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.

Monday, January 30, 2006

The Revolution has to be Televised


The revolution has to be televised or most Black people will miss it.
The revolution has to be televised in High Definition with a slamming soundtrack or it will be completely missed.
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution must be on BET, right after Comic View and right before Rap City for anyone to take notice.
The revolution will be a pay per view event with watered down politically correct messages or Black folks will not have a clue the revolution has begun.

The so-called revolution will be little more than sound bites that can be played back on Fox news for faux reporters to spin
The revolution will be scheduled opposite American Idol
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution must be downloadable as a ring tone on peoples phone
Text “Fight the Power” to 2012 now for your daily dose of insurgency
The revolution will be prime time media fodder for high ratings.

Expensive cars that destroy the environment will bring the revolution to you.
The revolution will be sponsored by Viagra and Budweiser
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution will have a half time show with Janet Jackson showing off her boobie.
Don’t worry, if you miss the revolution, it will be re-aired on the WB, right after the other minstrel shows
The Revolution has to be televised because Black people don’t want to really get out in the streets and revolt
They want to pause the revolution and rewind it in the comfort of their own home.

The revolution will be released on DVD at Wal-Mart, Best Buy, and Blockbuster Video
The revolution gots to be downloadable for AOL broadband subscribers
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution will be hosted by 50cent and Snoop Dog with special performances by Beyonce’
The revolution has to be watered down and degrading before anyone will pay attention.

The generals of the revolution will have to say the word niggah a couple dozen times before anyone listens.
The revolution will be in special release at Magic Johnson Theaters
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution will be waged at IMAX theaters with complimentary apple martinis on the first Friday of the month
Who has time for a revolution?
Download the revolution to your I-pod to listen to on your way to the corporate plantation.

The revolution will be produced and directed by Quentin Tarantino
It will star Flava Flav as Sambo and Omorosa will get voted off the island
Without television, there will be no revolution
Casting for the revolution will be by the GOP
HBO will air the revolution as a mini series
The revolution will be nominated for an Emmy as “Best Comedy of the Year”

The revolution will be a telethon with an 800 number to call in and pledge
“Hey, what happened to all that money donated for that Revolution thing?”
The revolution is dead.
The revolution died long ago
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution has to be televised
The revolution has to be televised

Copyright 2006 Scottie Lowe. All rights reserved. You can not reproduce, copy, or redistribute without the express written consent of the author.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

The Love I Share

The love I share is with a Black man. A strong, beautiful, talented, intelligent, wonderful, Black man. Not just as in the color of his skin, but Black in his heart: proud, confident, and secure. A man that knows that keeping it real does not mean getting blunted or that he is a nigga. He strives for excellence and looks to lift up and enlighten others along the way. The Black man I love is my friend, my lover, my partner, my advocate and the father of my Black children.

I believe in him and he believes in me. I never have to ask, “Do you love me?” because the evidence is there is word and in deed. Every morning we get up and share time with one another. Sometimes we shower together, bathing in the closeness and love that we share. Other times we make love until we are both late for work. It’s passionate and fulfilling, not borne of a morning hard on, but of genuine passion and respect. The time we spend together in the morning makes it easier to face the petty annoyances of the day. I can reflect on his love and nothing seems to bother me. I can face every challenge assured. Assured that he will never call me a bitch or raise his hand to me. Assured that the first woman with a big butt and no panties won’t lure him away. Assured that our fights will not be with each other, but against racial and societal ills. I’m assured that we are fighting for a future together.

Do I love my Black man? More than words can say. When I speak of him, my eyes light up and I tell everybody about his talents, abilities and accomplishments. (He gets so embarrassed sometimes.) And I show him I love him every chance I get. My love is there for the long haul, I’m down for whatever. I’ll stand beside my man ready to face any challenge given to us.

Why do I love my Black man? When I’m afraid, he doesn’t make me feel inferior, he allows me to cry. When I succeed, he doesn’t feel threatened, he rejoices in my accomplishments. He deals with my faults and shortcomings. I’m not perfect but he thinks I am perfect for him. He helps me to be a better person. He doesn’t put undue pressure on me to be Superwoman: holding down a job, fixing dinner in high heels and a tight dress, ready to suck his dick and spread my legs, right after I do the laundry and put the kids to bed. When I feel down, who do you think is my biggest cheerleader? He stays awake through the entire ballet, and he only complains a little. That’s OK, I make sandwiches and snacks for him during the game, cause that’s what makes him happy.

Our time alone together is just that, alone. Away from the pressures of a day to day existence. Words are not necessary. Our deepest communication is nonverbal. Our dreams are the same, our hearts beat in the same rhythm. It’s a good thing we get to spend time apart occasionally. When I’m away on business or he’s having a boy’s weekend, we get a chance to reflect on how much we mean to one another. There is never any insecurity or jealousy between us. I smile when I see his head turn at the sight of a beautiful Black woman. He jumps to the defense of sisters when they are being dissed by less enlightened men. He takes the time to spend with young brothers, providing a positive role model for them to aspire to. How could I not love this man?

And just when you think things can’t get any better. He gives me that long, hard, hot, wet, sticky, Black love. He eats my pussy till my eyes are rolling back in my head and I’m babbling incoherently. We have made love for days at a time, only stopping to open the door for the Chinese food deliveryman and wash off a healthy sheen of “love.” I can share any erotic fantasy with him and know that I’m not going to be ridiculed or shamed. He takes the time to make every time special: music, candlelight, poetry (his own). I get wet just thinking about him.

Sometimes problems do arise. We face them as a challenge to greater heights of understanding. We hardly fight, we playfully disagree, and if I have to pick up one more pair of dirty socks……Yeah, he works my nerves once in a while, but I never forget that I love him, nor that he loves me. His family is mine, mine has become his. Our children, planned and beautiful, created or adopted, are reflections of our love. My eyes fill with tears sometimes when I see him reading them a bedtime story or giving them a bath. Our sons, respecters of Black women, are political, street smart and fine. Our daughters not dictated to by any stereotype, have beauty and charm as well as intellect and ambition.

Most importantly, I share my love of God with my Black man. Every morning, every night, we thank God for the blessings we have received. We worship, meditate and pray together. Our relationship to God defies traditional definition. We make God first in our lives. We face the world knowing that our love is a Divine gift from God.


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The culmination of passion


Her senses were overwhelmed. The aroma of her Patchouli oil and the Egyptian Musk incense he lit to prepare his home for her clashed-- but the smells only served to fuel her passions. The mélange of fragrances made her light headed. Perhaps it wasn’t the aromas at all that had her senses so heightened; perhaps it was her incredible desire to feast on the Ebony King before her. His locs were tied back and the silver ankh on his brown skin appeared to be a key, a master key to her passions and desires.

He untied her sarong and laid his bare brown beauty upon the bed. Her hard brown nipples ached to be sucked. The hair between her legs made her look like a real woman, not shaved to look like a child that mainstream culture insisted was sexy.

He joined with her in a union of flesh and spirit: calling upon the untamed passions of the motherland, transforming themselves into one entity united under an African night sky. She received each thrust and he gave of himself each time. Her pussy was soaking wet and his dick harder than the rose quartz amulet she wore around her neck. Their moans of passion were a transcendent love cry to a place far away . . . far, far away.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

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Sunday, January 08, 2006

Color Blind


Every day is a beautiful day when you have piece of mind. The sun shines brighter, the birds sing louder, and every step is more assured. Well, theoretically, every step is supposed to be more assured. As luck would have it, Tim Mentira tripped on a patch of broken sidewalk and had to go to the hospital to get an x-ray for his wrist. They put one of those Plexiglas casts on it and gave him instructions to go to physical therapy to make an appointment when the cast was removed. As is the case in most hospitals, they make you sit and wait and wait and wait and after hours of endless waiting, they make you sit and wait some more. The Tim of old would have been frustrated and annoying, driving every doctor, nurse, orderly, and candy striper in the place crazy with incessant demands and infuriating rants of how his time was too precious to wait. The new and improved Tim, the calm and self-assured Tim, was content to read decade-old issues of Sports Illustrated about Jordan and an unstoppable new golf phenom named Tiger.

So engrossed was he in some obscure article, he barely looked up to see a young lady sitting across from him in the waiting room. Tim gave her the ubiquitous silent nod and a wave but it was returned with a blank stare. A twinge of insecurity crept up on him for a brief second and, taking a deep breath, he went back to minding his business reading his magazine, waiting for the physical therapy nurse to come with his release papers.

“Hello, is anyone there? Can someone help me please?” Tim looked up. “I’m sorry. Someone was supposed to come get me and take me back to my room but I think they forgot about me. Do you think it would be possible for you to find a nurse for me?”

Tim looked very closely again. She was a very lovely Black woman with a complexion the color of cocoa and her hair neatly done in goddess braids. Her thin legs hung limply down in her wheelchair. The woman seemed to be staring at one particular spot; there was no dance in her eyes, no eye contact. “Sure, let me check at the nurses station for you,” Tim said, as he made his way to see if he could find some assistance for her. He returned only moments later with bad news that someone said that they would be there shortly which meant that they would be there at a quarter to never. “I’ve been sitting here over an hour waiting for my release papers myself, reading really old magazines. Would you care for one?”

She laughed. “I’m afraid a magazine wouldn’t do me much good. I have a rare neurological disorder that renders me temporarily blind and at times paralyzed from the waist down and now happens to be one of those times when I’m blessed with both.”

Tim stumbled all over himself apologizing. He had sort of figured that she might have been unable to see but he didn’t want to assume. Now, he had wished he had erred on the side of safety and not said anything at all. He sat in silence again, embarrassed by his faux pas. He studied her more intently now, knowing she didn’t know he was looking at her. He took in her delicate features, tried to put a story behind her façade.

There was a rather recent copy of Essence magazine in the piles, perhaps left behind by someone. Tim picked it up and commented on the cover. “Terry McMillan sure seems to be getting a lot of press from her situation. Couldn’t have come at a better time with her new book out. I don’t know, I think she knew he was gay all along. I mean . . . come on.”

She grunted, “Terry McMillan needs any publicity stunt she can to cover up the fact that she’s an addict. It shows in her public appearances and it shows in her already mediocre writing.” The pair laughed and exchanged names. It seems Dr. Gloria Crowder was a professor of African American Literature at Xavier University in Louisiana and she was pretty unapologetic in her critique. Tim introduced himself and the two began discussing favorite passages from Black classics and metaphors for obscure poetry that most people hadn’t heard of. The pair was really hitting it off when the nurse finally came to take Gloria back to her room.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Tim, you really made the time fly.” She held out her hand and Tim placed his hardened cast to her small hand. They laughed and said their goodbyes.

Tim couldn’t get her out of his mind however. They had shared so much in common, the conversation was so effortless. It was no surprise that before 24 hours was over; Tim was back at the hospital, paying a visit to his new friend. He brought a portable CD player and a stack of audio books along with some of his own poetry he had written. He tapped tentatively on the door, afraid that he would be perceived as a stalker, and cleared his throat. Gloria was lying quietly in bed, her face turned towards the sun, looking rather angelic. Ramsey Lewis would have been inspired. “I thought maybe you could . . .”

He was cut off before he could finish. “Tim! It’s so good to see you. I was hoping you would come.” Her face seemed to light up, show expression. Tim beamed with joy. He showed her how to use her new presents and arranged them for her so she could get to them without any help in her top drawer. He felt rather heroic, saving the queen from the horrid fate of boredom. He also felt rather confident. To his new friend, he could be tall and handsome, even black. She couldn’t see what he looked like so Tim was free to be who he thought she wanted him to be. He didn’t lie to her; he just wasn’t very truthful either. He reasoned that as long as he didn’t really say he was black it wasn’t really a lie. It was a sort of don’t ask, don’t tell policy, one he thought he needed to overcome his insecurities with approaching black women.

It was a sound policy that lasted the better part of six weeks. Tim became a regular fixture at the hospital. Every day he would bring more books and read to Gloria and they would debate until well after visiting hours about the dialect poetry of Paul Lawrence Dunbar and the writings of Ralph Ellison and about the absolutely horrific crop of new writers passing as authors. She would dictate notes to him from a novel she was working on and he would become her eyes. He would be waiting for her to return to her room when she got back from physical therapy, help her back to bed, and even take over for the regular nurses in her care.

Good news came for both of them at the same time. Tim’s cast was going to be removed and Gloria was going to be released from the hospital at the same time. FEMA has made arrangements for her to have a furnished apartment locally while her apartment in New Orleans was being renovated. Of course, Tim was there to offer his assistance in whatever way he could and offered to get the place ready for her homecoming. The apartment was shabby, a little short on the chic. He went all out, cleaning and painting and buying furnishings to make it nice for his friend. As much as he wanted to call her his girlfriend, he couldn’t. Not with the secret between them. He was pretty sure that she knew. He’d been honest with her about everything else. He’d shared secrets with her that he’d only told one other person. She was a very intelligent woman, she had to know. As long as it wasn’t said, Tim felt like he had a security blanket. In his mind, Gloria was infatuated with a black man and if he told her the truth, she wouldn’t like him any more. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to live with the lie but he wasn’t about to ruin the best relationship he’d ever had before.

The day she was released from the hospital, Tim helped her make it up the three little stairs to her temporary home. She went in first and he went back to the car to get her bags and finish parking the car. When he returned, her face was lit up. “Oh Tim, it’s beautiful! I can’t believe what you did with the place. It’s lovely.”

Tim was beaming with joy. He’d made her happy and that was a feeling like none other. It was almost a full minute before he realized what it meant. His heart dropped. “How . . . how long have you been able to see?”

“Oh, goodness, it comes and goes. Why?” She’d never imagined that Tim was trying to hide his identity from her; she’d known almost from the beginning he was white so she just assumed he was expressing apprehension over his appearance. It had never occurred to her that he was trying to hide his race. That seemed too incomprehensible to even fathom. She wanted to reassure him that her attraction to him was real but she just waited for his response. She was equally as confused as he was distraught.

Tim went to the wine cellar, well actually the refrigerator, and got out the bottle of white wine he had bought to celebrate. He poured her a glass and poured out his heart. He admitted that he was hiding behind the truth, that he was afraid that not only would she not be attracted to him if she knew he was white but also that he would never be able to satisfy her sexually, to be able to be the man she needed. She represented everything he wanted in a woman and everything he was afraid he couldn’t have. She was strong, beautiful, and self-assured and she was Black. She was a demure and vulnerable woman who was his intellectual match and who was confident in her identity. She seemed so strong willed yet so fragile.

His emotions ran the gamut from shame to hurt and confusion. All sorts of insecurities flooded him and he began to retreat back into hostile, lying, attack-mode in anticipation of her rejection of him. He accused her of being deceitful, of pretending to be helpless in order to use him. He was ready for the other shoe to drop, for Gloria to say, “How could you think that I would ever want you?” In that moment, Tim was blinded by his own dysfunction and he did the only thing he knew how to do, hurt, himself, and those he cared about.

Gloria was dumbfounded. Never had she expected such a revelation nor had she expected the vicious attack that had followed. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to regain her composure and she politely asked him to leave. She was devastated by his attack on her and she had no intention of continuing to be the object of his unfounded assault, no matter how much she had grown to care for him.

Tim knew the moment he stepped outside the door and heard it close behind him that he’d fucked up big time. He sat in his car for over an hour, talking to himself, yelling at himself for being so stupid and trying to figure out a way to fix things. He knew that if he was ever going to be free, he had to go back and fix things. He knocked on the door and waited.

Gloria opened the door wearing a satin robe that she’d changed into. It was apparent she’d been crying. He walked in without any words being said and sat on the sofa. He began pouring out his heart and soul, confessing his sins and repenting. Before he knew what was happening, he was crying uncontrollable tears. He was releasing pain from a lifetime of dysfunction. Gloria held him close and cradled him in her arms. Exhausted and drained, Tim lay quietly as she stroked his hair and sang softly to him. Her soothing voice comforted him.

Tim was at peace, finally free. He opened his eyes and looked at the face of his beloved. It was as if he was seeing her for the very first time, his blinders of dysfunction had been removed.

It was now Gloria’s time to speak. “Tim, I’m not real sure what just happened here today. I can only speak for myself. It seems like you convinced yourself that I would never be attracted to you if you were white and you created some sort of reality where you ignored the evidence that I could see you. The person I’m attracted to can quote Marimba Ani and John Henrick Clarke. The person I’m attracted to has the same taste in music as I do, from Earth Wind and Fire and Stevie Wonder to Kem and Jill Scott. The person I’m attracted to took such good care of me and made me feel special every day. I’m not sure where this relationship is going to go but I’m sure I’m interested in letting it play out its natural course. As for your other concerns, about . . . you know, not satisfying me sexually, that’s ridiculous.”

“But I’m not hung like black guys and I can’t last very long. I’m sure I can’t satisfy you in bed,” Tim blurted out, freeing himself from his shame.

Gloria took him by the hand and led him to her bedroom. They sat on the foot of the bed and she tilted his face towards hers. She leaned forward and she kissed him softly and Tim felt a warmth overcome his body. “As long as you care about me as a person and are willing to be honest with me, we can work out the details in the bedroom.” She took his hand and placed it inside her robe. Tim froze momentarily, the fullness of her breast filling his hand. He was afraid to move but instinct took over and he began caressing her soft brown flesh. Gloria closed her eyes and told him it felt good. His touch was soft and tentative. He was watching her responses intently, seeing her squirm and hearing her soft moans. It was almost surreal. It was like a dream come true. He wasn’t even sure this was happening.

She opened her robe and let if fall off her shoulders. Tim was in a state of disbelief. Gloria laid back on the small twin bed and Tim took everything in. Her cream colored satin and lace panties were the only thing she was wearing. He looked at her again and he lowered his mouth her nipple. He could feel the soft flesh in his mouth and the hard nipple against his tongue. He sucked softly, causing Gloria to arch her back and moan. He cupped her breast in his hands and nursed gently, his tongue flicking over the pebble like nipple and his lips tenderly sucking the tender flesh. His dick was throbbing in his pants and he was desperate to stroke it but he remained in his completely dressed state, afraid to do anything to break the magic spell.

Gloria took his hand and slid it past her soft tummy and past the waistband of her panties. He could feel the heat emanating from her core and he slid his fingers between her lips to find her clit already protruding and aroused. She was breathing harder now as she was encouraging him to finger fuck her. Tentatively, Tim began circling her hard clit with his finger. His touch seemed to be driving Gloria insane and she was thrashing about on the bed telling him explicitly how much she loved his soft touch. Tim was lightheaded. He was drunk with intoxication at the thought of giving pleasure to this woman he’d grown to know and love so intimately. He reacted to her responses. Every time she would moan or bite her lip or beg him not to stop, he would make note of what he was doing that caused her to respond. He was confident that what he was doing was really turning her on because her juices were flowing freely. He slid his fingers further down and inside her tight pussy and they both moaned out from pleasure.

He slid her panties down her legs and settled down on the bed between her thighs. He was in control now and he lowered his mouth to her clit, replicating the actions of his fingers with his tongue. The taste of her slippery juices, the feel of her soft lips against his mouth were more intoxicating than any wine and a gift from the gods for sure. The beautiful way her lips opened up to reveal her crimson core made the great works from the world’s most famous painters look like amateurish paint by numbers. Gloria wasn’t one to hold back her encouragement. “Oh Tim, don’t stop, you make my pussy feel so good. Yessss, lick me just like that. Oh fuck, you’re going to make me cum in your mouth.”

A man possessed, Tim licked and sucked and fingered his way to his lover’s heart. She was climbing out of her skin, on the verge of orgasm. She grabbed Tim’s hand and intertwined his fingers in hers. Tim felt like the most special man in the world. Gloria cried out, “I’m going to cum.”

Tim freed his dick from his pants and began stroking it furiously; pounding it in the rhythm of his oral assault. He was swallowing the free flowing juices that filled his mouth. He was lost between the gorgeous brown thighs of an amazing woman who was grabbing his head and holding it tightly to the place where all life began, Ile Ife, the Garden of Eden. They were both headed to the point of no return. Gloria wrapped her legs tightly around Tim’s head and spasmed hard against his mouth as he fisted his dick, spraying cum all over the new bedspread.

The afterglow was particularly rewarding for Tim as he cradled Gloria in his arms. He’d freed himself from his feelings of insecurity and he’d opened himself up to a wonderful relationship. He and Gloria were ready to explore all their options together with 20/20 vision and clear sailing ahead.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK


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Saturday, January 07, 2006

Power Tools



Brandon Johnson hesitated as he made out the final check to the receptionist at the Center for Conscious and Creative Living. He was graduating from six long months of counseling, healing, and transformation. He was literally a new man; incapable of seeing life the way he had previously. He’d undergone the most radical, holistic, and spiritual rebirth anyone could imagine. His close friends couldn’t relate to him any more and they drifted away like insignificant acquaintances, making way for a new set of friends who vibrated on a higher plane. It was a plane he hadn’t even known existed six months ago, one he couldn’t grasp or conceive of until he met Dr. Adisa Ajani.

Change was still a little scary for him but he knew that he was better prepared to face the unknown than he had ever been before in his life. When he shut the door to the offices, he knew he was shutting the door on using sex to numb the pain of his insecurities, of projecting his lust onto women and expecting them to conform to his distorted view. It was only after 6 very intense months of radical therapy that Brandon took responsibility for his emotions, owned them, and didn’t try to hide from them in a blur of irrational and immature behavior that made excuses for his dysfunction. He couldn’t look at women the same way because he was a new man. With the help of Dr. Ajani, he was now fully equipped to steer the own ship of his continued healing and that was an invaluable and powerful tool. No longer was he desperate to have someone else fix him, he was now clearly able to see a vision of himself as whole, healthy and enlightened and could navigate a way clearly and continually towards his higher self on his own.

As Brandon drove home, he was relinquishing his fears and embracing his future. His old self would have saw his graduation as an excuse to celebrate by getting drunk and waking up the next day with fuzzy memories and regrets. The new Brandon wanted to celebrate now by getting more organized in his life. He stopped off at Home Depot to see if he could get some things to help him organize his closet.

He was looking at the pre-made organizers when he started feeling particularly inspired and decided to venture to the lumber aisle to see if he couldn’t create something similar by hand. He was sort of overwhelmed by all the choices but he certainly wasn’t alone. There was a woman there, looking dazed and lost, with a how to book in her hand sheer terror on her face.

Brandon approached her in order to lend his assistance. After brief conversation he ascertained that her ex husband had promised her son a tree house but it was more than apparent that that he wasn’t going to follow through on his promise YET AGAIN. She had just enough money in her budget and more than enough hardheaded determination to build it herself but absolutely no clue how to pull it off. She looked like a deer caught in headlights. Actually, she looked like a fresh-faced tomboy. She was wearing running shoes and running pants, a plain white t-shirt, a denim jacket, and a baseball cap with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. From what he could tell, she wasn’t wearing any make-up on her face, just a look of confusion.

With no hidden agendas or mackadocious motives, Brandon spoke up, “I’m not sure I can help but I am more than willing to offer what little assistance I can. This does seem a little overwhelming.”

She smiled and extended her hand in greeting. “Who would have thought wood would be so complicated? I mean, I watch Extreme Home Makeover every week. This should be a piece of cake, right?” They laughed together. “Forgive my manners, I’m Samantha.”

They continued to exchange pleasantries and went about the daunting task of collecting all the materials necessary to build the tree house. There was definitely something about Samantha. She didn’t seem overly preoccupied with using her sexuality to get men to do things for her. Her independence wasn’t threatening but Brandon realized that was indicative of his own growth and a man and as a human being. Previously, he would have dismissed any woman who seemed so decidedly strong willed as unattractive, no matter how physically attractive she was, he would have seen it as a threat to his manhood. Now, confident in his identity, Brandon saw Samantha as a competent, strong, single parent doing a helluva job raising her son with an unreliable ex-husband.

They got everything she needed and had it all packed up to be delivered. Brandon handed her a business card and said, “If you need any help, please don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’d be more than happy to offer whatever assistance I can, NO STRINGS ATTACHED.” For the very first time in his life, he meant it.

“Thank you very much but I think I’ll be fine from here on out.” Brandon walked to his car, proud of himself for not making a crude, sexual advance and amazed that it felt natural. He gave himself a passing grade on his life test and went on about his life feeling empowered. It wasn’t until he got a frantic call three days later from Samantha that he thought of her again. She was in a panic. Brandon gladly volunteered to lend a hand and he was on his way to her house, just off Jimmy Carter Boulevard, 30 minutes later.

Samantha greeted him with a big hug like he was a long lost friend. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, the sun was shining brightly. They made a good team, reading instructions, coordinating, and building. As the sun started to set, Brandon excused himself for the evening and made his way home, extending the offer to be there bright and early in the morning to continue his help.

True to his word, he came bearing gifts. He’d stopped off at the Farmer’s Market to get fresh juice and berries. He brought a Sunday AJC and fresh croissant still warm from the Publix oven. Sufficiently nourished, they began what would easily be final leg of their construction journey. They laughed and shared stories of recovery and healing as they sawed and nailed with rented power tools. While working, Brandon was struck with the realization that he was actually attracting a different caliber of woman because he himself was different. For almost all of his adult life, he’d blamed the women in his life for his failed relationships. Not once had he ever considered that he was responsible for attracting dysfunctional relationships because he was the broken magnetic force.

With two full days of cooperative effort, the tree house was essentially complete. With the exception of staining the wood, it was the private clubhouse of any 5th graders dreams.

“I’d really like to thank you for all your help. Would you like to come over for dinner next weekend? It won’t be much but it will at least be my way of saying thank you for all your time and energy. In fact, I won’t take no for an answer. Friday night at 8:00.” Samantha hesitated; realizing she might be a little bit too forward because they hadn’t established that there was a reciprocal romantic chemistry.

Brandon noticed her apprehension, lifted her baseball cap and kissed her gently on the forehead, and said, “I’ll be here Friday at 8, wouldn’t miss it for the world.” All week long, Brandon thought of little else. He did his best not to project but it was difficult. He made a conscious choice to focus on his journaling, visualization, and cleansing meditation, his tools for transformation.

Friday night arrived and Brandon could barely contain his excitement. He actually missed Sam, missed her company, missed the way they joked together, he missed her spirit. He put on a pair of dress slacks and a silk shirt and with flowers in his hand he headed off to his dinner date.

The woman who opened the door was NOT the same woman who Brandon had become accustomed to. Standing before him was a breathtaking beauty; it was an image Brandon hadn’t even imagined before. He hair was down and framed her pretty face and she’d traded in her running pants and denim jacket for a sexy, black dress. She led him through the house and out into the back yard. She climbed the ladder first and for the first time, he noticed her soft, womanly curves. She’d lit the tree house with candles and had gone all out, well Piccadilly had gone all out, to lay out a full spread.

“Please, sit down,” as she pointed to a palette of blankets, she’d spread out on the floor. She thanked him for all his help and relayed how overjoyed her son was with his new tree house. Feeling a bit overwhelmed and out of his element, Brandon sat, at a loss for words. He wanted to say something but he was definitely in unchartered territory. Samantha went about fixing him a plate of food and chatting away as if she was unaware that the conversation was one-sided. She was painfully aware, however, that Brandon was uncomfortable, and she did her best to make him feel at ease.

“I’m sorry, I think I should go,” Brandon said, as he started to stand to leave. He was stuck in his head and it was telling him that he was out of his element. He was feeling unworthy of the potential relationship that was developing right before his eyes. All his life, he’d used women to cater to his ego, he’d never had the potential for such a wonderful companion in his life. It was all a little too overwhelming for him and his fight or flight instinct took over and flight was winning.

Samantha stood and tried to busy herself blowing out candles, saying goodbye and anxious to have him leave before she broke down in tears. She was confused as to what went wrong so quickly and she was doing her best to play it off. Brandon paused and stood still. If there was anything he had learned in therapy, it was that he needed to be accountable for his actions and to how they affect other people. He steadied himself and he stood still.

The words came slowly at first, unsure of how to fix the mess he’d made. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay, he wanted to lay her on the floor right then and there and make love to her but he wouldn’t let his old behaviors get in the way. Before he knew it, he was spilling his guts about how overwhelmed he was with emotion and how unprepared and inadequate he felt in dealing with these sorts of emotions. Before he knew what was happening, Samantha was in his arms, her arms were around his neck holding him tightly, whispering in his ear that everything would be okay.

Brandon held Samantha tightly. Her body fit in his arms and his lips found the nape of her neck. He kissed her softly as he shut his eyes. It was like a dream state. His heart was pounding and his breathing was shallow. He wanted to run. He was sure if he gave into his desires, he’d ruin what could be the best thing that ever happened to him.

It was Samantha that took things into her own hands. She was confident that there was a connection that couldn’t be denied. It was a relationship that had potential; there was an undeniable heat that was smoldering between them. He held his face in her hands and kissed his mouth softly. Brandon had butterflies in his stomach and his knees were weak. It was like his first kiss ever. He heard her soft whispers like music to his ears.

Samantha stepped back and lowered the straps on her dress. The candlelight shimmered on her body, making her brown skin glow. She lay down on the blankets and it was all Brandon could do to keep from hyperventilating. “Stay with me,” she said, as she spread her legs and invited him to lay with her.

Brandon swallowed hard. He undid the buttons on his shirt, each one feeling like it was an impossible task to accomplish. He undid his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. Leaving his boxer briefs on, he lay on top of Samantha. Her soft skin was like heaven. She wrapped her legs around him Brandon felt like he was in a cocoon of sweet femininity. His dick was as hard as a rock and she was grinding her body against him, making him dizzy with sensations. It was the first time in his life that he was really going to make love to a woman. He’d only known her for a little less than two weeks yet there was something in him that told him that this was the real thing. This was the woman he could easily spend his life with. For so long, he’d been looking for the perfect woman to make him a better man. When he became a better man, the perfect woman came into his life without any effort.

It was important to Brandon to take things slowly, to give Samantha pleasure. He wanted to learn her body, to let go of everything he’d learned in the past to experience making love with her for the first time, as if it was his first time. He could feel the heat from her body scorching him; he wanted to be inside her in a way he’d never felt before. It was an overwhelming desire to connect to her.

Their kisses grew more passionate and the temperature was rising. The sounds of the summer crickets serenaded them as he began kissing his way down her body. He undid the clasps on her bra and began sucking her hardened nipples. Samantha moaned, grabbing his head in her soft hands and caressing his head. He kissed his way down her body, licking her tummy and down his way to her panties. She slid her panties down her legs and Brandon stared at her pussy. Her lips opened sensually and seemed to be calling to him. He lowered his mouth to her and began gently lapping at her flowing juices. His tongue softly licked her sweetness from front to back, tasting her honey and savoring her flavor. His tongue circled her clit, causing Samantha to moan louder and wrap her legs tightly around his head. Brandon flicked her clit softly, making Sam tremble and squirm.

“Brandon, make love to me, please.” She was pleading with him, desperate to have him inside her. Brandon paused, nervous again. He pulled his briefs down to mid thigh his heart skipped a beat as Samantha pulled her legs back. He took the head of his dick and placed it at her hole. The heat traveled up his body and Samantha pulled him to her. Her silky walls grabbed him and pulled him deeper. Their cries echoed out into the calm night sky. He was stroking her hard and she was meeting each thrust with passion. It was too intense. Brandon couldn’t control himself. He needed to be deep inside her, to fill her completely. Perspiration glowed on their bodies and their grunts became animal-like. He braced himself and started working her pussy, hitting every spot, every angle. He was a machine, giving her pleasure like he’d never done before, experiencing pleasure in ways he’d never known were possible.

Samantha was cumming all over him. Her body was trembling and her juices were flowing freely. She was begging for more, pleading with him not to stop, so Brandon concentrated and kept up his technique. He placed her legs on his shoulders and gripped her hips tightly. Her soft flesh filled his hands. The head of his dick was hitting bottom and he couldn’t stop his own orgasm from overtaking him. The cum in his nuts boiled up and exploded inside his lady love as she held him tightly to her body.

The pulled the blanket over them as they lay cuddling in the summer breezes. They were in their haven of romance and intimacy, one that they had created with their own hands. They’d built a solid structure on a concrete foundation, both literally and figuratively and both the tree house and the relationship were formed with power tools.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

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Tuesday, January 03, 2006

The Christmas Present


Things had been strained lately between Derrick and Tynesha; they’d been arguing about small little things but it was wearing on both of their nerves. Derrick was going to go all out to make this Christmas special. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made mistakes in the past, been untruthful, let her down. This year, Derrick had planned a special present that would show his devotion and love and cement his relationship to Tynesha. Derrick had purchased a customized erotic story from AfroerotiK for Tynesha that was intended to make her feel special and to let her know exactly how much he appreciated her for all that she had put up with, to be a symbol of how far they had come as a couple.

The story arrived in a priority envelope and Derrick hesitated as to what to do with it. He held it in his hands, studying it, reading it in private, waiting for the perfect time to present it to his beloved. He was bursting with anticipation, wanting to give the present to her but he knew that this would be a present that she would never forget, so he planned, he waited, he prepared for a night like none other. It was going to be a night so erotic, so sensuous, and so charged with electricity that he was convinced it would take their relationship to a higher plane, move them to a new level of communication.

Armed with the security of having the gift safely in his hands, having read it and seen the potential for the story to open doors of exploration, Derrick approached Tynesha with the special red envelope that held the story. He taunted her with it, telling her that her present was within her grasp but she had to wait. Tynesha wanted to open it immediately but she could see the look on Derrick’s face that let her know that she should trust him completely. All week long at work, Derrick was distracted with thoughts of the weekend to come. How would she react? He wondered if Tynesha would be willing to take a leap and explore her sensuality in new ways. He was nervous and aroused at the same time. There were several times he would find himself thinking about the hot and steamy sex that he was going to have with his beautiful lady and he would have to hide his erection from his coworkers. All he wanted was for Tynesha to let down her guard and express herself the way she wanted; to give herself up to complete erotic abandon. He thought about how Tynesha would tell all her friends and coworkers about the personalized story she had gotten and the hours upon hours of erotic bliss that she’d experienced and how he would be forgiven, lifted even, to status of a hero for his special and unique gift.

Christmas eve arrived; it was do or die for Derrick. He made arrangements to get home early from work and set the stage for what he hoped was a very special evening. He ordered Tynesha’s very favorite take-out rather than try to make an attempt to cook and have an opportunity for things to go wrong. He had gone to Victoria Secrets to find something sexy for Tynesha to wear that would compliment her fine hips, thighs, and ass that he loved so much.

The anticipation was killing him. By the time Tynesha walked through the door on Saturday night, she knew she was in for a special treat. All the frustration she had with their petty arguments immediately disappeared as she realized that her man had done for her what other women only dream of having their men do for them. There were candles lit and the table was set. She could see the red package sitting neatly on the plate where she was to be seated but Derrick had other plans in mind. He poured her a glass of wine and they sat quietly on the sofa while he took her shoes off and massaged her feet. Tynesha let the wine warm her up a little bit and she made a silent vow to herself to let go of all her inhibitions and just enjoy whatever was to come.

Desperate with anticipation, Tynesha wanted to open her present. He gave her the first of the two presents, the lingerie, and told her to make herself comfortable. She emerged from the bathroom, looking like an erotic goddess, and Derrick almost forgot his entire game plan. He made her wait until after the food was served to open her very special gift. They ate and laughed without a care like when they had first met. It was almost as if they had been transported back to a time when they were carefree and passion was the only thing on their minds.

After dinner, a tiny bit tipsy from the wine, Derrick presented Tynesha with her very special gift. She opened the small book carefully and studied it, wanting to understand exactly what was happening, exactly what was going on. She read the words on the page slowly and looked around, sort of confused at what she was reading but more and more curious with every word. Derrick had apparently ordered a customized erotic story for her, but it was so lifelike it was eerie. The story before her described her relationship with Derrick and a really sexy and steaming description of how she seduced him, something she normally wouldn’t do. She read on, the words on the page going into greater detail about how Derrick wanted her to take the initiative with sex and get really wild in bed. It was more than apparent that Derrick was sexually aroused by his girlfriend and she was seeing his most intense sexual fantasies about her in black and white.

The more she read, the wetter she became. She started to squirm in the chair reading about this couple that was having an intensely erotic experience . . . but she was reading about herself. She glanced up at Derrick and his expression spoke volumes. He couldn’t wait for her to finish reading so he could make love right the on the table if need be. The more explicit the story got, the more her breathing became a task. She slid her fingers between her legs and massaged her clit a little. Derrick wanted to watch as she touched herself so he moved around to kneel in front of her and spread her legs.

“Read it out loud to me,” he instructed.

Tynesha’s voice cracked as she began reading the words on the pages in front of her. It was difficult to stay focused because Derrick had spread her thighs and started licking her wet pussy. She couldn’t concentrate on the story with that hot, wet tongue licking her and getting her more aroused. She pushed his face away and he moaned in desperation to taste her more. Tynesha took her finger, pushed it deep inside herself, and brought her lips to her mouth. She looked Derrick in the eye as she began to seductively lick the juices from her finger like she was sucking a dick.

Derrick had no more control and he unzipped his pants and started stroking his hard dick right there in front of her. Intoxicated with lust, Tynesha handed the individualized book to Derrick and said, “Here, now it’s time you read to me.”

Derrick took Tynesha by the hand and said, “Let’s finish reading this in the bedroom.”

As they made their way to the bedroom, the tension was building. He slowly undressed in front of her, revealing the body that had given her so much intense pleasure in the past, which was surely going to satisfy her every desire tonight. Naked and aroused, he lay back on the bed with the red book in his hand. He began reading the words on the page that described Tynesha giving him the most incredible head in the world. Tynesha, taking her cue, climbed on the bed and began mimicking the words she heard Derrick read.

Derrick couldn’t take the pleasure he was getting from Tynesha’s soft, wet lips so he tossed the book to the side to be finished at a later date and time. Right now, he wanted to get into the sensual sensations he was getting for the sexy woman that was licking, sucking, and swallowing his hard dick. Tynesha was like a woman possessed. She was giving him head better than she had ever done before; turned on by how special her man had made her feel. He knew she loved Zane’s stories but her own personal story was 1000 times better than reading a story about someone else. She wanted Derrick to feel as special as he had made her feel and she was proving it with her oral skills.

“No, wait baby, slow down. That feels too good,” he said, not wanting the celebration to be over before it started. Derrick wanted to get back to tasting that sticky sweetness he loved so much.

He laid his beloved Tynesha back on the bed and spread her sexy thighs. She was actually moaning in anticipation of feeling his soft wet mouth suck her aroused pussy. Derrick took two fingers and pushed them inside Tynesha and she moaned out as his lips encircled her clit. He was using his tongue to drive her crazy: licking, sucking, and tonguing her to tremendous pleasure.

Feeling bold, Tynesha pushed his head away, got up on her knees, and presented Derrick with the most perfect ass he had ever seen. She teased him, wiggling it in his face and taunting him to eat her out from behind. She spread the lips to her pussy with her fingers and told him in no uncertain terms, “Make me cum in your mouth.”

Tynesha was overcome with lust. She put her face down on the bed and let herself go to the pleasure. Derrick wrapped his lips around her clit, began smacking her ass and fingering her pussy at the same time. She was moaning and talking dirty, telling Derrick to not stop, of how good he was making her pussy feel.

Just as she was about to reach her special moment, Derrick stopped. He wanted to tease her just a bit. Take her to that place right before orgasm and then make her wait. However, Tynesha couldn’t be denied any more. She took matters into her own hands and made Derrick lay back on the bed. She climbed on top of him and held his dick at the entrance to her pussy. He could feel the heat from her body and her lips were soaked with her juices.

She looked him dead in his eye and said, “I’m going to use your dick to pleasure myself. I’m going to use it like a dildo to make myself cum tonight and all you can do is lie there and enjoy the ride.” Derrick’s eyes rolled back in his head. He’d waited for a long time to see his woman take control of her pleasure, to know that he aroused her so much that she just wanted to use him for her enjoyment.

He felt the head of his dick penetrate her and it was more intense than he had ever felt before. For some odd reason, this time, it felt like she was wetter, tighter, and hotter than she had ever been. Tynesha rocked back and forth; making his dick hit places in her that drove her to insane heights of pleasure. She began whispering in his ear as she was riding to orgasm.

“From here on out, things are going to be a little different. I want to show you exactly how much you turn me on so we are going to step things up a notch.” Derrick grabbed her breast and put it in his mouth, as she described all the naught fantasies that she wanted to fulfill with him. They were both moaning loudly, grunting and groaning from the intense pleasure. Tynesha could feel her orgasm about to hit her. It was coming fast as she began bouncing up and down on Derrick’s dick and using it to get herself off.

Dre had to concentrate on not losing it as he felt Tynesha’s juices cover him. She was cumming all over him, convulsing with pleasure. As much as he wanted her to feel enjoy her orgasm, he wanted to fuck the shit out of her, to make her feel him pounding her, thrusting himself inside her.

Still not finished with her first orgasm, Derrick flipped Tynesha over and put her on her back. He stared deep in her eyes and held her legs up in the air as he was about to penetrate her. “Do you forgive me,” he asked?

She mouthed the words, “fuck me,” to let him know that he had done a good thing and she wasn’t mad any more. Derrick shoved his dick deep inside Tynesha and began pumping with a steady rhythm. Tynesha wrapped her legs around Derrick, pulling him closer and closer, deeper and deeper. He could feel his nut about to explode and Derrick closed his eyes and surrendered to the feeling of pleasure

They drifted off to sleep together but the weekend was far from over. For the next two days, Tynesha and Derrick made use of every minute of the weekend until they were drained and exhausted. It was a memorable gift that set the stage for some intense lovemaking. Derrick could hardly wait for the Valentine’s story to arrive.


Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK