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.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Dark, Sweet Knight

Dear, delicious, sweet, chocolate warrior. One thing we need to work on is redefining how you function, operate, and communicate with me.  I don't need a sub to yes Ma'am me to death.  You are a Black man, you carry the weight and responsibility of being the most revered, feared person on the planet.  You are strong, wise, noble, altogether brilliant and beautiful.  That should come across in every word you utter, every minute of the day, in my presence and out.  I don't want a weak, sniveling submissive Black man who doesn't have a mind of his own, who can't answer a question, who wants to relinquish all his thoughts and preferences.  Your role on earth is of the mighty African warrior.  You can never forget that, you must never carry yourself as less than that. 

Rather than being my bitch or my submissive, perhaps you can be my knight.  A knight's responsibility and duty is to protect and serve his Queen.  A knight is strong, valiant, and chivalrous.  A knight considers it an honor to ensure that the Queen is pleased.  The queen doesn't look at the knight as lowly and worthless but as a trusted warrior, soldier, protector, and servant.  A knight follows all the commands he is given without question or hesitation but he is smart, witty, and resourceful.  Certainly, there are no limits to what he would do to please his Queen.  Behind closed doors, in the dark of night, he would bow to her, kiss her feet, show his devotion, and perform any task she desired.  I think you shall be my knight and I your queen.  That feels much better to me than being my submissive. 

Of course, behind closed door, I will use you in every delicious, nasty, perverted way possible.  Behind closed doors, I will be your Mistress and your Master, your Mommy and your Daddy.  I will be your teacher, your guide, your disciplinarian, and your lover.  I will keep you horny and aroused, I will allow you to be the filthy slut you long to be.  You will beg and plead with me for release, for more stimulation.  I will be the center of your universe and I will use you to please me, entertain me, and serve me in any way I see fit.  I will make you into my footstool, masseuse, dildo, and plaything.  You'll serve anyone I tell you to and do it with pride.  You'll BEG me to get fucked to satisfy your insatiable ass. 

In public you will open my door, pull out my chair, you will take my arm and lavish me with gifts and trinkets to show your devotion.  In private, you will bathe my body, anoint me with oils and lotions and lick me until I explode in your mouth.  You will provide me with endless hours of foreplay until I demand that you fuck me.  Your pussy will be mine to use and fuck any way I want, you will bend over, spread your legs or ride my strapon or the fake dicks of my friends when I say the word.  That's if you want to belong to me. 

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Sweet to Eat

Listen to “Sweet to Eat” on NOW!

There are few acts more intimate than tasting your lover’s most intimate places. Licking, sucking, nibbling, and kissing your partner to pleasure is an art form if done correctly. Sit back, relax, and listen to this sensual story of erotic oral pleasures that is sure to get your juices flowing.

Monday, May 07, 2012

Having a Pussy is NOT a Job

There seems to be this thought process, this commonly-held belief that being a woman, that having a pussy is some sort of form of employment, that a vagina is a commodity men must purchase in order to be able to enjoy it, that sex is a business.  I’m here to say that while that’s what a pussy might have become in this patriarchal, misogynist, sexist, oppressive society, I’m here to boldly declare that having a pussy is not a job. 

I’ve heard and witnessed several conversations, exchanges, diatribes, monologues, and debates as of late where this notion that women who are not “selling it” are disadvantaged.  Supposedly, the poor, unfortunate women who not selling pussy are bitter and angry because they are not getting paid for what other women are profiting from.  There seems to be this deluded notion that a woman’s role in life is to please a man and that he must pay for that right.  When you have a society based on the concept that God is a man and he created woman for man, you will forever had a warped perception of what a woman is supposed to be.  People will even tell you that selling pussy is the oldest profession, that women were selling pussy long before any other sorts of business transactions were being made.  That is absurd.  Sex was for procreation.  Sex was for recreation.  Sex was for meditative, transcendent pleasure.  Sex was not for purchase until men decided that they needed to find a way to control women, to harness women’s power, to deny them pleasure.  Let me tell you something here and now, as long as men and women believe this lie, as long as women are seeing their pussies as something of value that men can purchase, intimate, healthy relationships are going to suffer the consequences of such warped beliefs. 

A woman’s body was not ever intended to be something to be purchased.  I’m here to boldly declare that having a pussy is a privilege, an awesome responsibility, at times a burden, but it is not now, nor was it ever intended to be way to make money.  Women give birth; we are the victims of rape, molestation, and abuse. We are used for no other reason than we can provide men carnal pleasure. Capitalism, money, business are all man-made concepts, and rather warped concepts spiritually.  When you pay for something you own it and no man should ever be able to say that he owns a woman’s most sacred space.  Women who sell pussy are not empowered, they are pawns in the game that men control.  Ultimately, it’s men who determine their worth.  Women have to meet the impossibly high standards of men’s tiny definition of beauty and femininity to be considered valuable.  Women who sell pussy are dependent upon men for their sense of self worth.  When the men stop paying for it, where does she turn to find her value?  Caring for a man and pleasing him is not a woman’s responsibility in life, it’s her choice to do so when she finds a partner who values and pleases her. 

I’m here to say that as a woman who has NEVER sold her pussy, not once, not for a car note, not for a rent payment, not for any dollar amount, I don’t feel bitter or angry at the women who are selling it.  I have never had sex unless it was for love or lust and I’m perfectly fine with that.  I know that my mind and my heart are my greatest assets, that I don’t need a man to validate my worth.  I know that I’m not an object to be purchased and replaced by some man who is going to buy me like he buys the next woman who gets his dick hard.  I know that I was not created to serve a man, to cater to his whims, I know that my job as wife/lover is not to “make it hot for my husband.”  My job as a partner and lover and spouse is to support my husband as he supports me.  It’s not a one-sided transaction where he fills his lust because he’s been out all day making money and I’m supposed to be at home fixing dinner and cleaning the house to keep him happy.  Sex, either in marriage or without, should never be about money.  It cheapens the value of women when they sell it and it warps the minds of men who pay for it because they think that women are items to be bought and sold.  Sex should be about intimacy, passion, lust, pleasure, communication, prayer.  Sex should be about sharing time and energy with the person you love.  When sex becomes a bargaining chip, a service rendered for a payment, a chore or duty for which compensation is required, then sex itself becomes vulgar.  And as hard as it is for some men to believe, every woman does not sell her pussy, whether it’s for dinner or in marriage.  Many do.  Maybe most have been conditioned to think of their pussies as for sale. 

Women, empower yourself.  Redefine yourself.  You are not worth whatever a man will pay for you, you are priceless.  Your value is not in the number of designer shoes you own or the car you drive or being able to pay your bills because you can give great head.  You were not put on earth to be the mistress, maid, or cook for men.  Your role as a woman is not to stand behind a man but to stand beside him, to build with him, not do his bidding.  Ask yourself how much a man is willing to pay for your goods and services and then multiply that times a number so large you can’t comprehend it to know your true worth.  Men, you will forever be emotionally stunted and immature as long as you think pussy has a price tag.  See a woman’s value in her integrity, her character, her intellect, not in the fat, wetness between her legs.  You are perpetrators of the most heinous behavior when you pay for that which is supposed to be sacred and worshipped. 

Copyright 2012 Scottie Lowe AfroerotiK

Saturday, May 05, 2012

The love I share is with a Black man.

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.