My sexuality is broken

I came last night. Last night, to the glow of the computer screen, I came. I masturbated for the first time in months. It’s been at least three months, maybe more, since I last masturbated. I wish I could say that I pleasured myself but it wasn’t in the least bit pleasurable. It was disappointing to say the least. I’m not even sure why I decided to do it, I didn’t feel particularly horny. It wasn’t very satisfying. It took much longer than I expected it to take. I thought I would be able to bust a nut so to speak in a relatively short period of time but it just dragged on and on and on and it got annoying. I tried to fantasize about having sex but I don’t have a single solitary person in my life that I am attracted to on a sexual level right now. I couldn’t form the images of my dream lover, he’s fading fast. I read some mediocre erotica and rubbed my clit until I came. I couldn’t even get wet. I tried not to think about the last person I had sex with because he was so warped, our relationship was so fucked up, that it’s unhealthy for me to even conjure up ANY memories of him, let alone sexual ones. The last time I had sex before that was almost two years ago and it wasn’t good sex. The last time I had sex more than three times a year was 1999 I think.

I forget what it’s like to have sex. I forget what it’s supposed to feel like. I can look at movies and see people kissing but I don’t have a memory of what it’s like anymore. I remember kissing people but I can’t remember what it feels like. I remember what it was like to make out on my sofa with a guy I really liked but I can’t remember what it feels like. It’s like I’m watching myself in a movie but I don’t feel the sensations.

I forget what it’s like to have someone eat my pussy or finger my ass. I forget what it’s like to suck a dick and make a man cum in my mouth. I really think my sexuality is broken. I haven’t used it in so long I think it’s no good anymore. I know that I used to LOVE having my nipples sucked but they don’t seem to give me pleasure anymore when I touch them. I know how to have sex but I don’t remember how it felt. I know in my head that I used to love that feeling, the first time you have sex with someone, and he penetrates you for the very first time and it just takes your breath away but when I close my eyes, I don’t feel anything. The panting, the sweating, the moaning and groaning. . . . It’s all a vague memory, like a faded photograph where you can barely make out the images.

My sexuality doesn’t work anymore. It’s dried up like a raisin in the sun.

Celebrating our Enslavement

Another Juneteenth has come and gone. Every year, I'm horrified by the perpetuation of the day as a holiday Black people should celebrate. If there was ever a day that we should NOT celebrate, it's June 19th. For those how don't know the history of the day, Juneteenth is the oldest known celebration commemorating the ending of slavery in the United States. Dating back to 1865, it was on June 19th that the Union soldiers, led by Major General Gordon Granger, landed at Galveston, Texas with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free. Note that this was two and a half years after President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation - which had become official January 1, 1863. Later attempts to explain this two and a half year delay in the receipt of this important news have yielded several versions that have been handed down through the years. Often told is the story of a messenger who was murdered on his way to Texas with the news of freedom. Another, is that the news was deliberately withheld by the enslavers to maintain the labor force on the plantations. And still another, is that federal troops actually waited for the slave owners to reap the benefits of one last cotton harvest before going to Texas to enforce the Emancipation Proclamation. All or none of them could be true. For whatever the reason, conditions in Texas remained status quo well beyond what was statutory.

I'm not stupid enough to believe that there was no form of communication to Texas for two and a half years. I'm not stupid enough to celebrate a "holiday" just because slaves rejoiced in being freed. We should be fighting for legal restitution. If one white person were falsely imprisoned and then freed but no one told them about it for TWO AND A HALF YEARS, there would be a lawsuit the size of Texas on his behalf. Hell, he would own half of Texas after he got finished suing. Yes, I'm sure he would rejoice when he was freed but turning it into a holiday? Hell no. Rather than point out the injustice, we want to make it a national holiday. The insanity of it all is what confuses me.

I've spoken to Black people from Texas, who are the people who seem to celebrate it the most, and they insist that they celebrate it because that's what they were taught. Isn't this the same thing I hear every Thanksgiving when I bring up the fact that celebrating Thanksgiving is really celebrating the holocaust of 15 million Natives? Where's the common sense? The movement should be for reparations for every second of every day that Black people were enslaved past Jan 1st, 1963. The US government should be held accountable for its illegal actions. Texas landholders should be held accountable. The monies should go to education, housing, small business loans, and health care for Black Texans.

Can you imagine Jews celebrating the fact that people were left in concentration camps for two and a half years after they were freed? Can you imagine white people trying to deny Jews legal justice for anyone who was in that situation? Not only do we not want to hold the people who were responsible accountable, we want to have a party on top of it. It's so sinful it's a shame.

My Desires

I desire a love that defies definition, all-encompassing, passionate, deeply-abiding love with an African-centered, metaphysical, brilliant, beautiful Black man

I desire three beautiful children, more enlightened, more intelligent, and healthier than I

I desire a life of transcendence, of the highest possible consciousness I can achieve in human form.

I desire to see the enlightenment of my people and to see the chains of mental slavery that still enslave us broken like shattered glass

I desire my words to be healing agents that dismantle the fallacy of white supremacy that infects the world

I desire the ability to levitate, to be an alchemist, to create reality with my mind

I desire a book, In Loving Color, to be a NY Times Bestseller and stimulate the conversations that usher in healing

I desire the opportunity to produce my erotic CD and have it begin the momentum to replace the offensive and degrading images of Black sexuality with healthy ones

I desire the stories from In Loving Color to be made into BEAUTIFUL videos images and shown on HBO and on DVD

I desire a radio talk show that offers an alternative to the dysfunctional messages that are perpetuated

I desire the opportunity to produce events, workshops, and retreats that help people heal their relationships

I desire my PhD and a lifetime of learning

I desire the ability to produce the initiatives that will heal the collective consciousness of my people

I desire to live a life of healthy eating, fasting, prayer, meditation, and physical activity

I desire three beautiful homes, one in an urban setting, one is a rural setting, and one in the motherland

I desire to live in harmony with nature, ecologically friendly and a life free from materialism and capitalistic greed

I desire a library of books that hold secrets within them and music that moves the soul

I desire a collection of art that rivals the best African/African American collections

Her name was Jenny Kitchen.

She'd been infected by her addict boyfriend for over 10 years. She'd lived a hard life, an inhabitant of the housing projects in the Bronx and dependent on the state for her survival for her entire life. Her daughter is one of the most beautiful and amazing women, both inside and outside, in the world. Jenny was determined to see her child graduate from college so she willed herself to live. The universe masterfully orchestrated events so that I was there with Jenny the day she died. Less than 24 hours earlier, Jenny was her usual, sickly but fiercely independent self. She spoke her last words to me, I fed her her last meal. I covered her naked body after the doctors and nurses left her lying like a piece of trash. The doctor didn't even tell us that she had died. He said, Oh, are you here for Jenny Kitchen? You can pick up her personal belongings with the nurse." They are so much more sympathetic on ER.

Last year, almost to the day, I was the "houseguest" of someone with whom I've had sex with for many many years. We used condoms twice, eight years ago and haven't used one since. I KNOW him to be a pathological liar. I KNOW that he was having unprotected sex with multiple partners when I was sleeping with him. I KNOW for a fact that he was engaged in high risk behaviors with people were potentially infected. He would tell me that he loved me, that he wanted to be inside me, and he wanted to give me a baby and I would spread my legs and invite him to my sacred space without a condom. The year before that, I met a younger man, substantially younger who was altogether brilliant and who has an entire matching set of baggage due to sexual molestation as a child. We waited a month before we slept together. He told me he loved me. He told me that the wanted to be my man. I craved the connection and the intimacy. No condom.

Six months before that, I met a man who was a promoter for a Black swing club. There was no profession of love, there was no promise of a future together, there was no long history or extended courtship. I hadn't had sex in eighteen months prior to that and I was lonely and horny and the first time he kissed me I felt electricity course through my body. We slept together the very next time we saw each other and every step of the way I kept saying to myself, "I should tell him to use a condom." I didn't.

The truth of the matter is, sex without condoms feels incredible. For me, it's the key to having the baby I so desperately want, it's symbolic of the pure, unadulterated love I'm longing to share with someone. I have no doubt in my mind that my not having a child is a biological trigger for my poor and unhealthy risky behavior. If I, Ms. sexually aware and painfully celibate, is engaging in unsafe sex practices, when I've seen the effects of AIDS taking its toll on someone, then I'm quite sure that there are millions upon millions more who aren't as self aware, who aren't as educated, who making the same unhealthy choices.

Black women, especially the ones that are the most outwardly critical of bisexual men, are the most likely to engage in unsafe sex. They put the responsibility of their HIV status on their partners, they don't take ownership of their responsibility of keep themselves HIV negative. They are the women that are BEGGING men to not use condoms, telling them that they are offended if a man says he wants to use a condom with them. I've spoken to countless bisexual men who tell me that they were in the heat of the moment and they wanted to use condoms with women and the women insisted that they not use a condom.

I've seen condom use in swing clubs. I've spoken to many a married man who says that they love their wives too much to bring a disease home (I know, cheating is the ultimate disrespect but they rationalize it anyway) so they always use a condom. I'm convinced that men who are bisexual or men who engage in sex acts with other men (even if they refuse to identify themselves as bi) are in most cases in denial about what they want, about their desires, so they get in the zone, they are all hot and bothered, and they don't use condoms because it's surreal to them. They are outside of their own reality so they suspend reason for fantasy and unsafe sex.

I tested HIV negative last year. I haven't had sex since. I sometimes fantasize what it will be like the next time I have sex, imagining that it will be with the man that I spend the rest of my life with. Never once, in all of my visions of love, have I never imagined that he and I use a condom. I do imagine that we wait to have sex until we are both tested. I can consider myself pretty typical in my behaviors I'm sure, just a whole helluva lot more open and honest about my shortcomings and willing to take responsibility for my HIV status.

AfroerotiK is . . . Showered with Love

Is love something that grows over time or can you experience true abiding love instantly? Is love all romance and cheesy songs or can love be fostered amidst contention? In a day and time when people look for instant gratification and put their own needs above everyone else's feelings, can true love really grow? These are important questions that must be asked in an effort to redefine the formula for a healthy relationship. There's a fine line between trusting your instincts and making an uninformed choice. Take the AfroerotiK audio journey and experience how scorching hot passion can be born from the right mix of trust and vulnerability.

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