AfroerotiK

Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Showing posts with label black. Show all posts
Showing posts with label black. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 09, 2014

Show and Tell




The instructions were quite simple.  Write one paragraph describing your lover and the unique passion you have for them.  When faced with that challenge, lots of people choose to just chicken out.  Just the thought of expressing their emotions is uncomfortable for a great many individuals, especially if they’ve never thought too much about them before and especially if they have to write them down and share their feelings with the world.  Others, convinced that the challenge is easy, approach the task with an unsophisticated, cliché effort.  This particular challenge was neither about Hallmark poetry nor vulgarity.  In order to accomplish this task, one has to be articulate, sincere, introspective, and in touch with their sensuality.  Roger Gilford was all those things.  

Ellen Ward, the lovely lady who was the object of Roger’s affection and desire stared at her phone, mildly amused and a bit confused at the cryptic, midday text she got from her lover.  “Babe, we won!” 
            “That’s wonderful, sweetie.  What exactly did we win,” she responded?  In all of his excitement, Roger had left out a few key details in his text.  Actually, he’d left out all the details.  He had entered them into a contest on www.AfroerotiK.com for an all expenses paid trip to the beautiful island of Turks and Caicos for the first annual AfroerotiK Sensuality and Intimacy Retreat and his entry was the winner.  Wanting it to be a surprise, he had kept the secret, not sure of their chances and wanting it to be a total surprise on the slim chance that they actually won.  He picked up the phone and called her to fill her in on all the details.  There was just too much to share via text.  

“There is but one Ebony Goddess who completes me.  I can merely gaze upon her naked, sleeping form and I’m humbled by her beauty, grace, and splendor.  Her gentle breathing is like music to my ears knowing that it was my sex that allowed her to drift off to such a heavenly, peaceful slumber.  I know without a doubt that I was created for her and her for me.  Her gentle touch strokes me to hardness, her mouth envelops me and the softness of her lips paints pleasure on my hard shaft like I’ve never known before.  The soft, round curve of her chocolate ass is the perfect pillow for me to lay my weary head.  In fact, her ass holds my gaze captive as she walks away from me and my heart aches until I know I will see her face again, the distance between us only fueling our passion for one another.  Her hard nipples are like magnets for my mouth.  It is most certainly her sweet, hot, wet, tight center, that place between her legs, which enslaves me and holds me captive.  Her taste drives me insane with lust.  It is her slippery, sticky, sweet juices that intoxicate me.  She is my divine right partner and it is most decidedly her delicious sex, soft and inviting, that surrounds me, envelops me and I can’t help but release my very essence into the depths of her soul.  

Roger held his breath.  He had never spoken the words he had written about Ellen aloud before and he waited anxiously for some response from her on the other end of the phone.  Words stuck in her throat.  Actually, tears formed in her eyes.  She was beyond speechless that the man she loved so desperately, so completely would actually say anything like that, let alone tell the world that’s how he felt about her.  The fact that those words had won a trip for them to an island paradise was secondary to the pure joy and love she felt at him sharing his prose with her.  

Everything was set.  Roger and Ellen were to fly to Miami with a short layover and head off to the beautiful resort of Amanyara on the island of Providenciales in Turks and Caicos in the British West Indies.  The entire five day, four night trip was to be an experience in sensuality.  Fourteen other couples were going to be in attendance as well.  It was a clothing-optional weekend for swingers, exhibitionists, and couples who were looking to reignite the fires of passion in their lives.  

From the minute they stepped foot on the island, they were in awe of the vibration of sensuality that seemed to permeate the very air.  Everything seemed sexy: the food, the warm ocean water, the scents, and the sounds; everything seemed to be pulsating with eroticism.  The white, warm sand beaches and tropical, balmy breezes were certainly a stark contrast to the dreary winter weather of New Hampshire and represented the perfect getaway for the couple.  The villa they were staying in was nothing less than remarkable.  It was like something out of a dream.  While they had their own bedroom, they shared the villa with four other couples who were all attractive and sexy and looking to create some remarkable sensual memories themselves.  There were chefs on hand to make gourmet meals night and day, a masseuse was on there at the mere snap of the fingers to rub away any tension or stress one might possibly have, and workshops, if you could call them that, were scheduled around the clock for couples to explore oral sex, mutual masturbation, techniques on tantric yoga, and multi-orgasmic sex.  More than workshops, they were opportunities for couples to have wild, uninhibited, fantastic sex in full view of anyone who wanted to watch.  The sexual tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.  Everywhere you looked, there were brown couples, comfortable with their sexuality, exploring each other in deliciously AfroerotiK ways.  

Roger and Ellen were certainly to be included in those ranks.  They didn’t let too many opportunities to express their love and passion for one another in front of others go by.  Because the villas were so secluded on the island, they could have sex virtually anywhere their little hearts desired.  There were infinity pools, cabanas, and gorgeous white beaches all far from the prying eyes of people uncomfortable with open displays of sensuality.  There was a freedom there, an openness that was more liberating that just going to a swing club.  At breakfast, Roger thought nothing of laying Ellen down on some pillows and placing exotic fruit all over her body and eating it off seductively while others got into the scene and started pairing off and employing some of the same techniques.  

At night, there was no reason to close a bedroom door.  If they were having sex, anyone could come in and watch and float in and out at will.  Everywhere you turned, people were having sex.  Couples stopped to watch and before anyone knew what was going on, it would inspire others to start making love right then and there.  Everyone was comfortable exploring without fear or shame.  Sharing wasn’t a requirement but it was certainly frowned upon either.  And because AfroerotiK promotes such openness, gender wasn’t really an issue when it came to experiencing the sensuality of the retreat.  Women were free to explore with other women as well as men experimenting and exploring with other men without guilt, shame, or fear.  Partners could swap and invite others to join them with the full knowledge that all that mattered was pleasure, sensuality, and fun. 

The final evening of the retreat had a blow-out bash planned.  The lilting rhythms of reggae and salsa music filled the air.  Congas pounded out a driving, sensual beat in the background.  The aromas of amazing food filled the air and fruity drinks with incredibly strong, dark rum flowed freely.  Everyone was dressed in their sexiest Caribbean attire; the ladies more revealing, the men casual yet chic.  Ellen’s pussy had not stopped throbbing with anticipation and lust for the entire four days they had been there and she was even more aroused on their final night.  She had been constantly wet and aroused and Roger had been moments away from a full erection at any given moment.   Tents had been erected on the beach with billowing white sheer curtains flowing in the moonlit night air.  Round beds with satin sheets and down-filled pillows in luxurious colors of red, gold, saffron, and amber were placed strategically around.  The stage was set for some serious fucking.

Everyone danced and ate and drank and socialized until the tension was at a frenzied high.  Finally, needing to break the ice and get the real party started, Roger led Ellen to the very middle of the tent, the full moon lighting their way.  Turning her back to him, he began kissing his way down her neck, causing her to throw her head back and revel in the sensations.  His hands found her breasts and cupped and massaged them through the sensual material of her dress.  He undid the ties that held up her top and exposed her.  The entire crowd circled around them, watching breathlessly.  He began massaging her nipples and stroking and gently pulling them.  The watching eyes of others, witnessing their love and passion was enough to set Ellen on fire.  She slid out of her dress and climbed seductively onto the bed.  Others gathered around.  

Roger slowly, methodically undid the buttons on his shirt and let his pants fall to the ground and stepped out of them.  He positioned himself between her legs and decided to make a feast of her punany.  Pushing her legs back, he softly licked and sucked her clit exactly the way she liked it.  Ellen grabbed the back of his head and held him there.  She thrashed about on the bed, being sure to let everyone know just how much pleasure she was getting.  If exhibitionism is about showing off your sexuality, Roger and Ellen were about taking it to the next level and telling everyone that came close, with their words and their bodies, that theirs was a connection born in love, not just lust.  That was their thrill.  They wanted others to see how into each other they were.  It was their gift to their onlookers.  It was not just about showing off, it was about sharing the beauty of their love-making.  And make love they did. 

Roger licked, fingered, and sucked until his sweet lady love was ready to explode.  Flooding his mouth with her divine nectar she pulled him to her and they shared her sweetness in a kiss.  She decided to take matters into her own hands.  Repositioning herself, she climbed on top him and started licking and kissing her way down his body.  Settling down comfortably, she took his hardness in her mouth and used her mouth, tongue and lips to sensually drive him to the very edge of explosion.  Her hands never stopped exploring his body, caressing his fine, brown frame.  He never stopped telling her how good it felt, what he wanted to do to her.  

Glancing around, Ellen made eye contact with a few of the other couples.  They were staring in wonderment and in awe.  Some had already gone off to the other beds and started their own explorations into hedonism and pleasure but a few of the couples stayed to watch Roger and Ellen to the end.  They climbed on the bed, they wanted to be close, to smell the smells and be a part of the experience.  Turning around and climbing on top of her man, she placed Roger’s dick at her core and descended.  He grabbed her hips and she placed her hands on his chocolate thighs and they collided together.  Rise and fall, she rode the wave of pleasure that filled her.  Her juices were evident on his shaft and they glistened in the light.  Her moans were louder, more urgent.  She wanted to make him cum and cum hard.  

Flipping her over, Roger pushed her legs back and began his masterful, skilled approach.  He pumped his length and thickness inside her, painting her punany with pleasure.  He drove in deeper, harder.  She pulled him closer.  Her legs wrapped around him tighter.  Everyone was fucking now.  In that moment, Ellen remembered the words that landed them there, the winning words she had memorized.  It is most decidedly her delicious sex, soft and inviting, that surrounds me, envelops me and I can’t help but release my very essence into the depths of her soul.”  Hearing those words in her head, she surrendered to the feelings of ecstasy and pleasure.  Roger was not far behind.  He drove himself into her, deeper and harder still, needing her to cum and navigating his own orgasm to time it with hers.  Their mouths met.  Their breath became one.  Their bodies collided with erotic purpose and they yielded to the intensity of satisfaction shared only by two, witnessed by many.  It was a magical trip, both literally and figuratively, for the lovers who luxuriated in the magic of showing off their sexuality and expressing their love.  

Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved 

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

The Bisexual Male Primer for the Black Community





The Black community never ceases to amaze me with the lengths they will go to in order to perpetuate homophobia.  Black men have to be masculine.  Not just masculine, they have to be hyper-masculine, a warped manifestation of part criminal, part abuser, part dictator in order to be considered a real man.  They have to control and command and lead the household and make all the decisions and make all the money and they have to have big dicks or the Black sexuality police will deem them gay and less than a real man.  They have to wear the right sneakers and their jeans have to be saggin’ or they will be considered girly and undeserving of the title of Black man.   Wait, their jeans can’t sag too much or that will mean that it’s some sort of secret prison sign of being gay, a homosexual beacon calling out to find those other disgusting gays.  OK, so there’s a fine line of how much your jeans can sag but you can rest assured that Black people will be able to tell you where that line is and anyone who doesn’t have the appropriate amount of heterosexual jean sag is a fag. 

The only problem is that the tightness of one’s jeans doesn’t indicate a person’s sexual preference.  The color of a man’s shirt doesn’t indicate his sexual preference.  The timber and bass of his voice doesn’t indicate his sexual preference either.  How articulate a brotha is or isn’t has nothing whatsoever to do with his sexuality.  I hate to break it to you but none of the absurd and asinine gay indicators that Black people (and Black women are the worst with your supposed gaydar so I’m calling you out specifically) use to identify gay men are valid and all they do is perpetuate a bigoted and uninformed mentality that perpetuates misogyny, sexism, and men hiding their sexual preferences, desires, and curiosities in further continuance of lying, denying, and stupidity. 

You want to know what does indicate a man’s sexual preference?  Nothing.  Not a damn thing.  Because we are so sexually immature, we don’t understand the difference between gender identity and gender roles.  But we have swallowed, hook, line, and sinker that men are supposed to be aggressive and violent and sexually promiscuous and that women are supposed to be submissive and genetically predisposed to cooking and cleaning and satisfying a man’s lusts.  There are real differences in gender but they don’t have a damn thing to do with masculinity and femininity.  They aren’t even all genetic.  And just as in nature, right is not better than left, night is not better than day, up is not better than down, male is not better than female.  And masculine is certainly not better than feminine. 

Masculinity and femininity are concepts not found in nature.  Masculinity and femininity are SOCIAL constructs, not biologic or genetic.  A female lion doesn’t say, “Oh, look at that juicy gazelle over there.  I would love to fix him for dinner tonight but I have to wait for my big, strong husband to do it because I’m too demure and girly and only males do that sort of yucky stuff.”  Elephant herds are led by the females, not the males.  Female elephants are not relegated to be inferior to the males, their contribution to the herd is not diminished because they bear the children.  Male penguins are the primary care-givers of their offspring.  They feed, shelter, protect, teach, guide and love their babies while the mothers are off frolicking in the semi-frozen surf.  But one thing you won’t see on Penguin Twitter is the entire penguin community in an outrage, demeaning the male penguins for being sissies.  But women will tell you with a quickness that they don’t want to get the oil changed in their car because only men are supposed to do those sorts of things.  They have been socialized to believe that “car stuff” is manly, as if, if you are forced to do the horrid job of taking your car to the mechanic you are going to grow hair on your chest and wear flannel.  Be believe that men have certain roles and women have certain roles and we don’t question where those rules originated or the significance of what it means to us as individuals. 

The concepts of masculinity and femininity are man-made, literally and figuratively.  It was men, very insecure and immature ancient men in fact, who deemed what role women were to have in society and what role men were to have and any deviation from those made up rules meant that that person was some sort of social leper.  It’s no accident that men decided that they were supposed control and rule over women. 

Black folk LOVE to falsely claim that homosexuality doesn’t exist in nature.  Except . . . it does.  In almost every single species known to man homosexual acts are commonplace.  What doesn’t exist in nature is homophobia.  That is a social construct as well.  Hating someone because they experience pleasure with the same gender is as illogical as hating someone just because they have a different skin color.  Homosexuality is not the going to end human population.  Loving someone, even having sex with someone for nothing more than pleasure isn’t bad or dirty or wrong.  It’s simply a different form of sexual expression from what is come to be accepted as the norm.   Your male dog isn’t going to start barking with a lisp and wearing a skinny collar if they have sex with another dog but my people, my poor, misguided, gullible people think that if a man has sex with another man, even if he is “the top”, that he is going to start singing Lady Gaga songs and going around saying, “Two snaps and a twist, gurl.” 

If I hear one more time, “I don’t want no man crying more than me,(sic) I need a real man,” I’m going to lose it.  Right, you don’t want a man to use his tear ducts because you have deemed you know more than perfect and divine Mother Nature that men aren’t supposed to use them.  If men weren’t supposed to cry, they wouldn’t have tear ducts.  No one wants a partner who is overly emotional, male or female, but crying is essential, we are human beings and we are supposed to process and release our emotions, penis notwithstanding.  The fact that men don’t cry, don’t express their emotions is the reason they are holding so much rage and frustration in and acting out in unhealthy ways.  Women are promoting it with their backwards thinking.  I’ve heard women say, “I knew he was gay because he liked his nipples stimulated and only women supposed to like that.(sic)”  That level of stupidity is astounding.  What biology class did you take that told you that men’s nipples aren’t supposed to provide them pleasure because you need to demand your money back? 

Let’s dispel some myths right now, shall we? 

1.        First and foremost, Bisexuality is an actual thing.  Yes, it’s very real.  Black people love to say that Black men can’t be bisexual, that if they have ever been with or thought about another man sexually then he is gay.  Bisexuality means that you enjoy, appreciate, and are aroused by sex with both genders.  It does not mean that you prefer both genders equally, in the same proportions and ways, but this whole concept that a Black man can only be straight or gay is really, really . . . not intelligent.  We don’t have a problem (behind closed doors) with female bisexuality but we are the original kings and queens of double standards when it comes to men being bisexual. 
2.        I know this is going to offend many a person but it has to be said.  EVERY male, every single solitary one, has the potential to experience pleasure when anally stimulated.  The nerve endings in the anus are the exact same as in the female and women have the potential to experience explosive pleasure, even orgasms when stimulated anally and women don’t have a prostate.  Men have a prostate, a gland located within the anus, that when stimulated not only provides pleasure, but it is healthy for them.  It’s not just some men, it’s not just gay men.  EVERY male has the potential to experience pleasure when stimulated anally.  Nature, biology itself, has set the stage for men to experience sexual pleasure when stimulated anally so let’s stop relegating it to only something only gay men like and let’s collectively mature to the point of understanding that a man experiencing sexual arousal and/or pleasure when he is anally stimulated has anything whatsoever to do with his sexual orientation. 
3.       The color, tightness, style, or cost of a man’s clothing does not indicate his sexual preferences.  It does indicate his style and his willingness to either conform or rebel against who and what society tells him he has to be.  It’s clothing, not a genetic marker.   Wearing a skirt does not make a man gay.  It does not make him feminine.  What men and women wear is nothing more than an evolution of Victorian and puritanical belief systems that have dictated that women were bras, makeup, heels, pantyhose, and dresses while men wear pants.  Indigenous men all over the planet, for millennia, have worn skirts and the population didn’t cease to exist because they were all in the closet gays.  Recognize your own level of brainwashing within the matrix and understand that clothing is nothing more than a socially-acceptable way to cover our naked bodies that we have been taught to be ashamed of. 
4.       Ladies, the more you make up these ridiculous rules about what makes a man masculine, about who is and isn’t gay, about what makes a man a “real nigga” you are going to force men to lie about their sexuality.  It’s no wonder so many men are in such denial about their real sexuality because Black women are quick to demonize anyone who isn’t a thug as less than a man.  And ladies, if you are continually measuring masculinity by how tight a man’s jeans are you are surely going to bed down with a man who is hiding his sexuality because you’ve already let him know that you won’t respect him if he admits to having same sex desires. 
5.       Black men are NOT responsible for the spread of HIV, the virus that causes AIDS.  Black women want to demonize bisexual men, point the finger of sanctimonious indignation at bisexual brothas for being down low and for spreading the disease.  Check it out, sista.  If you spread your legs and don’t care to get your partners tested first, you are a hypocrite and you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror because your HIV status is your responsibility, no one else’s.   
6.       The only way to truly ascertain a man’s sexuality is to be non-judgmental, open, honest, mature, and to effectively communicate.  The vast majority of young boys experiment with other young boys when they are young.  That does not make them gay or bisexual.  Lots of boys are molested by older males when they are young and many experience that molestation as pleasurable physical sensations.  That does not mean that they are gay or bisexual.  The problem lies in ridiculing, shaming, and shaming men when they tell the secrets of their past that haunt them.  We have to redefine what we want in a man and what it means to be a man.  If you want a man who is hard, aggressive, who is masculine, be prepared to accept him when he is abusive, distant, and emotionally immature and unavailable.    Just as a bisexual woman’s identity doesn’t change or become less desirable as they explore their sexuality with another woman, a bisexual man’s identity doesn’t make him an untouchable and disgusting.  Manhood should be defined by honesty, integrity, emotional maturity, and commitment, not some biblical edict that says that men are supposed to be aggressive and violent and women are supposed to be demure and submissive and can only be between men and women to be viable. 

There was a time in the past when I belonged to the “Black gay/bisexual men are yucky,” club.  As I evolved, I realized that sexuality has nothing whatsoever to do with who and what a person is.  I realized that I was wrong for my position.  There was also a time when I was asked if I thought everyone had the potential to be bisexual.  I rejected that argument summarily because I believed, or more accurately, I had been socialized to believe that heterosexuality was the norm against which all other sexuality should be judged and that bisexuality and homosexuality were abnormalities.  Today, I am of the mindset that bisexuality should be the normal, natural state for all human beings and that it is only our socialization, our conformity to repressive rules, rules that dictate that an individual should be repulsed by the very same sexual organs they have between their legs when viewed on another person. 

I now believe that bisexuality represents true enlightenment.  The ability to see the value and worth of a person, their essence as a human, the ability to acknowledge chemistry, both physical and spiritual, in another person regardless of their genitalia, in my opinion, is how we are supposed to be as humans.  I reject the idea that a person’s gender should dictate whom they love or with whom they seek pleasure.  I reject that men should screw any woman they can because it’s in their nature.  I reject that casual sex is no big deal and I believe that the energy exchanged when we have sex with another human being should be based on true connection and chemistry, not just recreation and certainly not manipulation.  We should be attracted to a person’s heart, their energy, their talents, their spirit, and their sensuality, not solely the bits between their legs.  That, to me, is the ultimate form of enlightenment. 

I do not think that all bisexuals are enlightened.  Not even close.  I think that our collective sexuality is so backwards, so distorted, so unhealthy that I believe that most bisexual people are in denial, they hate the part of themselves that is seeking pleasure with someone of their own gender and thus they are far from enlightened or evolved.  One thing I know for sure is that bisexuality is far more common than anyone wants to acknowledge.  It pains me to think of how many Black sons have been degraded and humiliated for their sexual experimentation by fathers who have engaged in all sorts of same-sex proclivities themselves all because the Black community wants to make manhood about being hyper masculine, one-dimensional, stereotypes of what manhood is supposed to be. 

Scottie Lowe