette actually had to bite her lip to keep from moaning out load. He leaned in close, brushed his soft, sexy lips against the nape of her neck and whispered, “Don’t fight it, cum for Daddy.”

Lisette closed her eyes. She was about to take a trip, literally and figuratively to a place she had never been before. The stewardess was only one seat away, helping the tipsy gentleman with that damned pillow he had been screaming about when she turned to Phillip and Lisette. She froze momentarily. Phillip, ever in control of things, gave the stewardess a seductive look that said, “Don’t say a word, just acknowledge and enjoy,” and she did a quick double take and calmly asked if there was anything she could do to make her passenger’s trip more enjoyable. Phillip shoved another finger in Lisette at that very moment and she was helpless to do anything but surrender to the exquisite sensations he was giving her body. Phillip never took his eyes off the stewardess as he continued to finger fuck Lisette’s hot pussy. Beneath the rumpled folds of her skirt, he was thrusting his hand between her legs and Lisette shut her eyes tight to shut out the world.

Phillip was truly beside himself as he held the two women captivated and frozen with his aura. The woman seated beside him was fighting an orgasm in a very public place and the woman standing inches from him in the aisle of the plane was obviously very aroused by the scene before her and the command Phillip had over his environment. The stewardess’ breathing was becoming labored as she held her eyes fixed to the spot between Lisette’s legs. It was all Lisette could do not to scream right then and there. She was grinding on Phillip’s fingers, trying to get them deeper, trying to get them to hit her magic spot, trying to be quiet. Phillip grabbed Lisette’s hand and placed it on his dick, which could was clearly outlined through his pants. She started stroking it, afraid to open her eyes, hypnotized by the sensations she was feeling, her body aching for release. She could feel the warming sensations traveling her body. He could feel her muscles tense up as she was climbing towards her peak. The stewardess was in a daze, hypnotized it seems by Phillip’s presence. Lisette could hear herself saying, “Oh shit . . . Oh shit,” over and over again, but she wasn’t in any sort of position to stop, she was feeling too much pleasure.
Without notice, Phillip stopped; he pulled his fingers out of her pussy abruptly and left both Lisette and the stewardess breathless. The entire scene probably only lasted a few seconds but it seemed like an eternity; like there had been a glitch in time and space that made seconds seem like hours. He began casually chatting with the stewardess about the options for lunch as Lisette was trying to regain control. He held his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply; even taking the opportunity to lick away some of the sweet juices there as he repositioned his dick and went about his business. Lisette was still aroused and tingling with sensations. She pushed her seat back and gave herself over to the feeling that it was going to be a memorable trip.

Jamaica was everything that they had hoped it would be. It was a glorious Spring day, clear, sunny, and HOT, the perfect climate for steamy and passionate play. Lisette reveled in the sensuous nature of the hotel lobby as Phillip checked in. The Shore Club was the hottest, most exclusive hotel in on the beach and only the high rollers played there. Phillip, ever the worldly statesman, had the Penthouse suite reserved for their vacation. It was a 6,000 square foot, triplex suite with a private elevator accessing all three floors, two spiral staircases and a private terrace, a rooftop pool, a steam room, sauna, an outdoor shower and a 360-degree panoramic view of the city and the ocean. He’d called in a few favors and been the recipient of some special gifts that had been able to garner them accommodations that would make Paris Hilton’s suite seem like the quarters for the pool boy. Anything and everything that they wanted was to be theirs, all they had to do was merely think it, and it was theirs to be had. Well, a thought and a call to Martin, the hotel concierge, who could make anything happen.

Decadence was the theme of the day as they luxuriated in The Spa. Lisette opted for the Multi Media Massage and Phillip decided to go for the more adventuresome Wild Zesty Scalp and Body treatment. Dinner at Ago was nothing less than superb and they were settling into the vibrations of the city as they dined on traditional ethnic creations and sipped Grey Goose Dirty Martini’s as they hours slipped by. Their first night there was to be punctuated with more play than relaxation as they headed back to the suite to change. Lisette was breathtaking in her sexy stilettos and red dress that hugged all her sexy curves in the right places. Phillip was ever the dashing figure, his 6’2” frame caring a cinnamon colored light weight sweater and black pants off like he had stepped off the runways of Milan.

The partied the night away at Mansion, showered with VIP treatment all night long. Phillip was the type of man that never met a stranger and by 1 AM, he had invited three other couples back to the hotel to continue the party in the luxurious hotel suite. It was a multicultural mix, one Latino couple, a White couple, and an interracial couple; some sista had herself a white man that seemed to love her dirty drawers. All eight seemed to meld and mix quite well together. The men, sharing war stories of acquisitions and business deals they had masterminded and the women talked about celebrity sightings and shopping. It was all light hearted and fun and no one really pried about anyone else’s private details. Whatever happens in Jamaica . . . stays in Jamaica. Everyone could be free to just let their hair down and relax.

Phillip watched Lisette from the corner of his eye all night. In fact, everyone watched Lisette; her sensuality was oozing from every pore in her body. There were more than a few times Phillip caught the guys looking at her sexy ass or staring at her nipples as they poked through her dress when they were admiring her cleavage. Lisette wasn’t totally oblivious to the attention as she did what she could to keep her man’s attention. She wanted to get him back for the little trick he had played on her on the plane but she had to be a bit more calculating in her maneuvers as to not have them backfire on her as they did earlier in the day.

Everyone was settling down and listening to some jazz, relaxing. Lisette made a discrete exit into the tropical night air, overlooking the breathtaking view of the city. Phillip casually strolled out on the terrace behind Lisette. She settled back into his arms and laid her head upon his chest. His hands roamed freely over her body as he began grinding his erection in the crack of her ass. Lisette was enjoying the sensation as she bent slightly forward against the railing. His dick was getting heavy as he began sliding the material of her dress up over her sexy thighs.

Lisette decided to take matters into her own hands as she whispered that she wanted some alone time away from their new friends. They made their way, hand in hand, to the master bedroom and closed the door. Lisette stood Phillip in the middle of the room, nothing for support, nowhere to hide. She slid her thong down her legs and tossed it to Phillip. He inhaled her fragrance as he watched her sit on the edge of the bed and spread her legs. She began rubbing her fingers over her wet slit, masturbating right in front of him. She closed her eyes and got more and more into her self-pleasure. Phillip was mesmerized and could barely swallow he was so turned on. Lisette began fingering herself, making herself cum, releasing all the pressure that had been built up from the earlier play they shared.

Lisette stopped just before she reached her climax and she got on her knees in front of Phillip and lowered his zipper. She looked up at him with an incredibly seductive look in her eyes and licked her sexy lips. Phillip was outdone by her brazen display of sexuality and was hard as a rock. She began slowly and gently licking the head and shaft of his dick, staring in his eyes the entire time. Phillip took his dick in his hand and held it to her lips. He took the tip between his fingers and squeezed it causing pre-cum to ooze out. With that, Lisette stuck her tongue out and began to seductively lick Phillip’s solid erection. The sensation was enough to make Phillip’s dick throb and jump. He was stroking his dick, milking it, forcing more pre-cum out. Up to the challenge, she was licking it up like it was the sweetest honey. She stuck her tongue out and licked Phillip all the way from his balls to the head of his dick, even licking his hand as he continued to jerk off.

Overcome with lust, he gently grabbed her head, pulled her by her long, curly hair, and slid his dick deep in her mouth. Her mouth felt like a hot, wet, tight pussy. Lisette was sucking him with expertise and skill. Her tongue was swirling around the shaft as her lips kept up a steady rhythmic sucking. Her spit was all over him. Phillip was on the verge. The inside of her mouth felt like hot silk. The cum was boiling up in his nuts, the sack drawing up close to his body. Lights were flashing behind his eyes as he held them tightly shut, and he was thrusting in and out of her mouth.

She had taken him deep. He needed more. “Yeah, suck my dick; suck that big dick like you love it.” Phillip closed his eyes and concentrated on the beautiful woman sucking, licking, and swallowing his dick. The sensations were incredible, indescribable. The suction on his dick felt like he would never get head this good again in his life.

Just as he was about to orgasm, Lisette stopped. She stood up and smoothed out her dress, stepped back into her thong and said softly, “We have guests we need to get back to, let’s go.”

Phillip was undone. He was proud of his baby for playing him just as well as he would have done her. He was proud but he was more horny than proud.

Back in the living room, Lisette played the gracious hostess while Phillip did his best to get everyone to go home. “It’s late,” he would say and Lisette would counter with, “so everyone should get comfortable and stay.” One of the things he loved about her was she was this incredibly quick-witted woman housed in the body of a brick shithouse. They played the cat and mouse game well for a half hour more until Lisette’s hormones couldn’t take the torture much longer. It was nearly 3 AM when they ushered their last guests out the front door.

No sooner had the door closed then Phillip had pushed Lisette against the door. He kissed the back of her neck and bit her shoulder. He filled his hands with her full breasts as she braced herself for the thorough fucking she was going to get. He undressed; he undressed her, leaving only her stilettos on. He pulled her soaking wet thong down and pushed her body forward so her forearms were pressed against the door. Lisette needed to get fucked and she was craving it the way only Phillip could give it to her. He smacked her ass, asking her, “You want this big dick in you?” He took his strong fingers and inserted them deep insider her. First one, then two, he watched as the third finger disappeared within her.

Lisette nodded through her lust-filled haze. She gazed back at him. “Fuck me please. No more teasing. I need it” Lisette, no longer able to hold back, started moaning and begging to get fucked, no longer concerned if anyone saw or heard her get the dick she craved and deserved. She needed to feel that ebony column of flesh caress her walls, make her scream, make her cum. She wanted to get pounded hard and Phillip was the only one that could give her that sensation.

Phillip was past his threshold for any more teasing. He grabbed his dick and held it at the entrance to her pussy. He looked at the head of his dick as it lay at the entrance to Nirvana. Lisette was like a wildcat, looking back at him begging to get fucked. He took skillful aim and shoved his dick in in one fluid motion. They began working together, to find that perfect rhythm. She was throwing that ass back; he had a handful of hips pulling her back to him. He was grunting like and animal in heat as she was pleading with him to fuck her harder. The sloppy sounds of fucking filled the night as Lisette’s wet pussy gushed and dripped her sexy honey all down his balls and legs.

Phillip was the first to lose his battle with pleasure. He was in a trance and he felt his orgasm hit him hard but he kept on fucking. He wanted to see Lisette cum and cum hard. He needed her to cum so hard she would practically pass out. He reached around and grabbed her nipples; he put his fingers in her mouth for her to suck. He began a relentless and pounding attack that would ram every inch of his hard dick deep, deep inside her. That was enough to push Lisette over the edge. She was alive with sensations and her body responded with wave after wave of pleasure. Her legs gave out as she gave way to ecstasy.

The trip back to Seattle was a quiet one, no public displays, no outrageous behavior. It was back to the grindstone and the cold after a week of sensual exploration. Lisette laid her head gently on Phillip’s shoulder as she reflected on the week’s activities. He held her close and kissed her sweetly on her forehead. It had been a fantasy vacation steeped in lust and passion that had definitely brought them closer together and had opened the door to greater heights of intimacy. They would never be the same and that, ultimately, was a good thing.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

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To be a Black domme

Probing into the motivations and core beliefs of white submissive's serves a key and essential function in Black women being able to dismantle negative images of ourselves and redefining ourselves. Knowledge is the key to transformation, and understanding the motivations and drives of subs helps Black women empower themselves to be able to assert their power and control over submissive’s. Being able to tap into and manipulate the subs hot buttons rather than just randomly stabbing in the dark with hit or miss tactics that leave both domme and sub feeling frustrated and unsatisfied ultimately. It's the difference in being a true master of someone, actually controlling their essence, their thoughts and desires, and trying to feel empowered by being an irrational bitch that makes subs jump through hoops and inflict pain based on some desire to feel in control. Just as true dommes know how to identify true subs, true subs know the difference between a woman who is truly in control and a woman who is pretending to be in control to boost her self esteem or take out her frustration on men.

As more and more black women embrace our power, it's essential that we at least come to the table with the information that will enable us to be more than fetishized Black stereotypes, that we will understand that being dominant can be a healthy expression of our sexuality and not just a way to have someone to hurt because we haven't dealt with our own issues of hurt inside. Being a domme doesn't mean you are rude, being a domme doesn't mean you are inflict pain on someone to prove you are superior, and it certainly doesn't mean you come to the table without being fully prepared. Being a domme means you are confident and aware in your self and can experience pleasure from mutual play that fills both the needs of your subs and yourself. No longer do we have to be the sassy Black mammy that yields her strapon and whip to control the naughty white boy. We can be the informed, intelligent Black woman who tenderly and gently breaks down the vestiges of arrogance in her subs and completely controls his desires based on her insights into his motivations. Can the church say amen?

Certainly it helps me as an amateur anthropologist understand the phenomenon of white submission, how it's evolved and the factors perpetuating it. With that information I can either figure out ways to exploit the trend for the betterment of my people or identify commonalities that might lead to me recognizing the same behaviors in men I deal with that are in positions of power. I recognize that an individual's preferences aren't formed in a vacuum.

What is your secret sexual fantasy?

For far too long, sexuality has been steeped in secrecy and shame. Rather than allowing people to grow and evolve in a mature and healthy way, beliefs about sexuality have remained stagnated and dictated by a puritanical standard that makes sex something dirty, not to be discussed, and narrowly defined. This is NOT a forum to point the finger of moral indignation or to stand upon the pedestal of condemnation; this is the place to boldly embrace all aspects of our sexuality. If we are to grow as a people, we must be able to bring our desires and fantasies out of the dark and into the light. You are not alone; there are many others out there that share your sexual preferences. Unfortunately, if we don’t discuss our desires we will forever feel isolated and shamed and never be able to feel comfortable in the skin we are in.

This is your time, your chance to shine. From mild to wild, from sedate to extreme, this is your platform to be an innovator and open the discussion up explore the many facets of Black sexuality. What is it that drives you wild? Do you long to be submissive to a dominant partner that makes you do unspeakable things? Are you intrigued by fantasies of being intimate with someone of the same gender? Do fantasies of orgies, CBT, golden showers, incest, strapons, or cross dressing rev your engine? Whatever tickles your fancy, the importance of this opportunity is to feel validation that you are not alone.

Since I’m sure this topic will be outside of most people’s comfort zones, I’ll start the ball rolling. My fantasy is to have a man that is equally as aroused by being on the receiving end of anal stimulation as he is in giving. I am very aroused by the level of intimacy involved in a man confessing to me that he has bisexual fantasies. I rarely think of vaginal penetration any longer, most times I get aroused with fantasies of anal sex. Tongues, fingers, toys . . . anal stimulation arouses me on a cellular level. If you are up to the challenge, share your thoughts, opinions and comments.

White Skin Black Mask

Yeah, yeah, I know. Fanon's book is called Black Skin White Mask. But I have to talk about my personally feelings on dating interracially. I have often said that, in my attempts to find companionship with a like spirit, that I can't delude myself to think that somehow I would not feel like I've compromised my standards if I were to be with a white man. How could I look at him and not feel a sense of loss for not finding my black partner? It is truly black men that make my heart skip a beat. Yes, I can find a white man that is on my same level intellectually and emotionally but will he make me get butterflies in my stomach when I watch him get dressed in the morning? How can I ask him to be with me if he knows that my true love will always lie with a brotha?

I always feel a sense of frustration at having to explain the black experience to white men. It gets tiring to have to explain racism all the time. Sure, there are plenty of black people that think that racism ended in the 60s, can’t we all just get along, and that color doesn't matter. They can’t explain the disparity in the prison population; the economic and educational institutionalized racism. They are the type of people that would do well in relationships with white people. I'm not that sista. I have never gotten along intellectually or philosophically with those brothas that say that they date any woman, purple, green, or blue. When they start naming colors in the crayon box, that means they prefer white women. If you like white women, then you sure as hell won't like me.

Here's my general rule of thumb. If I have to explain to you what happens during a Black church ceremony, then you aren't the one for me. I don't want to have give lessons before, during or after about what's going to happen, when to stand, when to recite, and what everything meant in a post game wrap-up. (And let it be known that I'm NOT Christian) If the only comments a man can make after a Black church experience are about the music, they are not the men for me.

The comfort I feel with a brotha goes beyond what I can describe with words. I have had white men that I've shared amazing connections with, whom I love dearly as soul mates. It breaks my heart to explain to them that I can't be with them because they are white and they don't see what the issue is for me. They don't feel what my heart feels. They don't know that with a brotha, I FEEL more and I can't let that feeling go.

I dated a brotha once that looked so white that people didn't believe him when he said he was a brotha. He would put black on his applications and people would change it. With the exception of his incredibly gorgeous three-foot long locs, he looked like a white man. That being said, he couldn't have been more Afrocentric. He taught in inner city schools, Africa was his spiritual and cultural homeland, he played African drums every week and attended an Afrocentric place of worship. He wore sarongs around the house that were so sexy it hurt. We were both vegan and neither one of us interested in material things. (Damn that Black motherfucker for being intimidated, I was crazy about his ass) I've not been caught up in the light skin, light eyes thing since I was in high school. When I saw him, I saw a black man. I am convinced I saw something different than most people saw. I saw a magnificent African man. While most of the men I'm attracted to look like me: tall, athletic bodies, similar complexions. He was truly a different color physically but he was the same color on the inside.

I have to wonder if I could ever find a white man with those sensibilities if I could love him? I wonder if a white man like that could exist?

White Double Consciousness

Dubois wrote of the Double Consciousness of Black folks. saying that we have a public persona that we present to the white world and a private one we use in the company of other black people. There is a similar trend in white people that is growing in scope. I'm fully aware of the trend for white people, both male and female, to crave perverse levels of humiliation and degradation from Black people privately. If find that interesting because the public and society at large seems to be moving towards a more racist and bigoted groupthink. I hear the same things from white subs consistently, that white people need to pay for the past, that they feel inherently inferior, that the Black race is naturally superior and that they need to submit themselves to me for the ultimate in degradation.

I'm also aware that white men are becoming more abrasive, threatening, and confrontational when I speak out about the trend. I've received death threats from white men that insist that there is no such trend. I've been called a N!*$$% bitch more in the last year since I've started to speak out about the trend than I've been called in my entire 40 years of life combined.

Here's the deal. I don't think that white people that privately acknowledge their submission to black people rid themselves of the racist beliefs that are ingrained in people in this society. Any country built on the oppression of one race is going to pass on those beliefs as the foundation for all thought processes. The whole, "I don't see color," is nothing more than rhetoric and doesn't indicate anything other than a person not willing to look at their own misperceptions. That being said, this desire to submit to Black people, or more accurately, black genitals, is extremely pervasive. I'm looking for some insight into the phenomenon from someone who interacts with the blatantly racist white people that want to go back to the good old days and who craves mind boggling humiliation from black people behind closed doors. Share your thoughts, perceptions, realizations and revelations about how you have come to the place you are and how you integrate your dual consciousness with your peers.

Sensual evolution

When I was a child, I thought as a child, when I became a woman . . . the theory is supposed to be that my thoughts and perceptions shifted to that of an adult. I’m convinced that one’s orientation doesn’t shift, one’s primary programming doesn’t evolve, one just becomes older and more adept at justifying and validating the belief systems passed down to him or her generationally.

In an effort to define my sensual evolution, I’ve taken some serious time to assess where I was and where I am now and where I want to go in terms of my sexuality. I’m reluctant to use the term evolution because I’m not convinced that my shift in sexual desires has moved to a higher plane. Perhaps it has just shifted around like a box of tissues in the back window of a car on a bumpy ride.

When I was a developing teen with raging hormones and no one to help me navigate my sexual feelings other than my other pubescent friends, my sexuality was defined by my mother’s collection of pornography in her closet. I was thrilled with words more than pictures and obviously, given my career choice, a fact has carried over into my adult life. I learned about sexuality from overtly misogynist and sexist material that objectified women. Thusly, my sexual desires reflected that fact. I wanted to be seen as desirable and subsequently my fantasies were in relation to that. My earliest fantasies were of doing the things that would make men want me, to see me as the most beautiful, to be the most pleasing to men. I worked hard to perfect my skills at giving head; I would construct intricate and complex scenarios to seduce my boyfriends, all my fantasies revolved around giving pleasure to men. Rarely, if ever, did I fantasize about men giving me pleasure. Two rapes, a failed marriage, a decade of being single, and the conscious effort to become more comfortable with my sexuality have caused my fantasies to shift. I no longer have a desire to be seen as beautiful or desirable to men, in fact, my desires are just the opposite. I want to be seen as a human being and a woman and the person inside the package.

For many years now, I’ve been asexual. I’ve put up a wall around my sexuality intended to keep people out. For me, the concept of planning a seduction and performing outrageous feats of sexuality to please a man are totally foreign to me. My sexual fantasies now mostly revolve around me being seduced and pleasured. In my 38 years of life, I’ve only been seduced once. I’ve had plenty of men want to give me pleasure but that really had nothing to do with pleasing me as a human being, it had more to do with conquering me as some sort of trophy or possession. I do fantasize of once again planning intricate and detailed seductions for my mate but the concept of finding a mate that appreciates all of me are the details I can’t seem to fill in in my imagination.

I used to fantasize about being with women; it’s been years since I’ve had those sorts of thoughts. I used to fantasize about sucking dick; now I chant “Eat me” in my fantasies. In fact, for the first decade of my sexual life, I never asked a man to perform oral sex on me because I thought that was an indication of being selfish. I would REFUSE to sit on a man’s face, even if he insisted that I do it. In my mind, it was indicative of something exclusively for me I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. (I still don’t like doing it but that’s mostly because men tend to suck too hard on my clit when I’m on top and I like it SOFT) I still fake orgasms, almost pathologically, because I can’t let go of my conditioning that says that I have to make the man happy. Today, a large percentage of my fantasies unashamedly revolve around reciprocal anal play. Five years ago, the concept of two men together sexually triggered what I call the “knee-jerk talk show reaction.” That’s the standard, “That’s disgusting,” indignation that 99% of people have in the audiences of Rikki, Oprah, Montel, Jerry, and Maury when the concept of male bisexuality is discussed that is blatantly absent when the issue is two women together. I realize now that my beliefs were part of conservative, Protestant-ethic, brainwashing that has no basis in really dissecting the causes, issues, and genesis of same sex couplings. Today, I find myself aroused by the concept of two men together and I also am aroused by the act of intimacy that a man extends to me in sharing his bisexual desires. Rarely do I fantasize about being penetrated and when I do, my fantasies are romantic more than sexual. In recent years, I was aroused by dominating men. Now, I no longer have a desire or need to be sexually dominant I just accept that as a part of my sexuality. I don’t have a need to assert power over men, or to psychologically manipulate them, I simply long to be treated as a queen.

My ideal sexual fantasy at this stage in my life is to have a mate, lover, partner, boyfriend/husband that is committed to pampering me each night. I dream of a man that draws my bath every evening and pampers my body with oils and lotions and shea butter. Completely relaxed, he then takes painstaking efforts to bring me to orgasm based on the things that arouse me specifically, i.e. licking my asshole, fingering my magic spot, sucking my nipples gently, and eating me SOFTLY. Then and only then, when I’m completely satisfied, do I fantasize that I’m so wickedly pleasured that I have to have him inside me and we make love in a passionate and intense erotic experience. Upon awaking, he’s there behind me, to give me the morning wood that I love so much. I do fantasize that I take great efforts to keep him aroused and plan intricate seductions but it’s difficult to get a good picture of how I do that for the simple fact that I can’t see a man in my life.

I’ve tried to map out a roadmap of where I want to go in my sexual life from here but a lot of that is dependent upon finding a mate. Right now, I tend to think that I’m going to be primarily celibate for the rest of my life and that I’ll supplement my sex life with meaningless episodes once a year or so. That saddens me more than one can imagine but I’m extremely pessimistic about finding a mate. I would like to see myself evolving sensually with my mate, practicing tantric techniques and growing in love and communication. Where I go, how my fantasies will evolve is yet to be seen but I will be sure to monitor my motivations and desires in an effort to track my sensual evolution.

Have you assessed your sensual evolution? Have you asked yourself what things went into making up your sexual personality and how have you grown or changed? How are your desires different now than in years past and are they more healthy or have you just continued on without thinking about your sexual motivations? Share your thoughts and opinions.