Your Blue Eyes Ain’t Like Mine

I need to talk to white people for a minute.  I’m here to say that you have been fooled into a false sense of superiority.  Black people have been trying to emulate your looks since we were enslaved on the plantation.  We spend countless hours, dollars, and tears trying to alter ourselves, changing the way we are supposed to look in order to look more like you.   You think that we should think, act, and look like you in order to be considered attractive.  It seems you have established yourself as the standard of beauty and everyone else is supposed to bend, meld, and conform to what you look like in order to be considered attractive.  I’m here to tell you that I’m not a slave.  I’m free from the mental chains that tell me that your features, traits, and aesthetics are better than mine.  I’m not obsessed, intrigued, or captivated by the beauty standards of white people. 

I don’t covet or crave your flowing, straight hair; I simply don’t think it’s more attractive than my own.  I love my nappy, wooly, African hair.  I don’t have to have bouncy, shiny curls in order to feel beautiful and you can rest assured that  I have less than zero need to sew someone else’s hair in my head to try to emulate what grows out of your head.  I adore the hair that God has graced me with and I don’t think it’s bad, unmanageable, or ugly.   Long hair is more attractive on women, or so you say.  I say I can rock my hair short and feel confident, beautiful, and unapologetically Black.  No, my hair is not the color of the sun, it’s the color of the dark night sky, the color of the vast and infinite universe.  I think my hair is beautiful in its natural state that is nothing like yours.  It defies gravity.  Your hair can’t do that.  I don’t need to dye, lighten, or change my hair color to feel more attractive.  My black hair, my BLACK hair is gorgeous, just the way it is. 

I don’t have to alter my appearance to try to look like you because I’m comfortable in the skin I’m in.  Your light eyes are nice, for you, but I much prefer my own deep, dark soulful eyes.   I will never buy colored contacts because I think that your blue or green eyes are more attractive.   I don’t want or need to have children who are beige, I don’t want to see their hazel eyes reflected in mine because I honor and love the Black Africans who came before me, whose blood courses through my veins, not the slave masters who raped my ancestors.  If you know nothing else in life, if there is one thing you can be assured of when you take your last breath on this earth, you can know without question that I will never try to lighten my skin to look more like you.  My melanated, brown skin is perfection in my eyes.  My full lips and wide nose may be ugly to you, you may be repulsed by my thick facial features.  That’s okay with me.  I don’t think your thin lips and pointy noses are attractive.  If I pick up a magazine or turn on the TV, the media would have me believe that I’m obese if I’m over a size 6.  That’s fine . . . for you.  For me . . . not so much.  I’m blessed with a big, round ass and thick thighs and I that fits me just fine. 

You see, there shouldn’t be just one standard of beauty in this diverse, colorful world.  So while most Black people are trying to look like you, while they feel that they are more attractive the less African they look, I’m not burdened with that unhealthy and debilitating belief.  I can celebrate myself, my features, and my own inherent African beauty and be confident and secure.  I can hold my shoulders back and my head high.  I LOVE the skin I’m in. 

Copyright 2015 AfroerotiK

I Don’t Want to be Slapped

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

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

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

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

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

Scottie Lowe

Copyright 2015 All Rights Reserved

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White people expect us to behave like niggers

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

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