AfroerotiK

Sweet Spot

2012-01-25T22:34:00.002-05:00

Now THIS is Afro-erotic

2012-01-24T23:14:00.002-05:00

Not my image but she is working that fro.

Inside Me

2012-01-24T09:35:00.000-05:00

I Love

2012-01-23T22:58:00.001-05:00

I have an unnatural addiction to all things vanilla. That’s not a metaphor for white men, I just love the flavoring. I love vanilla scented candles, Good Hope Vanilla Tea, smelling vanilla extract straight from the bottle, I love vanilla. I love to juice mangoes and pineapple in the summer and drink it for breakfast it on my balcony. I love my best friend, even if she doesn't love me anymore. I love salads with avocado and black olives and home grown, organic tomatoes. I love salsa music with a passion and a dance partner who is taller than me when I’m in heels. I love going to a jazz club and sitting so close to the bass that I can feel the vibrations in my chest. I love cuddling on the sofa, spooning in bed, finding that perfect place on my lover's chest where I just fit, and waking up with him aroused and rubbing on my butt. I love listening to the piano being played solo, the first day of spring when I can wear sandals outside, the look of my feet in high heels with clear polish on my toes, taking a hot bath and feeling my body temperature rise, rubbing my head after I just got my hair cut, sucking on a newborn baby’s perfect little toes, herbal tea with honey, pumpkin seed chili, and pear cobbler from Lush Life Café. I love when I sweat and it's that slippery kind of sweat. I love my grandfather. I love that was a civil rights leader and taught me the importance of having integrity. I love that my grandmother gave me the love my mother never could. I love that I have had the opportunity to help two wonderful loved ones transition peacefully. I love raspberries, blueberries, cherries, and really juicy peaches and plums. I love the fact that I'm not average. I love organic gardening and making fresh pesto sauce from basil I grew on my porch. I love blasting my favorite song in the car over and over again and singing it at the top of my lungs. I love being in love and spoiling my partner and knowing that he appreciates it. I love Cafe 290 on Sunday nights and a decadent picnic basket with gourmet foods. I love throwing dinner parties for friends and using my cloth napkins. I love all my ex's for teaching me how to love and making me a better woman. I love Law & Order marathons when every episode has Jesse L. Martin, HGTV, documentaries about Black history, and Alvin Aliey’s Revelations make me cry every time I see it. I adore making love to men with the same skin color as me, when I don’t know where he begins and I end. I love writing a story and seeing the words come alive on the paper and realizing that I gave birth to transformative words. I love playing games online that stimulate my brain and learning the words to amazing songs in different languages I don’t speak. I love having my nipples sucked softly like a baby and the art of Woodrow Nash. I love drinking coffee with amaretto creamer at night before I go to bed. I love egg custard snow cones, unagi, learning things most people don’t know, women with thick, wooly, nappy afros and smooth dark skin. I love late night phone sex with men with poetic hearts and radical minds. I love the feeling of finishing a creative project, writing in my journal, chilled white wine, bone china, crisp, freshly laundered sheets, smoked salmon, making love in the candlelight, talking dirty during sex, white chocolate, dark chocolate, Stevie Wonder, I love telling people that Earth, Wing & Fire's September was written just for me because my birthday is the 21st night of September. I love Ledisi's Feeling Orange CD even though it costs an arm and a leg and is more rare than a split atom, musicals from the 60s and 70s, and meditation. I love conversation with deeply cerebral individuals who appreciate me for me and not my aesthetics and who don't judge me for my politics. I love when people tell me that something that I've written has helped them, healed them, moved them, aroused them, or given them a new way to think about things. I love wearing dresses and going out to dinner and knowing that I'm going to go home and make incredible, passionate, sensual, AfroerotiK love.

Where the Kisses are Hers, and Hers, and His

2012-01-23T08:45:00.003-05:00

Blue Black

2012-01-22T10:23:00.003-05:00

On the Tip of My Tongue

2012-01-22T10:02:00.002-05:00

Upside Down

2012-01-22T09:45:00.002-05:00

You said a Mouthful

2012-01-21T20:28:00.000-05:00

Ebony Janet Jacme Sucks Big Dick

2012-01-18T21:19:00.001-05:00

This porn video is brought to you by PORN.COM

On my quest to find Black porn that isn't degrading or offensive, I ran across this gem from what appears to be the 80s. While there are a host of things corny about it, it has some elements that should be explored. I don't know many women who are as nimble on toe shoes as Janet Jacme. That was impressive if nothing else.

The Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade was the WORST in Human History

2012-01-17T10:18:00.001-05:00

In the history of human beings onthe planet, there has never been such an atrocity as that of the Trans-Atlanticslave trade. In sheer numbers alone, it decimated the continent of Africa of itsstrong, child-bearing, healthy citizens. Think about the impact that had on thepeople left. SIXTY million Africans were stolen, not six million, not sixteenmillion, but SIXTY million Africans were kidnapped, slaughtered, left to die,murdered, and enslaved. There has been no other example of slavery BASED ONRACE that has destroyed a people's history, culture, identity, and religion.Slavery, based on race, does not have the same detrimental effects as slaverybased on class.

You CAN NOT objectify someone fortheir hair texture, facial features, skin color, or other inherent differencesif they are the same race as the enslaver. You can't inflict psychologicaldamage on someone because you tell them how inferior they are to you because oftheir skin color, eye color, or hair texture, if they look exactly like you.Additionally generational enslavement of Africans erased our history of self.No other enslaved people have had their history annihilated by enslavement,certainly not to the extent of Africans who were enslaved and theirdescendents. Every other enslaved people have been able to keep their names,their religion, their sense of who they are, they've been able to pass onstories that belong to them and them alone about their history prior toenslavement.

So with all that being said,there is no other example of enslavement that exists in Earth's history thateven comes close to the horrors of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. Sure, therehave been horrific examples of human atrocities against one another, but noneshare the collective of circumstances that make up the horrors of Africans whowere enslaved. What the Natives endured as the hands of heinous white people isunspeakable and horrific, but they were not transported 1000s of miles fromtheir homeland, they were not forced to assume different identities andrelinquish the stories of their past. They still have the traditions and ritesof passage that existed long before hateful white men every landed on theseshores. Sure, a lot were lost, and it's tragic to be sure but it's not the samecultural annihilation as Africans who were enslaved.

Jews were enslaved for sevenyears. Their Holocaust was horrible but it was not generational. Jews were notborn in concentration camps, never to have known freedom a day in their lives,they were not socialized from birth to believe themselves inferior. After theirordeal, they retained their names, their sense of belonging in the world, theirGod, their art, their songs, their traditions. Jews have an identity thatbelongs to them from the beginning of time (or so they rather arrogantly claim)but slaves born in this country have NO such history to hold on to.

If you steal a person's identity,their sense of belonging in the universe, if you take their traditions andpractices and force yours upon them, you have destroyed the very thing thatmakes human beings have an identity. I REPEAT, NO OTHER FORM OF SLAVERY HASDONE THAT TO ANY OTHER PEOPLE. We do not have a language we can speak, we were forcedto adopt a God who did not look like us, who we had no relationship to otherthan that which the slave master gave us. The long term effects of that makethe Trans-Atlantic slave trade exponentially worse than any other example ofslavery in the history of the world.

So, all you people who say thatthe Trans-Atlantic slave trade was not the worse in history, ask yourself thesequestions: Were the people kidnapped and transported to another country wherethey did not speak the language, where they did not share the same history orculture, where they could be readily identified by their physicalcharacteristics? Were they able to secretly practice their religion, recitetales of their history to their children? Were they forced to take on differentnames, worship a different God, to the point that the have NO clue whatreligion or history they possessed prior to enslavement. Was their enslavementgenerational, meaning were they born into a system of slavery that wasdehumanizing and race based that taught their children, infants, babies, andtoddlers from birth to death, that they were inferior simply because of theircolor. If a person were to escape in another form of slavery, would they beable to integrate into society seamlessly, create a new identity and fit inwithout being recognized? Ask yourself if ALL of those conditions exist in anyother form of slavery. Ask yourself about the sheer numbers. Ask if the numbersof people kidnapped and enslaved would leave nothing but the sick and theelderly and the very small children in villages to survive, what impact thathad on them.

So in closing, I'll state again,that no matter how hard arrogant white men want to insist that theTrans-Atlantic slave trade was not the worst example of slavery in history, theyare WRONG. It is their need to deny the horrors of the Trans-Atlantic slavetrade that is racist and ignorant. IF the slave trade wasn't in fact ashorrible as I claim, descendents of slaves wouldn't be at the bottom of thesocio-economic ladder, we wouldn't be incarcerated in outrageous percentages,we wouldn't be as psychologically damaged as we are. Those who want to claimthat the Irish had it just as bad simply can't because the evidence is notthere to substantiate it. If their treatment had been as bad, they would besuffering in the same ways that African Americans now suffer. They are not a betterpeople, able to endure more hardships, they are not more resilient orinherently superior to African Americans and able to rebound and excel becausethey are smarter, have more integrity, etc. It’s because they are white and they can fit in without being denigratedfor their hair and skin. Their treatmentwasn't as bad thus their ability to rebound is much easier. They were notdenigrated for their stringy hair and pale, pink skin, flat butts, and littledicks that looked exactly like that of their enslavers; they were not singledout because they worshiped a God their captors didn't understand.

Africans who were enslaved werenot truly inferior, as racist white men would have you believe. We are notinherently criminal, we are not genetically predetermined to be lazy or stupid.Those are all things that were the cumulative effects of our enslavement. Wewere socialized to believe ourselves to be inferior and yet we still exceldespite being subjected to the worst example of slavery in the history of theplanet.

Scottie Lowe 2012

Experimenting

2012-01-12T21:55:00.001-05:00

I thought I would try another look and feel. You know, you needn't be afraid of giving me feedback. I'd like to know which one you like the best, what you don't like, etc. I wish I had some actual video footage to show you but, that, as my grandmother used to say, would be too much like right.

A Little Different

2012-01-12T18:16:00.000-05:00

I think I like this one better.

Coming Valentine's Day 2012

2012-01-12T08:55:00.000-05:00

2.5 yr old, young scientist knows Physics and Chemistry

2012-01-11T21:23:00.000-05:00

This is what ALL of our children of capable of when we finally decide to take back our minds, our spirits, and our destinies.

An open letter to the people who hate Obama more than they love America

2012-01-09T18:44:00.000-05:00

An open letter to the people who hate Obama more than they love America

Disturbing Image

2012-01-09T13:37:00.002-05:00

I think what is most disturbing about this image for me is the fact that white men will be whipping their little cocks to a frenzy looking at this image and not more than a handful of Black men will even find her attractive.

My Rage is Justified

2012-01-08T20:38:00.002-05:00

Day afterday, white people arrogantly accuse me of being unjustifiably “angry”, ofperpetuating racism and hatred by speaking the truth. To them, and all those who would have thenerve to negate my experience and diminish my plight, I say, “Fuck you.” I say so unapologetically. I have no compassion or empathy for yourignorance and arrogance.

Black Bondage Submissive

2012-01-06T00:11:00.000-05:00

This is NOT my image. I repeat, this is NOT an AfroerotiK image. I thought I would post it because I know that I don't give nearly enough energy to submissive Black women and their needs. I thought it was a really well-done image. (It should also be noted that I have these exact same shoes and they are soooooo incredibly uncomfortable that it's insane. Cute, but comfortable . . . not so much.) Sorry, I don't have any sort of story or snipet or excerpt to post with the image. I just can't perpetuate the oppression of women of African descent. I acknowledge your right to have submissive fantasies and act them out in any way you see fit but I can't bring myself to eroticize Black women being objects. We have so little power as is, I can't, in good consciousness perpetuate or facilitate our domination. For those that like this particular genre, ENJOY.

Kurt Elling "Golden Lady" (Stevie Wonder) @ New Morning (Paris)

2012-01-04T15:40:00.000-05:00

My Prophetic Abilities

2012-01-04T07:10:00.000-05:00

http://afroerotik.blogspot.com/2006/01/color-blind.html

They say the power of creation is in the word. In the last few months, I've gone back in the AfroerotiK archives and read stories I've written years ago. It's FREAKISH how many fictional stories have manifested as actual events and people in my life. This is the third story that I've gone back to discover elements, names, and situations that have actually occured in my life. Now, I'm getting a little scared and I have to go back and read more. I am a Black female academic who is going blind who has a Puerto Rican ex named Tim (who looks white) and who is a liar (Mentira in Spanish) and misrepresented himself as something other than what he was from day one.

http://afroerotik.blogspot.com/2005/12/long-distance-love.html?zx=a7dfef62b985cb0a

In the story Long Distance Love, not only were the names, characters, locations, and fantasies exactly the same, the only thing different was that I was a character in my own story. I met a man named Chris who lived in the Midwest who traveled extensively for work and he was dating a woman named he'd met who was the manager of a hotel that almost exactly mirrors how the characters met in the story. It was our challenge in real life to try to figure out how our long distance relationship would work with me in Atlanta and infusing elements of domination and submission into an otherwise loving relationship. Tiny little details of the story rung true that astounded me considering I haven't read the story in years.

Let's all send up a little prayer that my story Twenty Four Hours (http://www.literotica.com/s/twenty-four-hours-4) comes true in the very near future. Of the dozens of stories I've written, it's the one story I wrote specifically for me, about me, about my desires and fantasies.

The Opportunity to Love

2012-01-01T12:55:00.001-05:00

The end of the year always ushersin the opportunity to reflect on the past year and optimistically dream a newworld into reality. I can say with unwaveringconviction that 2011 gave me the most incredible opportunity a person can everhave. I had the opportunity tolove. I was able to share my heartintimately with another human being. Thereis no greater gift. In 2011, I had thechance to feel connected, to feel that someone, somewhere thought aboutme. I was able to pamper, cater to,nurture, and care for someone else. I’mincredibly blessed for that experience. Loveis what we’re here on this planet for. Each and every time we get a chance to share of ourselves, to be open,to connect, it is nothing less than miraculous.

On this day one year ago, I wasaching with betrayal and pain from someone who hurt me terribly. Less than 24 hours later, I met the man thatdried my tears, made me smile, aroused me, and eventually became my lover. And while it’s true that he didn’t love me inreturn, I am no less rewarded for MY opportunity to love him. I’m thankful that I had the chance to expressmy love. Bottled up inside me, unable tobe expressed, my love is suffocated and stagnated. My spirit soars with the opportunity to give love,show love, and to become love.

On the threshold of a new year Idesire to love and be loved. I desire apartner who revels in being partnered with me, who sees me as a treasure, whochallenges me to be a better woman, who stimulates my mind, body, and soul withhis character, integrity, honor, sincerity, and above all, his love. I invite a lover who is my intellectual,spiritual, social, cultural, mental, emotional, sexual equal who is availableto love and be loved. I create thisreality with my intention, with the belief that I am, in fact, deserving ofhaving a partner with integrity, who has dealt with his issues and is workingon himself and sees in me something to be treasured and adored. I draw this person to me by being my mostauthentic self, by honoring that I am profoundly lovable, by accepting andunderstanding just how special and unique I am and not settling for someone whois not my equal. I invite, real, true,deep, abiding love into my life.

And so it is.

A Sensu-Soul Sneak Peek

2011-12-28T03:05:00.000-05:00

Intimacy Deprivation

2011-12-27T20:40:00.002-05:00

A friend of mine told me theother night that he suffered from a condition called skin hunger. I was reminded of him telling me that yearspreviously and it resonated with me then but it’s just something that I haven’thad in my conscious mind for a long time. Skin hunger is a term used to describe basically a lack of humancontact. Other than the same shortarticle reposted on several sites, http://everything2.com/user/arianne/writeups/Skin+hungerthere really wasn’t much information on the condition. I need to find out the effects of adultsgoing without touch. I’m convinced thatI suffer from the effects of skin hunger and I suspect a great deal of what’swrong with our society is because of an epidemic of skin hunger on a very largescale.

I’ll summarize the article foryou. Essentially it says that babies, theelderly, and monkeys suffer without human contact and that they thrive, arebetter adjusted, less aggressive, and overall just do well with touch. It also says that adults probably, more thanlikely, maybe in some vague, abstract, undocumented, unscientificallyresearched way do also. It says that technology,the media, and disconnected lifestyles have led us down a path where we nolonger touch. It doesn’t discuss theresults of adults going without touch and it only offers massage therapy as asolution.

I’m here to say that goingwithout touch for extended periods of time is detrimental to our physical,spiritual, and social identities. Isuspect it’s a vicious cycle. We don’tget touch which in turn means we feel isolated, which means we recoil insolitude where we don’t get touch. Goingwithout touch hinders your interpersonal skills, leaves you feeling isolatedand lonely, it just isn’t natural to go without human contact. This society tells us that human contact isbad, sinful, wrong. We discouragechildren from touching because we think it means they are going to besexual. I think we need to explore theeffects of going without touch in greater depth and I think it needs to becalled something else other than skin hunger. Intimacy deprivation is what it is, going without connection, beingdeprived of that which makes us flourish.

I’m single, have been for fourmonths now. Other than an accidentalbump into someone at Wal-mart and a few hugs from friends, I’ve gone withoutany human contact whatsoever. I crave tobe held, touched, caressed, and to snuggle. I know for a fact that my heart feels better when I can just lay my headon a man’s chest, I feel lighter, less burdened. I used to babysit for a little boy and we hugged,kissed, and touched all day. At naptime, he would say, “Scottie, you rock me to sleep,” and I would hold him in myarms and gently rock him until he couldn’t fight the sandman any more. I remember what I felt like for that year andI have tried to get that sensation back. I’ve tried to figure out what it was about that time in my life thatmade me so much more enthusiastic about life and serene and I’m convinced itwas because I was getting so much touch. I’ve often said that I flourish in relationships, that I just functionmore optimally in with a boyfriend. Itmakes sense. If your heart rate, yourvital organs need touch, and you have someone with whom you can share a bed,even if it’s not every night, it just makes perfect sense that people aresupposed to be partnered, that it’s genetically wired into us to have thatconnection.

I know in the past when I’velamented about feeling lonely and depressed and longing and aching for intimacywith a partner, people come out of the woodworks to tell me that I should findhappiness being alone, that I need to work on myself. They basically suggest that I’m some sort of whiny,insufferable wretch who is complaining for the sake of complaining and that Ijust need to suck it up and put on a happy face. But just as babies fail to thrive withouttouch, as do the elderly, I know in my heart that human beings of every agesuffer from lack of human touch. I thinkof the number of Black woman who are alone and who say, “All I need is Jesus,”and they go without human touch for years. I think about how trapped they are in behaviors that are detrimental andhow it’s accepted as normal. They feelthe longing for human contact and they go out and have sex with someone andthen deny it because it goes against their religious beliefs when clearly Godcreated us to need touch for our human survival. I think about how Black men are socialized tonot touch, feel, to seek anything other than sex. They are getting their touch needs filled bybeing promiscuous because they have never been taught to snuggle or hold handsor hug. We don’t teach our children totouch in a healthy way so they go out and have sex. Baby strollers and playpens and all the stuffof an advanced age has created a nation of aggressive, unbalance, unhealthypeople and we are cutting ourselves off from one another even more.

I’m sitting here, alone, with noprospects of touching or being touched any time soon and I have to say it feelslike a death sentence. I don’t even liveclose enough to someone whom I can say, “Hey, come spend the night with me andlet’s just touch.” I’m going to work onthat in 2012. I’m going to throwAfroerotiK cuddle parties, I’m going to develop friendship with people I cantouch and be intimate with. I’m going tomake intimacy and touch a priority in my life.

Tell me what you think

2011-12-24T19:39:00.005-05:00

For Immediate Release (Just trying to get some feedback for the actual release

African-American sexuality is about to be seen in an entirely NEW light

Action: Two beautiful people aresnuggled on the sofa, sharing in each other’s time, space, dreams, andlove. They vibe off each other, theycomplement each other, they desire each other. What makes this scene different is that the man and woman are gracedwith the kisses of warm, rich hues of ebony upon their skin. It was their ancestors who survived thehorrific Middle Passage, shackled and chained like livestock, whose sweat,blood, and tears moistened the soil that made this nation what it is, and whosurvived dehumanizing slavery so that their descendents could live and thriveand love. And love they do, but it’s nota rushed, clichéd formulaic love, it’s tender, purposed, sensual, and it’ssoulful. It’s Sensu-Soul.

Captured in beautiful high-defclarity and stunning visual imagery, rarely seen in adult offerings, Sensu-Soulis the groundbreaking, erotic feature that explores Black love, in a way thatis sure to set your libido on fire. Playthe role of voyeur as you watch some of the most passionate, titillating,intimate, and romantic love-making ever witnessed. This is the love of true Gods and Goddesses,of Kings and Queens, of brothas and sistas. Be forewarned, Sensu-Soul is not softcore. This is hot, sweaty, fevered passion that canonly come as the result of the most purposed, skillful seduction.

Every Black woman will be unableto take her eyes off this video, entranced by the attention, affection, andoutrageous tenderness lavished upon someone who looks just like them, with fulllips and round hips and brown skin. Every Black man will use this video to learn the techniques ofseduction, romance, and how to please a woman. People of all races will be aroused and stimulated by the pure, raw,uninhibited sensuality of two exquisite specimens of brown beauty displayingpassion like artisans of sensuality. Unlikemost Black adult videos, in Sensu-Soul there is no use of the word bitch, ho,freak, ghetto, pimps, playaz, and especially not the N word. There is no slapping, choking, gagging, nodegrading facials, no booty shots, and no cheap motel room. Sensu-Soul is pure,sophisticated, Ebony erotica.

For additional information or asample copy, Contact: Contact: ScottieLowe, AfroerotiK, Telephone Number, fantasies@afroerotik.com,http://www.AfroerotiK.com

From the first OFFICIAL AfroerotiK Video

2011-12-18T23:37:00.000-05:00

Psychologists Explain 911 Denial

2011-12-07T23:00:00.000-05:00

This is a fascinating video but I think it's very relevant to the discussion of white submissive males I have been trying to have. White people in this country are the most sheltered, the most arrogant and it would seem that this cognitive dissonance applies to their fetishsizing of race and how they compartmentalize their fantasies. Black people in this country have never had the luxury of feeling secure so it stands to reason that we are not as thrown off by concepts that "rock our reality." I'm not going to go further right now unless I get a significant comment from someone other than Scott.

My Twin Flame

2011-12-07T13:17:00.001-05:00

Dearkindred spirit, my divine right partner,

I am writing these words to you without even knowing yourname. So sure am I that you are my otherhalf, the yin to my yang, that I have no fear that our destinies have broughtus to this very place and time. I knewyou in a remote village in Africa when we made love under the stars withoutcare. You kept me alive when we wereshackled and dying, in the bowels of a slave ship with just your eyes tocomfort me. I nursed you back to healthfrom wounds that the slave master inflicted because you were too defiant, toostrong. Our souls have been black for avery long time. I have been your mother,your father, you daughter and your son. I have been your sister and your brother, you lover and your enemy. I have known you as both my husband and mywife. Now is our time to be those thingsto one another again.

Wehave come to each other, fragmented parts of a whole, to be reunited as amanifestation of the One Most High. Wehave been chosen to give voice to a shift in consciousness. We have been gifted with a vision that seemsa curse without one another. Come to me,my beloved, so that we might unite and fulfill our souls’ mission. Separately, we are ineffectual. Together we can give birth to Gods andGoddesses.

Icome to you today, flawed and damaged, far from perfection. This journey has taken a toll on mybeing. Share you dreams with me as wefight to restore a holistic and spiritual paradigm. Read poetry to me until the wee hours of themorning. Hold me in your arms so thatyour heartbeat serenades my soul. Allowme to love you from the very depths of my being with a love that transcendsdefinition. Dear lover, I come to youempty and alone. I have no fear, noshame in my plea. You can see past myflaws and insecurities to the visionary and prophetic wisdom that is waiting tobe born inside me. Impregnate me withyour inspiration, your serenity, your love.

Fearnot, my love. These are not theramblings of the insane. You have beentortured with dreams that seem unobtainable at times. You dream of penetrating you lover for thevery first time with the knowledge that you will never be with another womanagain. You dream of nursing from yourwife at the same time as she feeds your baby. You dream of raising a family at the foothills of Kilimanjaro withnothing but an organic garden and Divine Love to feed you. These are my dreams as well.

IAM putting the universe on notice that I AM open, ready and receptive toreceive my divine right partner, my twin flame, right now. I invite you into my life to embark upon ajourney like none other.

Withall my heart and all my love,

The Culture of Rape

2011-12-06T18:15:00.001-05:00

The abuse of women’s bodies, ourspirits, is so accepted, so ingrained in our society that rape isn’t even seenas anything abnormal. Black women’sbodies especially are seen as objects to be used and abused by men. We’re supposed to take it, like it even. If we as a culture, society, and communitydon’t do something to stop this NOW it will be the end of us.

Fate is a mother fucker. I get into an argument on Facebook today, onsomeone else’s page mind you, and someone else, an “innocent bystander” as itwere, starts fanning the flames, trying to provoke the disagreement. The instigator sends me a friendrequest. I accept, not thinking anythingabout it more than he’s someone who likes what I have to say. He sends me a private message, asking me if Iused to live in the apartments in downtown Atlanta. In that first few seconds, I couldn’t imaginehow he would know me like that. I didn’treally think anything about it, but I didn’t panic or anything, I justresponded, “How do you know me?” Heresponded by saying, “You probably don’t remember me. We met in the summer of ‘99. You took me to your apartment. Wow, smallworld. LMBAO.”

My home is sacred to me. I’m very cautious of the people I invite intomy home. When he said, “You took me toyour apartment,” I think I knew who it was before I even went to his profile. At this point, time is moving in slowmotion. Going to his page, pulling uphis pictures, opening the albums that show his face . . . everything is taking lightyears. Sure enough, it was the face ofthe man who raped me, whose name I hadn’t previously known. Jason Mass is his name as it turns out. I confront him. I say that I do in fact remember him, that youare the man who raped me.

He wasn’t even a man at the time,he was 19 or 20. I was in my earlythirties. I was not attracted to him in the least even though I shouldn’t evenhave to mention that fact. We met atAtlanta’s Underground Mall outside the Haagen Dazs store. I saw him there a few times. I’m guessing he was a student at GeorgiaState. He could have just been hangingout there, I don’t know. I didn’t reallyinquire too much, he was far too young for me and I was not at all interestedin him. I was nice to him; we might haveeven had lunch in the food court once. I’mnot sure.

One day, he asked me to come tomy apartment. I told him no. He kept asking, saying he just wanted to hangout with me. I told him that we couldhang out in the club room of my apartment building but that we couldn’t go tomy apartment. We watched TV for a whileand I told him that I was not interested in him, he was far too young forme. He wasn’t my type at all. He said that didn’t matter, he just wanted tohang out with me, he wanted to see what sort of music I listened to, he said hethought he could learn from me. Hewouldn’t take no for an answer and I really thought I had made myself clearthat I wasn’t interested in him.

Finally, I told him that we couldgo to my apartment to check out my music. I didn’t own a TV at the time so I had a super duper extensive musiccollection. I honestly believed he sawme as a mentor or semi-mother figure. There was nothing remotely sexual or romantic between us and I thoughthe was a harmless kid. We went to myapartment and he was impressed by the Black art, all the books; I wasn’t a kidand I wasn’t ghetto so he probably hadn’t been exposed to very many homes thatwere like mine. I showed him my balconyand that’s when things started to go terribly wrong. We came back inside and he started to try tokiss me, grab me, hold me. I startedpushing him away. He took out hisdick. I remember it so clearly, like amovie in my head. It was almost like hewas in a trance. He was stroking it,telling me, “I love my big dick, I’m in love with my big dick. I have such a big dick, don’t I?” It was likehe was hypnotized by his own penis. I told him to get out, I was trying to makeit to the front door and he pulled me to the floor and we fought. We fought and fought and fought. We fought until I couldn’t fight anymore. I cried out, I said no, stop,NO. We fought until I had no more strengthin my body. I lay there, in tears, whilehe raped me, unable to fight any more.

So, here I am, on Facebook, and I’vejust accepted a friend request from the man who raped me. I’ve written about him before, years ago, inmy efforts to reclaim my own personal power. I didn’t know his name but I would identify him whenever I spoke of theinstance when men have violated me. Iconfront him, in my haze of confusion, anger, and disbelief. I say, “You raped me.”

He responds by saying, “Rape? Don’t say that. It didn’t go down like that. We didn’t even get a chance to finish becauseyou said stop.”

Finish? Finish? Perhaps he wanted a second or third time to rape me but I most certainlyhad finished. I informed him that we hadfought, that I didn’t want him, that I said no, and he had raped me. At that point, he gets an attitude with me,like I’ve offended him, saying, “Are u fuckin' kiddin' me?! om fuckin' g!!!” At this point, I’m scrambling to block himbefore I explode in anger and outrage.

This wasn’t my first time to meetup with him. The first time was asFunkJazzKafe, one of Atlanta’s premiere music events, a few years later. We were both going in the backstage door in adark, not heavily traffic parking lot. He said something to the effect of, “You probably don’t remember me but. . .” I turned around and looked at himand I knew him immediately. I think Isaid, “You’re the guy who raped me,” but I’m not sure. I got so scared I just turned around and ranaway, shaking and crying and terrified. The second time, I had my hands full of groceries and I was coming homeand he was coming out of my neighbor’s apartment two doors down. It was all I could do to open the door andget inside and I was terrified. He tookmy sense of safety. He took my sense ofpeace in the world. He took somethingfrom me that was no his to take. Hestole a piece of my soul. He’s walkingaround, not a care in the world, no remorse, no guilt, seemingly noconsciousness at all that he RAPED me. Ithink I knew that if I ever did have a chance to meet him again, he would denyit but I didn’t think he would send me a friend request, like I was going to behappy to talk about old times. There’ssomething delusional about a person who doesn’t even realize the hurt that they’vecaused.

I can’t describe to a man thefear that consumes you when you come face to face with your rapist and you knowhe could do it again. Most men willnever know that sensation. He feltjustified in violating my body. He felthe had a right to take it without my permission. We fought. Not a tussle, not slap and grab, but I’m yelling NO and pushing andkicking and trying to punch and bite and do anything I can to get away andsomehow, in his head, he thought that was foreplay. He somehow interpreted that as perfectlyacceptable to force himself inside me as long as it felt good to him.

This god damn obsession societyhas with dick size, specifically black men’s dick size, is breedingrapists. Objectifying women and thiswillingness to see us as things to be used by men, for men’s pleasure is manufacturingrapists. Mothers raising their sons notto take responsibility for their actions is creating a nation of rapists. Fathers teaching their sons to measure theirmanhood by the number of women they fuck is Rape 101. This shit has to stop. IT HAS TO STOP. I don’t want another black girl to endurewhat I did. I don’t want another blackwoman to know the sort of fear I felt. Thereis a culture of rape that let him think that without any foreplay, romance, noattraction whatsoever, that he had the go ahead to force himself on me and thatI would like it.

I’m going to speak truth topower. I’m going to continue to addressthe pathologies of this diseased and sick society that treats women like thingsto be used and thrown away. Don’t feelsorry for me and tell me how you wish you could take the pain away. Do something. Confront men when they talk about women like things. Confront the men you know are rapists, makethem admit what they did. Don’t wasteyour empathy on me, I’m going to be okay.

I nurse my broken heart with the truth

2011-12-06T10:06:00.001-05:00

I take no comfort in delusions and deceptions. There is soothing, healing energy in thetruth. You see, the truth doesn’t alwayscome in neat, pretty packages, it’s messy and dirty and ugly at times but italways brings peace. Don’t tell me sweetlies because you think I’m going to feel better, or to boost my ego. That’s not what I want or need. Don’t hide the truth in vague illusions or cloudedimpressions meant to juuuuuust skirt the edges of veracity. I don’t need that. I need, demand, and require the absolute,nothing but, whole, unadulterated, so help you God, plain truth for myhealing.

In order for me to grow, in order for me to be a betterwoman, I need the truth. Without it, I’mnot equipped with all the facts, and without the facts, I can’t make the rightchoices, decisions, and the requisite analysis essential for my healing. Did you cheat onme? OK, I need to know that in order tofigure out what I did to manifest someone who didn’t honor his commitment tome. Did you love her? Without the truth, I can’t ascertain if ourconnection was real or if you were just an asshole all along. Did you ever really love me? If the answer is no, I can use thatinformation to assess what I need to do in my next relationship in order to getthe love that I deserve. Your lies don’thelp me, the hinder and impede my growth. Your lies don’t make me feel better, they frustrate and infuriate me,they keep me tied to false evidence appearing real and ignorance.

Speak the words of truth to power, your empowerment andmine. Give me the dignity that can onlycome with knowing, REALLY knowing all the elements that were at play. I’m not going to fall apart at thetruth. That doesn’t mean I might not behurt but it’s a hurt I can survive. Whathurts more than the truth is knowing that you don’t respect me enough to behonest with me. If you really ever hadfeelings for me, however remote, then tell me the truth. If you never cared at all, why do you give arat’s ass if you tell me the truth or not? Telling the truth might not feel so good to you because it might forceyou to examine your actions, your integrity, your character but ultimately, atthe end of the day, your heart will feel unburdened when you come from a placeof honesty and candor.

I am pathologically honest. I tell the truth when I’m scared of the outcome and each and every time,I’m shocked at how healing it is for both myself and the person who needs to hearit. I want to give closure; I want themto be able to know that I gave the gift of honesty. I tell myself the truth. I’m a better person every time I tell the truth. A lot of people say they want the truth andthey want to hear what makes them feel good. “Yes, I think you’re pretty.” If you slept withme and you thought I was “repulsive” and the only reason you did it was becauseyou wanted a hole to pump, I sure as hell need to know that in order to protectmy heart and my body from other abusive, manipulative partners. Idon’t need to live in a world where I’m lulled into complacency with lies.

We live in a society where it’s easy to lie. We create TV shows and games and reward thebest liars. Lying is so commonplace, soexpected, that we lie more than we tell the truth. We lie about big things, we lie about littlethings, we lie so much we’ve forgotten how to be honest. We lie to ourselves, convincing ourselvesthat if we tell this lie, this one little tiny half-truth, it’s really for thebest. We lie to those around us becausewe want something they’ve got and lying is the only way to get it. A two-year old little girl taught me how totell the truth. Her mother told her anoutrageous lie, thinking she was doing her a favor. When she learned the truth, she didn’t cryand scream and throw a tantrum, she laid her little head on my lap and said shewas sad. From that moment on, I knewthat I had to learn to live in the light of truth and I’ve never regretteddoing so for a moment.

A Full-Course Meal

2011-12-05T20:49:00.001-05:00

I struggle with finding suitablepartners, ones to whom I attracted, who meet my criteria, and who appreciatewhat I bring to the table. I’m mostassuredly, unquestionably sapiosexual; I’ve yet to meet the man who is too intellectualfor me, so finding someone who stimulates me mentally (notice I didn’t saychallenges me mentally, I ABHOR verbal sparring with my partner) isessential. That eliminates quite a fewmen from my potential dating pool. I’vedated men who were smart, I’ve dated men who were intelligent, I’ve even datedthose who were not particularly bright, but nothing compares to dating anacademic and an intellectual in my book. I don’t need to date Einstein (although, if he came in the body of a6’3” brotha, I would not kick him out of bed) but I mos def need a manwho thinks outside the box, who sees things beyond black and white, who haschallenged the status quo. I’m tall, I’moutspoken, I wear my hair short and natural, and I’m AfroerotiK, so thatintimidates a lot of men. Bam, my datingpool just got infinitely smaller. I’mconvinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt in fact, that there is a man out therewho will find me attractive, whom I find attractive, who meets my criteria (Iwill not settle for anything less than a Black man who is HONEST, a man of integrity, socially and politically liberal, andemotionally mature) AND who appreciates all that I have to offer.

I am the real deal. If I have to say so myself, I’m quite thepackage, or as applies in this metaphor, I bring a lot to the table. First and foremost, my table is set with finechina, linens, crystal and sterling silver cutlery. I’m far from ghetto. I’m not average, mediocre, or typical. I’m sophisticated, worldly, traveled,well-read, educated and I come from a family of professional, intellectuals,and activists. I carry myself like aqueen because I am descended from royalty. I don’t do drugs, I’ve never engaged in any illegal activity, I don’tassociate with riff raff, degenerates, or those prone to drama. The table itself is reflective offive-star dining. This ain’t no take out joint or chain restaurant.

What’s on the menu? Well let’s start out with the appetizer. How about a woman who is mentally stable, agreat communicator, pathologically honest, of above average intellect,creative, talented, and independent? I’mnot at all superficial or materialistic; I’m extremely grounded and down toearth. I’m loyal, a great friend, andtrustworthy. I’m a great cook and verydomestic but a phenomenal entrepreneurto boot. I’m socially conscious and empathetic and very much an advocate forthe oppressed.

Is that enough to whet yourappetite? Well for the main course we havea woman who has a HUGE heart and who is unbelievably loving. Caring, affectionate, romantic, and thoughtfulare all words that accurately describe how I behave in a relationship. Do you like gifts and surprises for noreason? Perhaps you like a woman who isspontaneous and adventurous? That’sme. I will be supportive, I will helpyou fulfill your dreams, I will take excellent care of you when you’re sick, andbe your biggest cheerleader. I won’tgive up on the relationship; I’ll work hard at it to make it happy andsatisfying for both of us. Compromise ismy middle name and I’m never so arrogant as not to admit when I’m wrong.

And for dessert . . . ahhhhh . .. dessert is the sweetest, most mouth-watering treat imaginable. My sex is like whoa. I do not give my body away indiscriminately;I’m very selective with my partners so if you get to taste this rare delicacy,consider yourself lucky. Once you getit, once you get my juicy, hot, sticky, sweet, wet love it is all yours, and noone else’s. I am a fanatic about keepingthe fires burning in a relationship and seduction is an art form I’vemastered. My passion burns hot and Ilove to express it all the time. Intimacyis my drug of choice and I’m addicted to it. Prepare yourself for a night of extended foreplay, beautifullove-making, and finished off with sweaty, loud, primal fucking over and over and over again.

What’s the cost of this sumptuousmeal? Your commitment to me and the relationship,your complete honesty, and your love. Nota very high price to pay for such an exquisite meal.

Stevie Wonder + Prince Superstition live in Paris 2010

2011-12-03T18:36:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure how much the tickets to this cost but I think I would have had to sell a kidney to go to the concert.

Eye-opening to say the least

2011-12-03T15:03:00.001-05:00

I thought I would and should publish the follow up comments from the gentleman after he read my piece about submissive white men. It really concerns me that the only comments being made about this topic are coming from the insane submissive white guy whose name I'm not allowed to mention. White women, I would love to hear your comments. Black women and men, please don't stay quiet. There is mass dysfunction here and it needs to be addressed. Remaining silent is not the solution. I know sex is a messy, unpleasant subject and talking about white men's sexuality is unpopular and fraught with decades of complications and social stigmas but I'm begging you to participate in the discussion.

Date	Tue, November 29, 2011 - 2:11 AM
Subject	Re: Black female superior

Thank you for responding. I do appreciate it very much. Any insite you can provide me is welcome. I would still like to hear more about your personal opinions, I am curious what turns you on. You obviously have an inate interest in sex that goes beyond your personal pleasures. I imagine your interest in this particular topic goes beyond your duties as moderator of a "tribe."

I dont know if you care but I will tell you alittle bit about myself and maybe shed some light on the topic. I am, by definition bi-sexual. Only because I do have, and happen to enjoy, sex with women from time to time. However at an early age I had a preference for men. After I became comfortable with that, I realised more specifically I enjoyed being the 'bottom.' During this time it wasnt necessary to always be the bottom but that was my preference. Also during this time I had sex with several black guys and their race wasnt much more than a after thought. even in these instances it mattered little who assumed the submissive role. I hardly thought about it beyond the desire to have sex with another man. Now, let me get one thing out of the way, long before any of this I found I had a particular attraction to black women. I said that I do enjoy sex with women occassionally. This includes all varieties of woman but, for a white guy, I had more than a passing attraction to black girls.

As I aged and grew more comfortable with my desires I learned that I really liked being the 'bottom.' More and more I began to enjoy being very effeminate when in the intimate company of other men. Back around 2003 or 2004 I began to explore my effeminate side by reaching out to other fems in particular online. At first it start as nurturing my feminine side with some accessories like panties or a wig and lipstick. Soon it became more elaborate with lingerie and womens shoes ( OMG! How I love womens shoes!) Various role playing with me being the schoolgirl or the nurse or the cheerleader all became a part of it and was just as enjoyable as the sex itself. Then around 2006 I found a yahoo group called "Black Men Turning White Boys into Girls." WOW!!! What a mind fuck THAT turned out to be. It was like watching a train wreck yet I was oddly drawn to it. Further I was pleased to see how many members the group had. So my eyes were opened to a fetish that really appealed to me: men transforming into women for Dom tops. Which is what I had been doing anyway. Now there was this whole black/white dynamic that I wasnt sure what to make out of it but I was pretty sure that I liked it.

With that I began to explore the world of the black bull and the white sissy. I enjoyed it...ALOT! I never have seen beyond the sexual act of it though. Although for role playing I do like to play up the master/servant relationship. I have never found slavery or BDSM to be arousing nor do I find cuckolding or castration to be turn-ons either. I dont know why they just seem too extreme for me. I like to show up, meet with a black guy or guys, let them all know that I am the slut in the room, walk into the bathroom and come out dressed as the white girl of their choice and get down to the seriously, deleriously good time of being beat up by black dick. I DO have standards I like well built guys who are of a decent age who are clean and drug free (for the most part anyway).

For some odd reason I have developed at least three other fetishes that relate to this sexual dynamic. One, I like seeing real white girls fucking black guys, Two I like to meet real white girls who date black guys exclusivley and tell them about my own desires ( I dont know why but for some reason it appeals to my inner teenage girl, once that topic is exhauseted the conversation turns awkward and ends on a lame note, you can only say "I like black guys, Yeah me too! Black guys are hot! I know what you mean! I feel the same way!" so many times before the convo runs its course) Of course it is all role playing for me. I have found that I like to be treated the way black guys are often portrayed as treating women. I like being refered to as a ho or a bitch. I like hearing things like "damn bitch you got a fat ass" while Im sucking dick.

So that brings me to where I am today. It comes full circle, my early admiration fro black girls and my new found feminine side mixed with the image of pop/hip-hop culture/rap music and the way black men are portrayed as treating black women...it all adds up to my third newfound fetish. I now find myself emulating the black woman during my sexual escapades. Wearing wigs that are styled like black womens hair, wearing stereotypical clothes of a black girl, apple bottom and babbyphat and the footwear (the shoes! the shoes!) This is the latest barrier I have discovered about myself and I love it too. This is not always so easily accepted and often requires several encounters to test the waters. In many ways I am only emulating alot of the white girls who date black guys and therefore adopt these fashions. Who knows where it will go from here, but much like my first experiences with cross dressing I still find the dressing and role playing just as fun as the sex itself. I would probably be just as happy spending the day shopping for clothes and doing hair and make-up with a black girl as I would spending the night with a black dude balls deep in my ass....Well, probably not but you get the idea.

India - Ese Hombre

2011-12-02T20:17:00.000-05:00

On a Leash

2011-11-28T19:28:00.001-05:00

Midnight Tango

2011-11-28T13:32:00.001-05:00

Wefit together perfectly, our bodies like pieces in a sensual puzzle. The drumbeat pulsed like the blood coursingthrough our veins. The Afro-Cubanrhythms heard only in our heads were genetically encoded in our DNA. We moved together like two well-choreographeddancers; our dance was of romance, intimacy and erotic expression.

Submissive White Men: A Decade Later

2011-11-26T03:44:00.001-05:00

I’ve been putting off writingthis follow-up piece to WhiteMale Submission for almost a year now. My love/hate relationship with submissive white men on any given day istempered by how many cups of Roobois tea I’ve had to keep me calm, exactly howeffective I think I’ve been in communicating to them another way to look attheir 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’mnot fond of the arrogance, lack of empathy, compassion, or concern many of themhave for anyone with different experiences than they, or the sheltered, andunjustly privileged existence they lead that allows them to think that theworld revolves around their fantasies, and how they manage to think that I owethem my time and attention.

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

It didn’t take very long tofigure out the patterns of submissive white men. Everyone told the same story; there wasn’tmuch deviation in their fantasies. For awhile there I thought I was chatting with the same person because the storiessounded so similar and their lamentations so identical. Like I said in my previous article, theyusually fell into one of three categories: cuckolds, practitioners in femalesupremacy, and bisexual submissives. I’mgoing to suggest that the categories have remained essentially the same butthey have grown, morphed into some sort of amalgamation of white malesubmission where the lines are blurred and the identities aren’t nearly soneatly defined any more. Cuckolds havebecome sissies, female supremacists have become black supremacists, andbisexual submissives have become depraved, perverse, degenerates and everyonehas 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 goodold-fashioned pain pigs. The sheernumbers of white submissive men is incomprehensible to me but I can tell youthat they are an outrageously large percentage of the population and stillgrowing it seems.

What do submissive white menfantasize about? You don’t even want toknow.

Who is the typical submissivewhite male? Look around you and you willsee one. They are blue collar, whitecollar, single, married, educated, degreed, high-school drop outs, middlemanagement cogs, entrepreneurs, law enforcement, those under the law, jocks,nerds, run-of-the-mill Joes, Republican and Democrat and even Tea Partiers, Americanand European, rich, poor, short, tall, fat, skinny, straight, gay, and in thecloset bisexual, muscular, 98 pound weaklings, young and old, ugly andattractive, and the guy next door. Thevery 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 bea slut for black cock or a toilet for a group of Black women. The very person you say is too (fill in theblank) 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 whoidentify as Dominants in the BDSM world send me messages that say, “I’m a Domto white women but I secretly dream of being sub to a Black woman, would youtrain me?” Am I suggesting that everywhite man is submissive? By all meansno. I am suggesting that every type ofwhite man is. There is no type. While their behaviors and words are eerilysimilar, they come from every different background conceivable.

Are white women equally asmotivated 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 whitewomen I call sisters are reflective of the majority of white women? As much as I would like to believe that, Iknow in my heart that is not the case. Ido know that there are legions of white women who identify as sluts for Blackcock, Black only whores, and those who are sexually aroused by the concept ofgetting “bred Black.” I know there areinterracial cuckold sites galore with white women who are being joined by theirsubmissive white husbands in their worship and adoration of the mythical big,black cock. White women are not inclinedto seek out my advice or counsel so I have no ideas of their numbers orpathologies. I can say that Black womenare not nearly as motivated dominate as white men are to submit. I can say that Black men are FAR less likelyto be interested in dominating white males than they are white females. Perhaps because white women have so many outletsfor 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 ofthe drives and motivations of white women, submissive or not, is limited. If the number of interracial porn sites onthe internet is any indication, I would say that the numbers must equal orsurpass those of submissive white men.

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

A great many submissive white menare suffering from some form of mental illness. I’m sure it stems from the fact that they compartmentalize theirsexuality so much, being sluts for black cock, servants, and open admirers ofBlack beauty in front of their computer screens and telling racist jokes infront of their friends and coworkers and never really working to dissolve themselvesof the racist mindsets all white people have inherited in this country. It’s not enough to just say, “My parents didn’traise me to be racist.” Your parentsmight not have but society certainly did. To divorce yourself from the racist mindsets that lurk behind everyfacet of society, white people have to do real hard work. Work that most of them don’t want to do oreven acknowledge. They have beensocialized to believe that white men are superior for 30, 40, or 50 years ormore of their lives and behind closed doors, they crave degradation,humiliation, they want to do unspeakable things to and for Black people andthat fucks with their sense of security, their identity. This “white guilt” they have for beingprivileged fucks with their heads. Theywant to be punished for their whiteness. Why? I have no idea. But the fact that their lives are thesefractured, Add to that a great many submissive white men STILL think that theyare the only white male on the planet with their fantasies. Overwhelmingly, submissive white men cannotconceive of another white man craving to do what they dream of doing, to theextent they crave it, regardless of how many websites they join, how manypictures they look at, videos they masturbate to, or how many stories theyread. If I had a million dollars to burn, I wouldbet every penny that the white police officers involved in the Skip Gatesfiasco and the hoards of white men who rallied in their behalf have volumes ofinterracial porn on their hard drives and a bajillion interracial porn sites intheir browser history. Why can I say thatwith such conviction? That’s how theirdisconnect manifests itself, their lust for Black sexuality behind doors, theirinsistence that they are the ONLY white men with such fantasies has to come outin public as, “I hate Blacks and I’m not going to let them get away with beinguppity, 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 Blacksexuality. It’s true. There is some force, greater than gravity,greater than centrifugal force and atomic power that is making white men wantto behave in such unspeakable ways. Notonly that, but I alone have a magic crystal ball or some sort of magical powersthat can explain this strange phenomenon so it makes sense to them. I know it must be true because on a dailybasis, white men come to me, telling me that they are amazed that I understandthe mind of the submissive white man so well (as if it’s really difficult and I’vecracked some sort of secret and ancient code) and they ask me to tell them whythey have such submissive inclinations. Idon’t care how many times I’ve said that I don’t have a fucking clue as to whythere are so many submissive white men, the only answer that they are preparedto hear is that there is some cosmicforce making them have these sorts of fantasies. In fact, quite a few submissive white men arequite intent on telling me that there is some Divine motivation behind theirfantasies. It seems they NEED to believe that their fantasies are beyond theircontrol because to admit that they find Black women more attractive than theblond-haired, blue-eyed, size 2 model of the week, to admit that they arebisexual and attracted to Black men, is a reality they can’t comprehend. For it to make sense to them, ordinarilyrational, logical white men start ascribing some sort of spiritual/karmic powerto blame for their interracial desires. Idon’t think I’m going out on a limb to suggest that until white men starttaking responsibility for their desires, owning them, not trying to assert thattheir lust for Black flesh is because of some alignment of the stars, they willforever be dysfunctional.

On more than a few occasions, Iget letters of admiration from individuals, praising me with my keen insight onrace and pledging their undying devotion to the Black race and our superiorsexuality, offering to do ANYTHING disgusting they can think of and when Idon’t respond the way they want, I get vicious attacks, denigrating not onlymyself but the entire black race. They call me sick and racist and tell me Ineed help. If I ignore them or don’tplay their game, then all Black men are illiterate criminals who just want tofuck white women and make babies. AfterObama was elected, the 180 degree switch from singing my praises to hating mewould inevitably include some reference to how stupid he really is, how he hasdestroyed the country, how his wife is a monkey, and how undeserving he is ofthe office of the Commander in Chief because, of course, he was only electedbecause “the Blacks” voted for him. Leta few months pass and those same individuals will be on the AfroerotiKbandwagon again, proclaiming to me privately that my stories touch them in waysno other story has ever done and that I am a Nubian Goddess worthy of only thehighest praise. The flip flop from oneextreme to the other is never accompanied by an apology or acknowledgment oftheir wrong doing. No, that, as mygrandmother used to say, would be too much like right. They don’t feel they have to apologize fortheir racist rants or childish behavior because to them, I am nothing more thanan imaginary figure in their fantasies. I’m not a real person who demands the basic tenets of commoncourtesy.

I maintain profiles on most ofthe major Femdom or BDSM related sites. Almosthourly, I will get some sort of correspondence from a submissive pouring outhis little heart to me, telling me how he has dedicated his life to serving theBlack race. When I go to his profile,there is NOTHING there that indicates this devotion and all of his friends arewhite women or other white submissive men. When I inquire as to why that is, they usuallydismiss my concerns by saying that they have another profile, just forBlacks. It seems white men don’t evenwant other submissive white men to know that they are submissive toBlacks. That’s denial to the secondpower times delusion.

On the rare occasion when someonesends me correspondence that’s literate and engaging, sometimes just plainsweet, there are times when I’m moved to take the conversations offline. Sometimes the conversations are sexual innature, at times, they are not. In everyinstance, I reveal myself to be exactly who I am, a complex, intellectual,multi-faceted woman. I’m not a characterin my stories, calling them whitey and demanding that they suck a big blackdick for me. I’m not the sassy blackDomme demanding that they refer to me as Mistress and pay tributes or bark likea dog. I’m the same person I am when Italk to my friends, bill collectors, and men who are romantically interested inme. Those men who are most invested inthe concept of whiteness, meaning those who are the richest, who havebenefitted the most by having a penis and pink skin, those who are the mostdistanced from any sort of Black peer are the ones who will make plans to meetand NEVER contact me again. They willnot text, email, or call to cancel. Theywill not respond to text, email, phone call, instant message, carrier pigeon orsmoke signal from me. As oneparticularly introspective white male sub explained it to me in relation tothis particular phenomenon, “I can be attracted to the idea of a high dive offof a cliff. When it comes to do the dive I can become fearful because the cliffis not the idealized cliff of my fantasy but a real cliff. Unless I can dealwith real cliffs I will be unable to make my dive.” I’m not sure if other Black Dommes deal withthis particular issue to the same extent as I do or not. I represent the most dangerous cliff they’veever encountered and a dive that puts their reality in danger. I’m cool with them if I’m just a screen nameon a computer screen but to think that an actual person, a human being, asentient, complex woman is out there and who can get inside their heads withsuch ease is a leap they aren’t willing to take.

White men tell me daily, “OhMistress, I believe in all that you believe.” When I ask them what exactly it is that they think I believe, nine timesout of ten they will respond by telling me that I’m a believer in Black andfemale supremacy. Never, not once in allmy writings, not in one single erotic story, article, essay, status update, ortweet have I said, intimated, hinted, or implied that I believe in Black orfemale supremacy. I have said that I amBlack, female, and outrageously superior but I do not ascribe the trait ofsuperiority to everyone of my gender or race. I do believe that indigenous Africans were questionably physicallystronger and morally superior simply because the form of slavery they practicedwas not dehumanizing. It’s a hardargument for white people to make that they were superior with the knowledgethat they treated African life, human life, like it was less than that of ananimal’s. But after two hundred andfifty years of enslavement, another hundred of racism and institutional racism,brainwashing by a set of morals and beliefs that are antithetical to Africanpsychological health, and there is no way we can still be consideredcollectively superior. Some of us, bythe grace of God, have slipped through the cracks and have proven that evenwhen 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 beensystematically kept from us? I do, butthere will need to be such a shift in consciousness, such a transition to awhole new way of thinking, that the possibility remains so remote and obscureas 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 Ifeel about the concept of Black and/or Female Supremacy, it’s like it goes inone ear and out the other for the white submissive male. He hears what he wants to hear, he interpretsit in a way that fits his worldview.

I write stories of interracialdomination not because I have a great stake in it emotionally but because Irecognize the tremendous opportunity I have at my fingertips to educate andenlighten. I asked the question recentlyof my white submissive followers and fans, what they liked most about my stories. Almost without exception, they all lavished thesame extensive praise about what a great writer I am. “You paint such a vivid picture,” I can seeevery detail in my mind,” “You know the mind of the submissive male sowell.” ONE individual, one out ofseveral dozen responses suggested that it was my unapologetic examination ofrace that made my stories so good. Thatshows how much in denial and delusional white men continue to be about theirown sexuality.

My stories are about race. My stories examine race from the firstparagraph, often times, the very first sentence. “Scott Clair hated his whiteness. He wasn’t able to articulate it exactly inthat way; he claimed to be coming to terms with his submissive nature and hisoverwhelming desire to serve the Black race.” “Did she have a hidden agenda? Washer desire to dominate white men driven by some racial hatred or need to seekrevenge for her enslaved ancestors?” “For most white people, their knee-jerk,conditioned response at the mere mention of the word reparations is to scream, ‘Myfamily never owned any slaves. I’m not paying any reparations! YouBlacks need to just get over it, slavery was in the past, let it go forChrist’s sake.’” Not to acknowledge that my stories are setapart from everyone else’s because of the way I handle race is denial of thehighest order. White writers arestereotypical and one dimensional in their portrayal of Black characters intheir tales of interracial domination. Eventhe best white writer doesn’t make their Black characters anything more than atool for a white person to get off on their fantasy. Their grammar, sentence structure, and storydevelopment 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 makethe Black characters colorless with the exception of throwing around the N wordand the black male always has a big, black cock. In the worst case scenario, which sadly isthe case more often than not, the Black characters are a replication of thevery same ghetto dwelling, Ebonic-speaking, lust-driven savage who craves whiteflesh.

I write interracial domination stories for white men to getan ugly picture of themselves. I writeinterracial domination stories because every once in a while, a white man willwrite to me and express that he has been humbled and that he is learning to seeBlack people in a different light. I writehardcore, explicit tales of Black people dominating white men because I knowthat if I arouse them with the erotica, if I push their buttons and stimulatetheir desires, that they will explore more, they will follow me and read myother works, see the pictures, they will be forced to see Black people in adifferent light. No, I don’t back downoff the subject matters that most people are repulsed by. I write about heavy scat play, and barebackgangbangs, and make reference to bestiality not because I find any of thosesubjects particularly arousing, but because the number of white men who sharetheir fantasies with me on a daily basis about those subjects is staggering.

For submissive white men, severalthings have remained consistent. Theirsubmission is still largely sexual. Forthem it is about what gives them sexual pleasure, what arouses and stimulatestheir libidos. They SAY that theirsubmission is more than sexual, they claim that it’s not about them, that it’sabout 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 perceivethemselves as being degraded and humiliated in acts that aren’t sexual, likehousework and holding a door, or giving up their seat to a Black person on thetrain that means that they no longer have any racist beliefs and that they aresomehow exempt from taking any action to rectify their unearned privilege insociety. The vast majority of submissivewhite men still refuse to accept that they have any unearned privilege andthose who do aren’t willing to do anything more than give lip service to theidea that they might actually have to take a stand socially or politically forracial equality. Most are content tosay, “I voted for Obama” whether they did or not, and call it a day.

Letter from a white man

2011-11-21T06:11:00.001-05:00

I received this email correspondence just minutes ago. I asked permission to share it and heagreed. I get correspondence from whitemen like this on a daily basis, multiple times a day. Most are married, many are not. They all seem to espouse the exact samesentiments, almost word for word. Ithink we as Black people do ourselves a disservice not to address andacknowledge 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 itis very erotic.

I guess I need the phenomena explained to me by a member of the superior raceand in particular a black woman as intelligent as you. It has become obviousthat not only black men but black women are superior to white men. This is notthe mystery but why is it that it has manifested itself sexually and why somuch in the past 6 or 7 years? At first as a bisexual I had fantasies of havingsex with men and women, occasionally a black man or black woman. However overtime I have increasingly become attracted to black men. Even though this usedto be a source of embarrassment and frustration it was also completelyconsuming. In addition I used to act disgusted by seeing so many white womenwith black men, but the truth was I was jealous of those white girls for beingable to openly pursue black men. Now, years
into my transformation into a sissy slave, I have desires to not only submitsexually to black men but serve black women and assume a completely femininerole.

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

Is it our fate to become women, much like white women, to be used by the blackman for sex but to never actually achieve respect? Or do we (white men)secretly desire to be somehow transformed into black women ourselves. That waywe have some measure of respect as we know we cannot compete with the blackman. 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 learnfrom my true masters.

My Romantic Resume

2011-11-21T05:17:00.001-05:00

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'mMiss Non-confrontational and Pleasant to be Around. Most menwant a woman who is sweet. Sweet is forbunnies 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 andI won’t cater to a man’s inflated ego. I'm childlike in my awe of thingsthat 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 MsRadical 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 workto dismantle the fallacy of male domination and white supremacy with my words anddeeds.  If you don't like the idea of me saying that (white) men have unfairprivileges in this society, I'm not the one for you.

I'm Ms.AfroerotiK. I write personalized, customized erotic stories for aliving. My life is dedicated to showing African Americans in a healthysexual light and dismantling the stereotypes of Black women being ghettohoochies and Black men being thugs and pimps. I write stories about allfacets of Black and interracial sexuality, including individuals in the GBLTcommunity, giving them a voice and an outlet to feel validation andrespect. I'm more open minded about sex than the vast majority of thepopulation. That being said, I'm not physically sexual with anyone unlessI'm in a relationship with them so while I can discuss any kink, fetish, orfantasy under the sun, while I can be as brutally forthcoming and open inmy discussions of the specifics of what I like, I’m not going to have sex withanyone unless I am 100% positive that they are committed to me for more than myphysicality.

I'm Ms.Flexible who can adapt to most situations and not afraid to decline an offer ifit 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 mindreader, I’m not pulling any punches.

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

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

I’m Ms. NoPressure. I don’t want a ring, I am notplanning on how to get you to marry me, I’m not looking for you to spend everyminute of your time with me. I just wantcompanionship, intimacy, and connection. Anything more than that is a bonus.

I’m Ms. LowMaintenance. I'm considered attractiveby 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 needsomeone to remind me that I am a woman in my lonely existence, that I do havevalue more than my aesthetics. I want amale friend with whom I can express my fears, doubts, and insecurities withoutbeing labeled damaged or imperfect. I’dlove a male voice to tell me goodnight and someone with whom I can share thedetails of my day. I’d like to thinkthat I could make life’s journey a little less daunting as I’d like to hopethat you might be able to do for me. Notmany men would be open to a woman like me but nothing ventured is nothinggained for sure, right?

Peace andmany blessings,

Ms. Tryingto stay sane in this crazy mixed-up world.

Wishing You a Peaceful Journey

2011-11-19T15:13:00.001-05:00

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

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

After many (many) years oflusting after you, loving you, and longing for you to find me, I gave up myhopes of our spiritual, divine connection. I realized that I was nothing more than just another star-struck fanwith childish fantasies. Today, I nolonger have delusions about our destined love affair but I still have love foryou in my heart. I still hold a placefor you as a man I once loved in my imagination. You made loved to me, we built a lifetogether as divinely connected partners. I celebrate you and all that you’ve accomplished, for all that you areand who I think you are. Peace andblessings my dear brotha and all my love.

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

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

I had the opportunity to speak tohim on the phone once. He was a guest onArsenio Hall and I had seen the show enough to know that guests of the showstayed at the Hotel Nikko. Well, Ipicked up the phone and I called. I lefta message on the hotel voicemail that was as AfroerotiK as it could getconsidering it was a full ten years ago before AfroerotiK was even a tinythought in my consciousness. I praisedhim for his insight and spirit. Ipoetically penned something, I have no idea what, that was flattering yettruthful. I told him that I wasinfatuated 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, justsomeone who appreciated and respected his work. We fell into a comfortable groove and we clicked. In my perhaps deluded memory, we spoke freelyand comfortably like lovers would. And at the most inopportune moment, my roommatepicked up the phone and interrupted the call, yelling at me that he had a veryimportant phone call to make. I washumiliated and I apologized for the interruption and Dwight said he would callme back. He never did. I sort of knew he wouldn't but there was alsoa part of me that knew that we would meet again and that we would experiencethat connection again in real life.

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

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

My Revolution

2011-11-19T10:26:00.001-05:00

In Loving Color

2011-11-18T13:54:00.001-05:00

I thought I would give you guys a little something in color since I've been so focused on b&w images for a while now. Sort of reminds me of the colors of the old AfroerotiK site.

True Ebony Queen(ing)

2011-11-18T10:00:00.001-05:00

Tell me THIS is not AfroerotiK!

2011-11-15T13:30:00.001-05:00

A Question for my white male sumbissive followers

2011-11-14T10:58:00.001-05:00

I have a question for my loyal submissive white male readers and fans. What is it about my writing that you appreciate the most? What is it that appeals to you about my stories? What sets it apart from other interracial domination stories?

I need specific examples of what draws you back to read AfroerotiK stories. What makes you seek out arousal from my stories?

Please provide detailed feedback.

Tag Team Back Again

2011-11-11T21:10:00.001-05:00

My man and I are a threat to be reckoned with. I’m a cruel psychological Domme that loves tohumiliate and degrade and he’s a sadistic Dom that loves to administer a littlebit of pain with his weapon of mass destruction. He’s got 10 inches of thick, hard man meatthat is waiting to be sucked and he loves to ram tight white asscunts.

Take your breath away

2011-11-11T09:20:00.001-05:00

Good Doggie

2011-11-10T19:59:00.001-05:00

Lipsticks and Studs

2011-11-09T22:19:00.001-05:00

I’m THAT Ex

2011-11-08T05:38:00.002-05:00

He wants to remain friends with all his ex’s, maintain some presence in their lives, have them to call on to boost his ego when he needs a fix, or a late night jerk to a familiar voice. All of his ex’s are on speed dial, a moment away and accessible at all times. From his insane ex wife who is cuckoo for mother fucking cocoa puffs, to the cheating, adulterous whores who have had illicit affairs with him, even the casual fucks he never cared about. From college to the present day, he stays connected to the women in his past as a measure of what a great guy he thinks he is. Yeah, he has a need to remain friends with all of his past lovers . . . except me.

You see, I’m that ex that reminds him of who he really is. I’m the ex that illustrates to him that he was nothing more than a deceptive and manipulative self-centered asshole. I’m the ex that he wants nothing to do with because when he thinks about me, he realizes that he was never good enough for me. I’m the ex with integrity, class, sophistication, and morals who should have never given him the time of day and who wants to be reminded that they are inherently inadequate? No, it’s easier to remain friends with the women with low self-esteem who want to be slapped around and called names in bed, with the women who will cheat on their husbands and who will sleep with married men. It’s much easier to remain friends with women who have no standards and who want to degraded and humiliated. I demanded to be respected, honored, cherished, and loved. Who wants to be friends with an ex like that?

I’m that ex he wants to forget he ever met. I’m the ex who represented the healthiest relationship he could have ever hoped to have had. I was the one who was the most compatible, the most honest, the most nurturing and loving, and the one who made him a better man. But like attracts like so he gravitates back to the trash in his past. I’m the ex he can’t mention to the women he’s fucking now because he can’t face the fact that he was such a failure in a relationship that had so much potential. I’m the ex who he erased completely out of his life to make room for another woman that he lies to and manipulates with ease. I’m the ex he doesn’t give a fat rat’s ass about, with no concern for my health, well-being, or safety because I’m not even a distant memory to him. To think about me and what we shared would be tantamount to admitting to himself that he was a pathological liar and emotionally immature. So, I get no text messages or emails, no sexy voicemails, no affectionate calls saying, “Hey, remember when . . .” Every trace of me is gone from his life. The emails, the saved voicemails, the toiletries I left at his house. There’s a new woman there now, filling my space, sleeping on my side of the bed with NO clue that I was ever there, that I was ever a prominent figure in his life. When he tells the tales of past loves, he skips over the part about loving me.

Yeah, I’m THAT ex he will one day regret losing. Not today, but one day, he will see that his life is an empty shell filled with shallow women and no real love. One day, he will think back to the time we spent together and he will mourn the loss of a transcendent love that he completely destroyed. He will ask himself why he sabotaged the one relationship in his life that held the most potential to make him ultimately the most happy. He will close his eyes at night and miss my touch, long for my body to be wrapped around his, to know the unconditional love that he felt with me. He’ll suppress those memories and feelings and fill his life with whatever woman he’s sexing and who has fallen for his seductive charms but the memories of me will linger just under the surface. Of one thing I am absolutely sure, he will NEVER know another love like mine and ultimately, that will haunt him all the days of his life.

Copyright 2011 Scottie Lowe

Hang in there with me!

2011-11-07T08:10:00.002-05:00

I know I've been neglecting my blog as of late. I've been so completely busy working on getting the new AfroerotiK website up and running. I have a vision for it and I'm working around the clock to make it better than the last website. It's almost done. Soon, you will be able to interact in the forums and discussions that made AfroerotiK famous. Soon, you'll have access to some of the most amazing images and stories Black erotica has ever seen. YES, soon, you'll be able to send those hot e-cards again as well. A few more days. Just hand in there with me.