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, November 28, 2011

On a Leash

Midnight Tango

We fit together perfectly, our bodies like pieces in a sensual puzzle.  The drumbeat pulsed like the blood coursing through our veins.  The Afro-Cuban rhythms heard only in our heads were genetically encoded in our DNA.  We moved together like two well-choreographed dancers; our dance was of romance, intimacy and erotic expression. 

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Submissive White Men: A Decade Later

I’ve been putting off writing this follow-up piece to White Male Submission for almost a year now.  My love/hate relationship with submissive white men on any given day is tempered by how many cups of Roobois tea I’ve had to keep me calm, exactly how effective I think I’ve been in communicating to them another way to look at their behaviors, and how annoying they insist on being.  Submissive white men love me and I . . . well . . . I don’t hate white men, of the submissive or any other variety, but I’m not fond of the arrogance, lack of empathy, compassion, or concern many of them have for anyone with different experiences than they, or the sheltered, and unjustly privileged existence they lead that allows them to think that the world revolves around their fantasies, and how they manage to think that I owe them my time and attention. 

My very first exposure to the concept of submissive white men began in January of 2000.  I had just quit my job on the corporate plantation and I was starting the new millennium unencumbered by the chains of a nine to five.  In my particular case, I was in retail management so it was more like my nine to nine.  Nevertheless, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life but I knew for a fact it wasn’t making some shareholders rich while I managed to exist comfortably but on an austere budget that allowed for few, true luxuries.  For the first month of my unemployed status, I obsessively visited different chat rooms.  I was new to the concept and yahoo had a chat room for every possible interest.  At first, I joined all the African-American chat rooms and then the political ones.  Next, I ventured to the dating ones for thirty-somethings; and eventually the ones about sex.  I wasn’t interested in chatting about sex with random strangers for my own personal arousal but I can remember, even then, YEARS before the concept of AfroerotiK was even a tiny seed in my consciousness, that I was intrigued by people sharing their fantasies with me.  I wanted to know what made people tick.  I wanted to know what got them off.  I would ask questions and people would confess to me like I was their own personal, sexual high-priestess. 

It didn’t take very long to figure out the patterns of submissive white men.  Everyone told the same story; there wasn’t much deviation in their fantasies.  For a while there I thought I was chatting with the same person because the stories sounded so similar and their lamentations so identical.  Like I said in my previous article, they usually fell into one of three categories: cuckolds, practitioners in female supremacy, and bisexual submissives.  I’m going to suggest that the categories have remained essentially the same but they have grown, morphed into some sort of amalgamation of white male submission where the lines are blurred and the identities aren’t nearly so neatly defined any more.  Cuckolds have become sissies, female supremacists have become black supremacists, and bisexual submissives have become depraved, perverse, degenerates and everyone has ventured over into someone else’s territory to explore and test the waters.  Today, there are financial pay pigs, blackmail addicts, castration junkies, service-oriented subs, and good old-fashioned pain pigs.  The sheer numbers of white submissive men is incomprehensible to me but I can tell you that they are an outrageously large percentage of the population and still growing it seems. 

What do submissive white men fantasize about?  You don’t even want to know. 

Who is the typical submissive white male?  Look around you and you will see one.  They are blue collar, white collar, single, married, educated, degreed, high-school drop outs, middle management cogs, entrepreneurs, law enforcement, those under the law, jocks, nerds, run-of-the-mill Joes, Republican and Democrat and even Tea Partiers, American and European, rich, poor, short, tall, fat, skinny, straight, gay, and in the closet bisexual, muscular, 98 pound weaklings, young and old, ugly and attractive, and the guy next door.  The very guy you think of and you say, “Oh, he would NEVER be one of those guys,” is the same guy who has shared with me filthy secrets about how he wants to be a slut for black cock or a toilet for a group of Black women.  The very person you say is too (fill in the blank) good looking – successful – racist – normal – average – macho – creepy – mousey - conservative to be submissive to Blacks is the exact type who is.   On an almost daily basis, I have men who identify as Dominants in the BDSM world send me messages that say, “I’m a Dom to white women but I secretly dream of being sub to a Black woman, would you train me?”  Am I suggesting that every white man is submissive?  By all means no.  I am suggesting that every type of white man is.  There is no type.  While their behaviors and words are eerily similar, they come from every different background conceivable. 

Are white women equally as motivated by their interracial submission?  I have no idea.  Luckily for me, the white women in my circle of friends are sane, healthy, balanced, exceptional women.  Do I think the white women I call sisters are reflective of the majority of white women?  As much as I would like to believe that, I know in my heart that is not the case.  I do know that there are legions of white women who identify as sluts for Black cock, Black only whores, and those who are sexually aroused by the concept of getting “bred Black.”  I know there are interracial cuckold sites galore with white women who are being joined by their submissive white husbands in their worship and adoration of the mythical big, black cock.  White women are not inclined to seek out my advice or counsel so I have no ideas of their numbers or pathologies.  I can say that Black women are not nearly as motivated dominate as white men are to submit.  I can say that Black men are FAR less likely to be interested in dominating white males than they are white females.  Perhaps because white women have so many outlets for their desires and white men have so few, perhaps white women are more . . . shall we say adjusted . . . with their interracial fantasies.  I wouldn’t even hazard a guess because, again, I don’t communicate with them on any meaningful level so my knowledge of the drives and motivations of white women, submissive or not, is limited.  If the number of interracial porn sites on the internet is any indication, I would say that the numbers must equal or surpass those of submissive white men. 

I wouldn’t be exaggerating in the slightest if I said that I got no less than 50 forms of communication a day from submissive white men.  The actual number is probably twice that and it can go even higher than that on days I post stories or essays I’ve written about the topic.  I remember when I wrote the first article discussing the phenomenon, I would get death threats, literal death threats, from white men who were OUTRAGED that I would suggest that the numbers of white men who were sexually submissive was so high.  It was imperative for them to dismantle my logic by using numbers.  They would come up with these extensive calculations as to why there couldn’t have been thousands of white men who had confessed their secrets to me over the course of several years.  I think there was something reassuring and comforting for them to know that they could assert that there was no way I could have had conversations with 3.2 submissive white men a day (or whatever number they came up with), every day for 365 days a year for three years so there was no way that I could have spoken with thousands of submissives therefore everything I said was false.  White men apparently need to quantify everything empirically for it to have validity and if they can’t, it means their reality is safe.  They would go on to tell me that they were going to kill me and call me every racist nigger bitch in the book.  I threatened their sense of entitlement so completely that they had no issue with threatening to take my life. 

A great many submissive white men are suffering from some form of mental illness.  I’m sure it stems from the fact that they compartmentalize their sexuality so much, being sluts for black cock, servants, and open admirers of Black beauty in front of their computer screens and telling racist jokes in front of their friends and coworkers and never really working to dissolve themselves of the racist mindsets all white people have inherited in this country.  It’s not enough to just say, “My parents didn’t raise me to be racist.”  Your parents might not have but society certainly did.  To divorce yourself from the racist mindsets that lurk behind every facet of society, white people have to do real hard work.  Work that most of them don’t want to do or even acknowledge.  They have been socialized to believe that white men are superior for 30, 40, or 50 years or more of their lives and behind closed doors, they crave degradation, humiliation, they want to do unspeakable things to and for Black people and that fucks with their sense of security, their identity.  This “white guilt” they have for being privileged fucks with their heads.  They want to be punished for their whiteness.  Why?  I have no idea.  But the fact that their lives are these fractured, Add to that a great many submissive white men STILL think that they are the only white male on the planet with their fantasies.  Overwhelmingly, submissive white men cannot conceive of another white man craving to do what they dream of doing, to the extent they crave it, regardless of how many websites they join, how many pictures they look at, videos they masturbate to, or how many stories they read.    If I had a million dollars to burn, I would bet every penny that the white police officers involved in the Skip Gates fiasco and the hoards of white men who rallied in their behalf have volumes of interracial porn on their hard drives and a bajillion interracial porn sites in their browser history.  Why can I say that with such conviction?  That’s how their disconnect manifests itself, their lust for Black sexuality behind doors, their insistence that they are the ONLY white men with such fantasies has to come out in public as, “I hate Blacks and I’m not going to let them get away with being uppity, I’ll show them who is still in charge and put them in their place.” 

There is a magic force, driving, propelling, COMPELLING white men to be sluts and depraved whores for Black sexuality.  It’s true.  There is some force, greater than gravity, greater than centrifugal force and atomic power that is making white men want to behave in such unspeakable ways.  Not only that, but I alone have a magic crystal ball or some sort of magical powers that can explain this strange phenomenon so it makes sense to them.  I know it must be true because on a daily basis, white men come to me, telling me that they are amazed that I understand the mind of the submissive white man so well (as if it’s really difficult and I’ve cracked some sort of secret and ancient code) and they ask me to tell them why they have such submissive inclinations.  I don’t care how many times I’ve said that I don’t have a fucking clue as to why there are so many submissive white men, the only answer that they are prepared to hear  is that there is some cosmic force making them have these sorts of fantasies.  In fact, quite a few submissive white men are quite intent on telling me that there is some Divine motivation behind their fantasies. It seems they NEED to believe that their fantasies are beyond their control because to admit that they find Black women more attractive than the blond-haired, blue-eyed, size 2 model of the week, to admit that they are bisexual and attracted to Black men, is a reality they can’t comprehend.  For it to make sense to them, ordinarily rational, logical white men start ascribing some sort of spiritual/karmic power to blame for their interracial desires.  I don’t think I’m going out on a limb to suggest that until white men start taking responsibility for their desires, owning them, not trying to assert that their lust for Black flesh is because of some alignment of the stars, they will forever be dysfunctional. 

On more than a few occasions, I get letters of admiration from individuals, praising me with my keen insight on race and pledging their undying devotion to the Black race and our superior sexuality, offering to do ANYTHING disgusting they can think of and when I don’t respond the way they want, I get vicious attacks, denigrating not only myself but the entire black race. They call me sick and racist and tell me I need help.  If I ignore them or don’t play their game, then all Black men are illiterate criminals who just want to fuck white women and make babies.  After Obama was elected, the 180 degree switch from singing my praises to hating me would inevitably include some reference to how stupid he really is, how he has destroyed the country, how his wife is a monkey, and how undeserving he is of the office of the Commander in Chief because, of course, he was only elected because “the Blacks” voted for him.  Let a few months pass and those same individuals will be on the AfroerotiK bandwagon again, proclaiming to me privately that my stories touch them in ways no other story has ever done and that I am a Nubian Goddess worthy of only the highest praise.  The flip flop from one extreme to the other is never accompanied by an apology or acknowledgment of their wrong doing.  No, that, as my grandmother used to say, would be too much like right.  They don’t feel they have to apologize for their racist rants or childish behavior because to them, I am nothing more than an imaginary figure in their fantasies.  I’m not a real person who demands the basic tenets of common courtesy. 

I maintain profiles on most of the major Femdom or BDSM related sites.  Almost hourly, I will get some sort of correspondence from a submissive pouring out his little heart to me, telling me how he has dedicated his life to serving the Black race.  When I go to his profile, there is NOTHING there that indicates this devotion and all of his friends are white women or other white submissive men.  When I inquire as to why that is, they usually dismiss my concerns by saying that they have another profile, just for Blacks.  It seems white men don’t even want other submissive white men to know that they are submissive to Blacks.  That’s denial to the second power times delusion. 

On the rare occasion when someone sends me correspondence that’s literate and engaging, sometimes just plain sweet, there are times when I’m moved to take the conversations offline.  Sometimes the conversations are sexual in nature, at times, they are not.  In every instance, I reveal myself to be exactly who I am, a complex, intellectual, multi-faceted woman.  I’m not a character in my stories, calling them whitey and demanding that they suck a big black dick for me.  I’m not the sassy black Domme demanding that they refer to me as Mistress and pay tributes or bark like a dog.  I’m the same person I am when I talk to my friends, bill collectors, and men who are romantically interested in me.  Those men who are most invested in the concept of whiteness, meaning those who are the richest, who have benefitted the most by having a penis and pink skin, those who are the most distanced from any sort of Black peer are the ones who will make plans to meet and NEVER contact me again.  They will not text, email, or call to cancel.  They will not respond to text, email, phone call, instant message, carrier pigeon or smoke signal from me.  As one particularly introspective white male sub explained it to me in relation to this particular phenomenon, “I can be attracted to the idea of a high dive off of a cliff. When it comes to do the dive I can become fearful because the cliff is not the idealized cliff of my fantasy but a real cliff. Unless I can deal with real cliffs I will be unable to make my dive.”  I’m not sure if other Black Dommes deal with this particular issue to the same extent as I do or not.  I represent the most dangerous cliff they’ve ever encountered and a dive that puts their reality in danger.  I’m cool with them if I’m just a screen name on a computer screen but to think that an actual person, a human being, a sentient, complex woman is out there and who can get inside their heads with such ease is a leap they aren’t willing to take.    

White men tell me daily, “Oh Mistress, I believe in all that you believe.”  When I ask them what exactly it is that they think I believe, nine times out of ten they will respond by telling me that I’m a believer in Black and female supremacy.  Never, not once in all my writings, not in one single erotic story, article, essay, status update, or tweet have I said, intimated, hinted, or implied that I believe in Black or female supremacy.  I have said that I am Black, female, and outrageously superior but I do not ascribe the trait of superiority to everyone of my gender or race.  I do believe that indigenous Africans were questionably physically stronger and morally superior simply because the form of slavery they practiced was not dehumanizing.  It’s a hard argument for white people to make that they were superior with the knowledge that they treated African life, human life, like it was less than that of an animal’s.  But after two hundred and fifty years of enslavement, another hundred of racism and institutional racism, brainwashing by a set of morals and beliefs that are antithetical to African psychological health, and there is no way we can still be considered collectively superior.  Some of us, by the grace of God, have slipped through the cracks and have proven that even when the playing field isn’t level, we can still excel.  Do I wish that all of us could?  Hell yes.  Do I think that all of us are capable of an excellence that has been systematically kept from us?  I do, but there will need to be such a shift in consciousness, such a transition to a whole new way of thinking, that the possibility remains so remote and obscure as to have very little basis in reality.  I’ve explained that over and over again.  As many times as I can point to places where I’ve outlined exactly how I feel about the concept of Black and/or Female Supremacy, it’s like it goes in one ear and out the other for the white submissive male.  He hears what he wants to hear, he interprets it in a way that fits his worldview. 

I write stories of interracial domination not because I have a great stake in it emotionally but because I recognize the tremendous opportunity I have at my fingertips to educate and enlighten.  I asked the question recently of my white submissive followers and fans, what they liked most about my stories.  Almost without exception, they all lavished the same extensive praise about what a great writer I am.  “You paint such a vivid picture,” I can see every detail in my mind,” “You know the mind of the submissive male so well.”   ONE individual, one out of several dozen responses suggested that it was my unapologetic examination of race that made my stories so good.  That shows how much in denial and delusional white men continue to be about their own sexuality. 

My stories are about race.  My stories examine race from the first paragraph, often times, the very first sentence.  “Scott Clair hated his whiteness.  He wasn’t able to articulate it exactly in that way; he claimed to be coming to terms with his submissive nature and his overwhelming desire to serve the Black race.”  “Did she have a hidden agenda?  Was her desire to dominate white men driven by some racial hatred or need to seek revenge for her enslaved ancestors?”  “For most white people, their knee-jerk, conditioned response at the mere mention of the word reparations is to scream, ‘My family never owned any slaves.  I’m not paying any reparations!  You Blacks need to just get over it, slavery was in the past, let it go for Christ’s sake.’”  Not to acknowledge that my stories are set apart from everyone else’s because of the way I handle race is denial of the highest order.  White writers are stereotypical and one dimensional in their portrayal of Black characters in their tales of interracial domination.  Even the best white writer doesn’t make their Black characters anything more than a tool for a white person to get off on their fantasy.  Their grammar, sentence structure, and story development might be good but they can’t, they aren’t capable of giving color, literally and figuratively, to Black characters they way I can.  In the best case scenario, white writers make the Black characters colorless with the exception of throwing around the N word and the black male always has a big, black cock.  In the worst case scenario, which sadly is the case more often than not, the Black characters are a replication of the very same ghetto dwelling, Ebonic-speaking, lust-driven savage who craves white flesh. 

I write interracial domination stories for white men to get an ugly picture of themselves.  I write interracial domination stories because every once in a while, a white man will write to me and express that he has been humbled and that he is learning to see Black people in a different light.  I write hardcore, explicit tales of Black people dominating white men because I know that if I arouse them with the erotica, if I push their buttons and stimulate their desires, that they will explore more, they will follow me and read my other works, see the pictures, they will be forced to see Black people in a different light.  No, I don’t back down off the subject matters that most people are repulsed by.  I write about heavy scat play, and bareback gangbangs, and make reference to bestiality not because I find any of those subjects particularly arousing, but because the number of white men who share their fantasies with me on a daily basis about those subjects is staggering. 

For submissive white men, several things have remained consistent.  Their submission is still largely sexual.  For them it is about what gives them sexual pleasure, what arouses and stimulates their libidos.  They SAY that their submission is more than sexual, they claim that it’s not about them, that it’s about their servitude to the Black race but their actions don’t match their words.  For them, there is still a disconnect.  They think that as long as they perceive themselves as being degraded and humiliated in acts that aren’t sexual, like housework and holding a door, or giving up their seat to a Black person on the train that means that they no longer have any racist beliefs and that they are somehow exempt from taking any action to rectify their unearned privilege in society.  The vast majority of submissive white men still refuse to accept that they have any unearned privilege and those who do aren’t willing to do anything more than give lip service to the idea that they might actually have to take a stand socially or politically for racial equality.  Most are content to say, “I voted for Obama” whether they did or not, and call it a day. 

Copyright 2011 Scottie Lowe of AfroerotiK

Monday, November 21, 2011

Letter from a white man

I received this email correspondence just minutes ago.  I asked permission to share it and he agreed.  I get correspondence from white men like this on a daily basis, multiple times a day.  Most are married, many are not.  They all seem to espouse the exact same sentiments, almost word for word.  I think we as Black people do ourselves a disservice not to address and acknowledge this trend and how it should best be handled.  I know I don't have many white female readers but I would love to hear from you and how you view this phenomenon.  Were you similarly conflicted in accepting yout attraction to Black men?  There is so much dysfunction wrapped up in this letter it's hard to know how to be address it. 

Date Mon, November 21, 2011 - 2:31 AM 

Subject Re: Black female superior

Nice to hear back from you. I have read more of your work it is very erotic.

I guess I need the phenomena explained to me by a member of the superior race and in particular a black woman as intelligent as you. It has become obvious that not only black men but black women are superior to white men. This is not the mystery but why is it that it has manifested itself sexually and why so much in the past 6 or 7 years? At first as a bisexual I had fantasies of having sex with men and women, occasionally a black man or black woman. However over time I have increasingly become attracted to black men. Even though this used to be a source of embarrassment and frustration it was also completely consuming. In addition I used to act disgusted by seeing so many white women with black men, but the truth was I was jealous of those white girls for being able to openly pursue black men. Now, years
into my transformation into a sissy slave, I have desires to not only submit sexually to black men but serve black women and assume a completely feminine role.

I would like to meet a strong and dominant black woman who can mentor me and guide me.

Is it our fate to become women, much like white women, to be used by the black man for sex but to never actually achieve respect? Or do we (white men) secretly desire to be somehow transformed into black women ourselves. That way we have some measure of respect as we know we cannot compete with the black man. Or are we to just be used by and serve the needs of the black race?

I am open to your comments as I respect all black women and am eager to learn from my true masters.

My Romantic Resume

It's time.  It's time for me to be in a healthy relationship. I'm not getting any younger,  I've done the work on myself to be a great partner, now is the time to manifest the man who can share my life.  

The following is Scottie in a nutshell.  I'm putting myself out there, being open and receptive for getting and sharing a divine love. 

I'm Miss Non-confrontational and Pleasant to be Around.  Most men want a woman who is sweet.  Sweet is for bunnies and women who are emotionally submissive.  I'm not sweet. Granted, I don't like to argue.  I don't have the need to be right.  I don't need to have the last word or prove my point but I’m not complacent and I won’t cater to a man’s inflated ego.  I'm childlike in my awe of things that move me but I’m far from childish. I fly into a rage when I'm lied to but other than that, I'm good to go.

I'm Ms Radical Black Feminist.  I don't hate men, I don't hate white men, I DO hate the privilege that a penis and/or white skin affords some people without merit and I work to dismantle the fallacy of male domination and white supremacy with my words and deeds.  If you don't like the idea of me saying that (white) men have unfair privileges in this society, I'm not the one for you. 

I'm Ms. AfroerotiK.  I write personalized, customized erotic stories for a living.  My life is dedicated to showing African Americans in a healthy sexual light and dismantling the stereotypes of Black women being ghetto hoochies and Black men being thugs and pimps.  I write stories about all facets of Black and interracial sexuality, including individuals in the GBLT community, giving them a voice and an outlet to feel validation and respect.  I'm more open minded about sex than the vast majority of the population.  That being said, I'm not physically sexual with anyone unless I'm in a relationship with them so while I can discuss any kink, fetish, or fantasy under the sun, while I can be as brutally forthcoming and open in my discussions of the specifics of what I like, I’m not going to have sex with anyone unless I am 100% positive that they are committed to me for more than my physicality.

I'm Ms. Flexible who can adapt to most situations and not afraid to decline an offer if it isn't to my particular liking. 

I’m Ms. Straightforward . . . Do I even have to expound?  I don’t play games, I don’t expect a mind reader, I’m not pulling any punches. 

Independent is my middle name.  Actually, it's my confirmation name but let's not get caught up in minutia.  You needn't worry that I'm going to give up my goals, aspirations, and dreams or lose my identity in being your girlfriend because I have more drive, ambition, and pure spunk than most people could even dream of.  While I adore being partnered, and I'm EXCELLENT at being a girlfriend (loving, nurturing, supportive, the whole nine) I am a woman with a mission that can’t be distracted.

I’m Ms. Loyal, faithful, and monogamous to a fault.  When I'm with someone, I only have eyes for him.  If I feel the relationship is not providing me with something I need, I'll address it with hopes of a resolution or end the relationship before I look elsewhere.  I expect the same in return from my partner. 

I’m Ms. No Pressure.  I don’t want a ring, I am not planning on how to get you to marry me, I’m not looking for you to spend every minute of your time with me.  I just want companionship, intimacy, and connection.  Anything more than that is a bonus.  

I’m Ms. Low Maintenance.  I'm considered attractive by some, not so much by others.  My looks, appearance, and wardrobe don't define me.  I am grounded, down to earth, non-pretentious and humble. 

I need someone to remind me that I am a woman in my lonely existence, that I do have value more than my aesthetics.  I want a male friend with whom I can express my fears, doubts, and insecurities without being labeled damaged or imperfect.  I’d love a male voice to tell me goodnight and someone with whom I can share the details of my day.  I’d like to think that I could make life’s journey a little less daunting as I’d like to hope that you might be able to do for me.  Not many men would be open to a woman like me but nothing ventured is nothing gained for sure, right?

Peace and many blessings,

Ms. Trying to stay sane in this crazy mixed-up world. 

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Wishing You a Peaceful Journey

I loved Heavy D.  It's taken me almost two weeks to come to terms with his death.  I wrote the following on his Facebook page back in June of 2010. 

For many years, Mr. Myers, you were my imaginary lover.  As I’m sure is very commonplace for you, your celebrity allows people to think they know you intimately.  I am to be counted among that population.  I was attracted initially to your music, to your lyrics.  Like most women, I was attracted to your aura. I didn’t see your size, I saw your energy, your articulation, your intellect.  I wanted to be the somebody that would love you for you . . . You spoke to me in your songs, I felt a connection that I was sure you would feel equally if only we could just have the opportunity to meet.  With each new album, I would listen intently for a sign that you were still available and still searching for me.  When you were on Living Single, I was jealous of Regine, not in the stalker sense, but in that the things your character said were the things that I’d always dreamt you’d say to me.  I wanted to be the woman standing beside you as you ascended to acting stardom. 

After many (many) years of lusting after you, loving you, and longing for you to find me, I gave up my hopes of our spiritual, divine connection.  I realized that I was nothing more than just another star-struck fan with childish fantasies.  Today, I no longer have delusions about our destined love affair but I still have love for you in my heart.  I still hold a place for you as a man I once loved in my imagination.  You made loved to me, we built a life together as divinely connected partners.  I celebrate you and all that you’ve accomplished, for all that you are and who I think you are.  Peace and blessings my dear brotha and all my love. 

I'm not sure he ever read it but I'm glad I was able to speak my truth to him before he passed.

Dwight was the rapper who was far more intellectual than he allowed the public to see.  He was the one who never said anything that was offensive to my feminist sensibilities.  He was the one who loved Black women and it showed. 

I had the opportunity to speak to him on the phone once.  He was a guest on Arsenio Hall and I had seen the show enough to know that guests of the show stayed at the Hotel Nikko.  Well, I picked up the phone and I called.  I left a message on the hotel voicemail that was as AfroerotiK as it could get considering it was a full ten years ago before AfroerotiK was even a tiny thought in my consciousness.  I praised him for his insight and spirit.  I poetically penned something, I have no idea what, that was flattering yet truthful.  I told him that I was infatuated with him, with who he was, with what he stood for.  He called me back the next day.  He kept saying, "Who are you?  How do you know me?"  I explained that I wasn't a stalker, just someone who appreciated and respected his work.  We fell into a comfortable groove and we clicked.  In my perhaps deluded memory, we spoke freely and comfortably like lovers would.   And at the most inopportune moment, my roommate picked up the phone and interrupted the call, yelling at me that he had a very important phone call to make.  I was humiliated and I apologized for the interruption and Dwight said he would call me back.  He never did.  I sort of knew he wouldn't but there was also a part of me that knew that we would meet again and that we would experience that connection again in real life. 

As crazy as it sounds, I know I was meant to meet him and we were meant to share a connection.  That's why it's been so hard for me to acknowledge and accept his death.  For some reason, we never got that chance.  I miss him in a way that doesn't make sense to any rational person. 

Dwight, journey peacefully my love, your impact and presence has shaped us all.  I love you.