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.

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

I Don’t Want to be Slapped

It is generally presumed that women have some sort of genetic predisposition to being degraded during sex, that we are hard-wired to want to be submissive to men.  I have zero submissive inclinations, less than zero in fact as the thought totally turns me off.  I don’t want to be slapped, choked, or spit on during sex.  I don’t want my nipples bitten, twisted, or pulled or my breasts mauled or squeezed.  I don’t think it’s erotic to be called a bitch, slut, or a whore because I’m none of those things.  Who’s my daddy? McKinley Scott was and he was altogether exceptional I don’t want or need another one.  While we are on the subject, I don’t want or need to be tied up, restrained, spanked, or disciplined.  I’m not a bad girl, I’m an amazing woman.  Don’t you dare hold my head when I’m going down on you or try to force your dick down my throat to make me gag or vomit or you might lose a nut . . . if you’re lucky.  There is nothing erotic about anyone forcing their entire hand in any of my orifices. .  I don’t want to have casual sex with someone who is undeserving of my body nor do I want to have sex in a public restroom or alley or some filthy, disgusting location.  Just the thought of having a train run on me, with multiple men using me like a piece of trash is repulsive.  What’s more than repulsive?  Whatever it is, multiply that times 1000. 

As much as I love a vigorous, enthusiastic, intense anal fuck, the only ATM I’m doing is Bank of America’s for cash withdrawals.  I don’t care what you read in 50 Shades, pain is not a motivator nor an aphrodisiac for me.   Don’t cum in my mouth unless I give you permission and until your dick squirts Lancome Absolue L'Extrait at $360 a pop, literally, don’t even think about shooting your cream on my face.  I’ve been raped.  It’s horrifying and violent, it’s not a secret fantasy.  I’m not going to wear 7 inch heels or some restricting, oppressive, costume and swing around on a pole to turn you on because I’m not an object or thing to be used for your pleasure.  Most importantly, no means no.  Stop means no.  Don’t means hell no.  My body is not a receptacle for you to pound out your anger, frustration, your low self-esteem, or even your recreational lust. 

I can’t tell you the exact number of women who love each and every one of those things but I’m sure it’s astronomical.   I can with some certainty tell you that the number of men who need to degrade women during sex is greater than the number of women who want and/or need it.  That’s cool for other people but I ain’t the one.  I don’t feel that being degraded makes sex hotter and I don’t want to be called names out of bed so why the hell would it be a turn on for me to be called names in bed?   I can see people’s eyes rolling around in their heads.  How dare I even suggest that I’m too good for those things!  I can hear people screaming at their screens that I’m denigrating others for their preferences.  No, I’m not.  I very clear that I don’t like those things but I have no need to dictate what anyone else should or should not like.  But, the common belief is surely that anyone who doesn’t like those things is a puritanical prude who only likes boring, vanilla sex, right?  Wrong!!!!   I simply don’t want or need any sort of shame, humiliation, pain, or subservience associated with any sort of sex I have. 

What I do have is a genetic predisposition to being loved, nurtured, pampered, cared for, and being passionately made love to.  I adore being pleasured until my eyes roll back in my head and the sheets are soaked with . . . all sorts of stuff.  I want to be licked and fingered and fucked after hours and hours of foreplay.  I want to massage, caress, and stroke every inch of skin my lover has and in turn have him do the same to me.  I’m not ashamed of my sexuality and I have no need for sex to be shameful, secret, taboo, or degrading for it to be arousing to me.  I am unapologetically in need of passion, intense intimacy, and communication as the only essential elements that will have me soaking wet and begging for more. 

Play with my nipples for hours, keeping me on edge until I’m begging for you to fuck me.   I love playing with toys mutually.  I love incorporating role-play and fantasies into sex.  I am aroused by exhibitionism with the person I love and I want to fuck like an animal until we both explode in a heap of spent love and lust and passion for one another.  I want to cum in my man’s mouth.  I want to be responsive to his needs and have him be responsive to mine as well as long as it’s with the understanding that sex is not about power for me.  I want to share all my dirty fantasies and secrets with him.  I want to be loved and made love to.  I want to be respected.  I want to be admired.  I want to be cherished and desired and fucked like a beast.  Lick my nipples softly and gently.  Rub my clit on the right side with my vibrator, listening to my moans grow louder and more intense until you know how to make me cum as well as I do.  Tease my wet pussy with your tongue, fingers, and dick and you’ll be rewarded with a mouthful of sweet, juicy creamy reward.  And when I am begging and screaming for it, when I have a crazed look in my eyes and I’m waking up the neighbors, FUCK ME.  Fuck me hard and steady and relentlessly until we cum in orgasmic fits of pleasure. 

Scottie Lowe
Copyright 2015 All Rights Reserved

ATTENTION Apple users 

Instructions to view the full Sensu-Soul video on your iPhone and iPad are here.  

If you want to watch this video on a iOS device here’s how: 1. Download the “Puffin” app. It allows you to play Flash videos. 2. Go to this page and copy the site address. 3. Open Puffin app and paste site address in search bar. 4. Video will be near top of page in a smaller square. Click on it and enjoy.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

White people expect us to behave like niggers

White people expect us to behave like niggers; it is the only role they will allow us to wear with impunity.  To carry yourself like royalty, to walk with dignity, to boldly declare that you are not only equal to but better than white people with your speech, your actions, and your intellect is FAR more threatening to white people than calling yourself a nigga.  Want proof?  Write a blog calling yourself a nigga and talking about cars, drugs, guns, rap, sex, sports, and how much you love living in the ghetto.  Men, brag about how big your dick is and how much you love fucking white women.  Sistas, post a picture of your ass and your fake nails.  You won’t get a single, solitary response from white people.  Well that’s not entirely true.  You will probably be inundated with white people asking you to fulfill their sexual fantasies but not one white person will take issue with your self-proclaimed status as a nigger, nigga, whatever pronunciation people insist has some validity. 

Then, write a blog, grammatically correct and spell checked, that talks about the greatness of black people, our strength, and our ability to excel despite racism, oppression, and bigotry.  Talk about white people’s history of vile racism, oppression, colonialism, genocide, slavery, and bigotry.  Write about how our true history of greatness has been distorted with white lies and deception.  Discuss, academically articulated with footnoted and documented proof, advanced African civilizations and how white people re-wrote history to make themselves appear superior.  Say that #BlackLivesMatter.  Post links to articles where whites have gotten disparate treatment by the justice system.  White people will crawl out of the woodworks to tell you that Black people are ignorant and that you are nothing but a nigger.  Scores of white people will tell you that you are racist and they will get carpal tunnel typing out response to tell you that you have offended their precious white sensibilities.  Those same white people have NEVER, not once in their lives gone on a white person’s page to reprimand them when they are blatantly racist are the exact same white people who, if you speak out about racism, if you speak out about white privilege, if you address the fallacy of white supremacy, if you identify the clear pathologies of white people, they will make it their life’s mission to put you in your place. 

You Will Pay

I'm a psychological Domme and I am quite exceptional at it. I employ the most extreme emotional, psychological, and mental torture possible. I'm not against using pain to inflict "punishment" but at this stage in my evolution as a Domme I'd much prefer to use money as part of my repertoire to break white men as white men are so fucking tied to their net worth as part of their identity and self-worth. Of course, money is not the only tool in my arsenal of weapons but it has moved up on my list in large part due to the recent current events that illustrate perfectly how economic disparity, not racial inferiority, has created a ghetto class of people that far too many white men feels is indication of their disposable lives.
I'm not a financial Domme, I don't request tributes from random subs; I'm not looking for someone to pay my bills or buy me a purse. I'm not a Pro Domme. I'm not going to do what a white man tells me to do simply because he has paid me. I am, however, the descendent of slaves who labored for centuries for white people while they immorally profited. I'm the great-grandchild of a beautiful, strong, brilliant Black man who worked as a sharecropper and who was cheated by a land owner and made millions while my great-grandfather lived in poverty. I'm painfully aware of white men's privilege, arrogance, condescension, and mental instability and I'm willing to exploit them in multiple ways, not the least of which is monetarily.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Minority Affairs

When the alarm on his Blackberry went off, reminding him of his 3:00 appointment, Kevin Reynolds was almost tempted to reschedule.  He was all the way on the other side of town at a meeting with a real estate developer at a construction site.  With traffic, it would take him no less than twenty minutes to get back to his office and he would be rushed.  As fate would have it, the fortuitous winds of destiny were blowing, and keeping that particular appointment would be the best thing to ever happen to him. 

Kevin’s job as the Business Development Coordinator for the City of Sausalito, California had him on the go constantly.  Part of his job responsibility was developing minority businesses for the city.  He was so entrenched, so consumed with the demands and rigors of his position that he’d forsaken any attempts at trying to maintain a social life.  That would have been a sad state of affairs for most people but for Kevin, it was really just an inconsequential byproduct of having his dream job.  Given his recent forays in the romance department, he really didn’t mind.  Lucky in love was not a saying that could be used about his love life as of late.  It wasn’t as if he bad looking, at 6’ tall with black hair and blue eyes, was very handsome but he was maybe a little too much of a nice guy to be considered edgy in today’s dating pool.  He’d heard the infamous, “I think we should just be friends” speech too many times to count.  He’d expanded his dating pool to women of color in the past few years and he was comfortable with that but he hadn’t been able to form anything long-term thus far.  Timing is everything and his job was just taking up too much of his time for dating.  Nevertheless, he loved his work and he was enthusiastic, no passionate about attracting the sorts of businesses to Sausalito that would benefit the residents and the community as a whole. 

Exactly on time, with a minute or two to spare even, his appointment was waiting in the reception area as he introduced himself and asked for a few minutes grace period to put his things down and get situated.  “You must be Ms. Jenkins.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  I hope you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, the City Manager, Mr. Gold, I think you’ve already met with him . . . he gave me some preliminary information on your venture and I’ve done some prep work in anticipation of our meeting and I just want to go over a few things before we meet.” 

Sylvia Jenkins stood to respond, extending her hand as an act of civility and yet igniting a spark that would fan the flames of unspoken passion.  She was breathtaking, nothing less than abso-fucking-lutely, stunningly, insanely gorgeous, and Kevin was caught off guard momentarily with her grace, charm, and style.  At 5’4” tall, with skin the color of bronze and almond-shaped eyes that danced with light, she was the epitome of Black beauty.  Her hair was a mane of flowing dreadlocks adorned with beads that were twisted and piled on her head in some sort of creative crown-like hairstyle that defied gravity and the laws of physics.  Her full, sensual lips parted to respond but the words were momentarily lost on Kevin because he was captivated by the sexy pout and the shiny lip-gloss that accentuated the most perfect smile he’d ever seen.  Wearing a white cotton blouse that would have been conservative on most women, hers wrapped around and sort of had ties in the back or something that gave just a hint at a very, VERY, voluptuous cleavage.  It wasn’t unprofessional, like a stripper inappropriately showing off her new set of triple Ds, it was just sort of a declaration of her womanhood.  A long denim skirt that went to the floor and hugged her undeniably round bottom and full hips completed her outfit.  She wasn’t fat; she wasn’t even heavy set.  She was just the sort of woman that was blessed with heavenly curves in ALL the right places. 

She smelled like an exotic combination of flowers and tropical fruit that was subtle yet intoxicating.  She wore an arm-full of copper bracelets that made a sort of musical sound as she moved her hand.  Her skin looked like it was the most expensive chocolate-colored silk that had been imported from a distant land.  Even after taking in all the details of this exquisite woman in a split second, Kevin was able to pull himself back together and remain professional enough to hear her say, “Take your time, it’s not a problem.”

Her venture was an exciting one for the city of Sausalito.  She was opening a cyber café/gallery/bistro right downtown.  It was the perfect location and the concept was complex but genius in its simplicity at the same time.  She was attempting to create a space where people could come, explore unique African imports for sale in a hands on environment, have some dessert, drink some herbal tea if that was to their liking, connect to the net, and even have some space where she could offer various classes and workshops taught by artisans and talents from around the country for two or three week at a time.  The meeting went seamlessly as Kevin walked her through the final paper work that she would need for her project, assuring that there would be as little red tape as possible with permits and licenses and the many steps it required to have such an intricate business plan. 

It was also a venture that would have the two in constant communication for several months.  An artist herself, Sylvia wanted to have a residential space in the space above her storefront that could house the various instructors she wanted to come and teach for a few weeks at a time, that could be used as a studio, and a place for her to crash when she didn’t want to go home.  That meant putting in a kitchenette, a shower, and getting residential permits.  That required a whole ‘nutha set of paperwork to process and deadlines that couldn’t be missed and just the sort of red tape that Kevin was expert at circumventing.  He was there to help her every step of the way and he made the process seem effortless, shielding her from the tedium every chance he got and going above and beyond to make things flow smoothly.  He wasn’t doing it to try to gain points or seduce her.  He was simply doing his job and being true to his nature to be a gentleman. 

Sylvia was appreciative yet professional.  On more than one occasion, he would stop by the storefront at 7 or 8 at night, after a long day of his own; only to find Sylvia painting or unpacking boxes herself.  He never even inquired if she had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, he never asked if she dated interracially, he never asked about any aspect of her personal life.  He kept their interaction professional yet her beauty mesmerized him each and every time he laid eyes on her. 

The grand opening of Mombasa was an event like none other.  Kevin stopped by to congratulate her and wish her well.  The place was filled to capacity with an eclectic mix of people; there were spoken word artists, drummers, reflexologists, and curious passers by who tasted some of the delicious desserts that were being given out for free.  “I want to thank you for all the help you gave me during this entire process.  I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sylvia said, as she kissed Kevin on the cheek and quickly disappeared into the crowd to mix and mingle as she beamed with excitement. 

It would be several weeks before he spoke to her again.  Having put her project to bed, Kevin was deeply engrossed in his next project and pouring himself into work as usual.  He was pleasantly surprised when he answered his phone to hear Sylvia say, “The Chamber of Commerce is holding that black tie fundraising event at the Crowne Plaza on Saturday night and I was wondering . . . I didn’t know if you  . . . I was thinking . . . “

Sensing her unease, Kevin cut her off, “Oh, are you going to that thing too?  I was going to make an appearance.  I can stop by and pick you up if you want to carpool.”  Regretting his choice of words, not wanting to sound like he was being too aloof, he quickly amended it to say, “I’d love for you to be my date if you would do me the honor.  It would be my distinct pleasure to accompany you.”  He was thinking on his feet because prior to that very minute, he’d never even known that she might have had a personal interest in him.  He wasn’t even sure she did have an interest in him romantically, all he knew was she was fine as hell and if she wanted to go to a formal affair with him, there was no way he was going to say no.

For Kevin, the evening was alive with potential.  He bought a new suit for the occasion and had flowers for Sylvia when he picked her up at Mombasa.  She was even more breathtaking than usual, attired in an evening gown that accentuated her body to perfection.  “Wow, you look fantastic,” was all he could say, rendered essentially speechless by her beauty.

“Thank you,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek for the second time since their meeting, this time it seemed to linger a bit longer than the first time.  She did a twirl and showed off her outfit and said, “Shall we go?”

For Kevin, the evening was an extension of work, introducing movers and shakers to policy makers and trying to coordinate deals outside the office.  He as shaking hands with everyone and he didn’t really have as much time as he wanted to spend with Sylvia.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it just seemed that every time he set out to focus solely on her, someone would interrupt and he would go back into Business Development Coordinator mode.  Several of his co-workers were giving him slaps on the back and nods and winks, implying that they had no clue that he was dating a Black woman, and such a hot one at that. 

“Excuse me Miss, you look rather lonely sitting there, would you care to dance?”  That was Kevin’s chivalrous attempt at adding a little romance to the evening as he extended his hand and wanted to show Sylvia that he appreciated her being so tolerant of him being pulled in so many different directions during the evening.  Sylvia didn’t mind being left alone.  She liked watching Kevin do his thing.  It was part of the reason she was attracted to him.  She was attracted to his understated power and efficacy at what he did for a living. 

On the dance floor, everyone else seemed to fade away.  Kevin held her close and ran his hands up and down her back.  For the first time in months, he was reminded of his dormant sexuality as he could hear gentle moans of pleasure emanating from Sylvia as they sort of swayed to the music.  For the rest of the night, he paid attention exclusively to her.  They talked and laughed and seemed to emit a signal that they were not to be interrupted for business or any other reason.  As the night wore down to a close, he offered to take her back to her car and call it an evening.

“You never saw the complete finished product,” Sylvia said as Kevin escorted her to her car.  “If you have a few minutes, come inside and I want to give you the grand tour, considering you were so instrumental in helping me.”

He really couldn’t have cared less about the tour.  He wasn’t being rude; it’s just that he was captivated by the way Sylvia’s ass moved in that dress and when she walked in those high heels.  He mumbled, “That looks nice,” more than a few times, not really mentioning that he wasn’t talking about the various pieces of art or the décor of her establishment. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.  Would you like to see the upstairs portion?  It turned out fantastic.”  Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up a back staircase.  Kevin was expecting something close to a sparse dorm room with a futon, a cook top, and a half fridge, but what he saw looked like a beautiful showroom.  It was decorated in beautiful fabrics and colors, there was artwork all around and lovely touches that made it feel like a home. 

“You did all this yourself?  It looks fantastic!  I should have known that if you were going to do anything you were going to do it well.”  While intended it to be innocent, there was a sexual undertone to the comment that was felt by both. 

“If you only knew, sir,” Sylvia replied, and winked to acknowledge the chemistry that was tangible.  “Would you care for a glass of wine, you don’t have to go now, do you?”  She offered graciously but she was prepared for him to decline her offer. 

“I don’t mind if I do, thanks,” taking off his jacket and making himself comfortable on the cozy loveseat.  After the second glass of wine, and even more conversation, the two began to get a little more comfortable with each other.  Before either of them realized it, it was 3 in the morning. 

Being a gentleman, he rose, saying, “I better get home.  Will you be okay staying here for the evening or would you prefer I call you a cab to get you home? I don’t want you driving.  I’ll leave my car here and come get it in the morning, well, I’ll come get it in a couple of hours since it’s already morning.”

Taking his hand in hers, she said, “You don’t have to go.”  There was a moment of silence when they both knew what was about to happen but didn’t dare say anything to break the spell.  She stood and faced him.  Time stood still for an instant and he tilted her face to his and they kissed. 

Things certainly went from zero to sixty, but it took quite some time to get there.  Both Sylvia and Kevin took their time, exploring each other’s bodies, and capitalizing off of each second of sensual pleasure.  They kissed for what seemed like hours on that little loveseat.  He wouldn’t be rushed so Kevin kissed and licked her neck, finding her hot spot and making her moan in pleasure.  He licked her ears and whispered the sorts of naughty things he wanted to do to her.  She would respond by spreading her legs and grinding her body in time with his.  Her hands roamed freely over his back, caressing him and unbuttoning his shirt at the appropriate intervals. 

At some point, her dress ended up on the floor and Kevin could do nothing but stare in amazement.  She was more perfect than he had ever imagined.  Her beautiful breasts were round and full and capped off by the most delicious, dark, suckable nipples he’d ever seen in his entire life.  Her tiny waist held a belly chain that lay softly on her hips and sparkled in the moonlight.  Her big ole booty was what made women envious and men weak with lust.  Kevin was no exception and he found himself wanting to just start at her pretty pink toenails and kiss and lick his way up her whole body.  

That’s exactly what he did in fact, well, that’s what he started out to do.  Laying her down on the bed for more room to stretch out and get comfortable, he began exploring her body with his mouth.  He parted her soft, brown thighs and couldn’t believe his eyes.  Her pussy was magnificent and it was all he could do not to just dive right in and devour her.  Her inner pink lips opened to reveal themselves like a beautiful orchid.  He gently rubbed the tip of his finger over her exposed and hardened clit and he saw her body respond to his touch.  She arched her back and gripped the sheets, moaning and encouraging him to go further. 

Inserting his finger in her hole, he could feel her slippery, wet juices flowing freely.  She responded with more moaning this time but she was more vocal.  “Oh Kevin, eat my wet pussy.  Lick it.  Suck me.  Make me cum in your mouth.  Don’t tease me; stick your tongue in me.  Put my clit in your mouth and lick it.”

Kevin didn’t disappoint and he ate her pussy like it was better than the five star meal they had earlier in the evening.  Sylvia didn’t stop.  “Oh shit, that feels so good, yeah, fuck, eat me, don’t stop, eat me.  Damn, I love the way you are working my hot, wet, pussy with your mouth, do you like the way I taste?  I’m going to nut all in your mouth.”  That was just what he wanted to hear and he went into overdrive to bring her to orgasm.  She held his head to her pussy and wrapped her sexy legs around his head.  She was grinding on his mouth, using him, fucking his face.  Noticing that she wasn’t saying much, he looked up only to see her sucking her own nipple. 

Kevin was blown away by how sexy she looked in the moment and stood up and took off the rest of his clothes and straddled her body.  He pushed her tits together and cradled his cock between the soft mounds of flesh.  The contrast in skin color almost made him blow his load right there.  He pinched her nipples gently and began thrusting his white dick between her brown breasts.  Sylvia was not one to be passive and she started licking the head of his cock, sucking it between her soft, full lips. 

Leaking precum, he grabbed the shaft of his cock and fed it to her, feeling her hot, wet mouth envelop him as she swallowed him.  He let her control the pace and she used her mouth like a vacuum, trying to suck the cum from his nuts.  There wasn’t much time for a blowjob, as sensual and as hot as it was, because Sylvia was encouraging him to go further.  “Fuck me, Kevin.  Pump your cock in me.  I want to feel you inside me.”

That’s just what he did.  Flipping her over, he positioned her on her knees.  He took another taste of her pussy from behind, teasing her delicious asshole with his tongue this time and getting ready for the ride of a lifetime.  He grabbed his cock and lined it up with her hole.  The heat was intense and he could feel the muscles of her pussy walls grabbing him before the head was even inside.  He held her hips and pushed forward, hearing her cry out.  Once completely inside, she looked back and said, “Fuck me, Kevin, fuck me.” And that’s just what he did. 

He pumped his engorged cock in and out of her wet, hot pussy.  He stroked and thrust and drove every single inch of his hard meat inside her.  She was going wild, chanting and moaning and begging for more.  Her full ass was wiggling and bouncing up and down and the wet sounds of sex filled the small room as he kept pounding her.  He was a man on a mission.  He was intent on satisfying this incredibly sexy woman but he wanted to pour himself into the passion that he’d been denying himself for so long.  He fucked her harder.  She moaned louder.  He could feel the cum in his nuts boiling up.  He looked down to see his white cock glistening with her juices as she cried out, “I’m cumming, oh shit, I’m cumming.” He couldn’t hold back any longer and he pulled out and shot his cum on her ass. 

They cuddled together until the late afternoon, waking and showering and doing it all over again.  Six months later, the couple was still going strong, Mombasa was doing quite well and Kevin was even happier and fulfilled in his job, having found the balance that made his life quite content.  Every day, at 3:00, he had a standing appointment to send Sylvia a text message letting her know that he was thinking about her and that she was his first priority. 

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK