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 couples. Show all posts
Showing posts with label couples. Show all posts

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Remote Possibilities





When the universe sends you the person of your dreams, there’s nothing you can do but hold on for the ride of a lifetime.  There’s no way to plan for it, there’s no way to calculate how things should progress; you just have to be present in each moment to receive the gifts you deserve.  Little did Marcus and Karen understand how perfectly suited they were for one another and how vulnerable it would make them in the eyes of the other. 

Most people assume that when you meet someone whom you like, it all happens by chance, that it’s all a matter of luck.  Little do they know that cosmic forces work diligently, crafting and planning, coordinating and preparing the perfect set of circumstances in order to facilitate the spark that ignites true love.  All the forces of extraordinary chemistry were in place at the Borders bookstore in Hyde Park and the only thing missing were the key players in the game.  Karen Anderson was in place, sipping a cup of tea with her head buried in her laptop, oblivious to the world.  Enter Marcus Stevenson, stage left, precariously balancing a tray with food, books, and an ulterior motive while looking for a seat. 

“Excuse me, Miss, is this seat taken?” 

Karen looked up, slid her things to the side to make space for her new table companion, and mumbled something barely audible that sounded like, “No, go right ahead.”  She went back to staring at her computer screen and shutting out the world around her.  She was desperately trying to stay focused but deep inside her heart had just skipped a beat.  Marcus was breathtaking.  Standing 6’ even, he towered over her 5’6” petite frame.  His butterscotch complexion, dark brown expressive eyes, and enormous smile melted her heart.  Karen was attracted in a way she hadn’t felt since her first crush in Middle School.  Her palms were sweaty and she could actually feel an electric current coursing through her body.  Her body was one big mass of heightened sensation.  To the casual observer, she was just another lady in self-absorbed, technological distraction.  Nervous and shy, she didn’t even dare look up to make eye contact with her tablemate. 

“For all your generosity in sharing your space with me, I think you should at least accept my offer of some more tea.”  Karen looked up as Marcus was sliding a freshly brewed pot of Good Hope Vanilla tea towards her.  He motioned at the fellow behind the counter and said with a smile, “He was kind enough to tell me what you were drinking, I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Gee, that’s very nice of you but it’s not at all necessary,” she said, thinking that was the most polite way to say, “Oh hell no, you aren’t going to drug me with a roofie.”  Before she could even get the thought completely processed, Marcus anticipated her reaction, poured a cup for himself, and took a sip.

“Hey, this is pretty good, I think you might have turned me on to something new.  I like it!” 

Karen smiled at the coincidence and graciously accepted the offer of tea and went right back to burying her head in her work.  She didn’t want to assume he was flirting with her and she was totally unskilled at how to show interest in a man, so she went back to pretending she wasn’t at all interested in Marcus and planning on what she would say on the remote possibility that he extended himself to her again in conversation.  After twenty minutes, she figured she’d ruined her chance of striking up a conversation with him and made a mental note to herself to be just a little bit more assertive the next time a gorgeous man sat down at the table next to her.  She had all but given up her hopes that he might be interested in her, when, she stared at her computer screen and blurted out in complete shock, “Three thousand dollars?”

Marcus looked up from his reading and inquired, “Is everything okay over there?” 

Karen apologized for disturbing him, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, but I put a bid on something on eBay and the price has shot up to $3000 with only twenty minutes left in the auction.  I’ve been watching this item for a week now and there was no activity on it at $800.  Now, there’s no way I can get it.  It’s way out of my budget.”  She looked disappointed but Marcus thought her cute little nose squished up and her lips pouting out made her look incredibly sexy. 

“What on earth were you interested in getting that upset you so, if you don’t mind me asking that is?”  Truth be told, Marcus was looking for any opportunity to strike up a conversation.  He had seen her sitting at the table from the second he walked in and he was instantly attracted.  It was the sort of, “This is the woman I’m going to marry,” attraction that guys talk about in locker rooms when they are describing the woman that is going to make them change their ways.  From head to toe, she was his idea of perfection.  From her head of braids to her exquisite face, all the way down to her delicious looking toes that peeked out from beneath the table in her cute sandals.  After he made the first move and she didn’t respond, he figured she was probably happily married already with two kids and a dog.  Women that beautiful weren’t the type of women to be single. 

“Oh, it was just a piece of Shona sculpture that I wanted to add to my collection and . . . well, never mind, it’s no big deal.” 

Marcus’s face lit up.  “You like Shona sculpture?  No way!  Check it, I’m reading a book on Shona sculpture right now.”  He handed her a substantial coffee table book that he had been reading and went on and on about how it was such a small world. 

Skeptical, Karen remarked, “Yeah, coincidence, isn’t it, just like the tea.”  Are you sure you didn’t look over my shoulder and see what I was looking at?” 

Confessing all his sins, Marcus whispered so the people at the table next to them couldn’t hear of his attraction to her and his attempt to show his interest with the tea.  “Honestly, I love African art and I was just here to look at some different books and Shona sculpture is one of them.  Promise.  Cross my heart.”  That puppy dog expression on his face made Karen just melt.  For the first time, she let down her guard and started to open up. 

It was only then that Karen let the forces of nature take over and guide the connection that would prove to be the most amazing relationship of her life.  Time seemed to stand still as the two began to get to know each other.  Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days, days turned into weeks.  The more they shared with one another, the more obvious it became that they were twin souls separated at birth.  They shared the same loves, the same passions, and the same temperament.  Most people would say that a love like that would get boring, that opposites attract, variety is the spice of life and all that.  That’s only because they have no concept of what it’s like to find a true soul mate.  They base their beliefs off of relationships formed from physical attraction and lust and then criticize emotional, intellectual, and spiritual connection because they can’t grasp its parameters. 

Within a few months, it was more than apparent that Karen and Marcus were inseparable.  They both loved salsa music and creative vegetarian cooking and obscure cerebral films.  Their love was blossoming and taking on a life of its own.  They were both supportive of each other’s goals in life, Karen the more creative and Marcus the more technical.  There were no secrets to be kept because they could be completely honest without fear of being judged.  No secrets except for one.  There was something unspoken, something unsaid that was the wedge in their machinery.  Marcus was sure it was the bullet that would kill their budding romance. 

Karen, unaware that there were any secrets, was in bliss.  They’d become physically intimate and he seemed like the perfect lover.  He was responsive and gentle and his sensitivity to her needs reminded her of her previous female lovers.  She’d been completely honest with him, sharing details of her past and being completely open about her preferences.  She wasn’t tied one way or the other with being with women or men.  She was open to loving relationships and she was interested in monogamy so whomever she decided to be with, male or female, was going to be the recipient of all of her love and affection, and she expect the same back in return. 

It was a typical Friday night and the pair had just settled in after dinner to listen to some music and relax for the evening at Marcus’s crib.  Neither of them were big fans of television so when Karen suggested that they watch a movie, it sounded like a great and novel idea to both of them.  There was no TV in the living room; it was hidden in an armoire in the bedroom.  Karen made her way to the bedroom with a copy of the DVD Chocolat in one hand and her shoes in the other while Marcus was off to the kitchen to make popcorn and open a bottle of wine.  He was carrying the tray up the stairs when he froze in his tracks.  He almost dropped the goodies out of sheer terror.  He could hear the sounds from the television coming down the hall. 

Karen has made her way to the bedroom to start the movie.  There were three remote controls and she was just pushing combinations of all of them trying to get the DVD to play.  Marcus still has a combination DVD/VCR player and when the screen flickered and images appeared she quickly climbed on the bed to get comfortable.  She was ready to call out to Marcus to hurry up when what she saw made the words freeze in her throat.  There, live and in living color was a video of two men engaged in some serious, hot, and heavy action.  Karen stared at the scene, two men licking and sucking and fucking, but it was more than just typical porn, it was almost as if they were making love.  Karen shifted on the bed, pulling her legs up under her, drawn to the action and afraid to look away but almost sure she should turn it off before Marcus got there.  In an instant, Karen realized that the porno on the screen wasn’t a regular porno; it was a homemade video.  It was a homemade video of Marcus with another man.  She gasped out loud and looked up to see Marcus standing in the doorway with a look of sheer terror on his face. 

She scrambled for the remotes, trying to find the one that would turn off the video but she was pushing buttons in vain.  For a full minute, she was fumbling, cursing, and pushing more buttons trying to turn off the video.  Finally, she pushed the right one and the screen went to blue.  Blue easily described the look on Marcus’ face as she turned to apologize for the accidental invasion of privacy.

“I’m sorry . . . . I  . . . I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . I’m so sorry.” 

Looking dejected and broken, Marcus set down the tray and sat on the edge of the bed to keep from falling down.  He whispered, “There’s no need to apologize, I’m sorry for being dishonest for all these months.”

It was in that moment, Karen froze.  It hadn’t occurred to her that the video might be current.  They had spent every moment together possible and there wasn’t any time that Marcus’s whereabouts weren't unaccounted for, or so she thought.  She was scrambling for her shoes and trying to make her way out of there without crying.  “I thought, I thought we had something special,” she said, sniffing and holding back the tears.  “I never thought you would be capable of cheating.”

Marcus was dumbfounded.  He hadn’t even considered that she would think that he was cheating on her, he was sure she was going to call him a faggot and a sissy and go off about how he wasn’t really a man and about how she was going to out him to the world.  “No, no, no, that was made over two years ago.  I would never cheat on you.  I respect you too much to lie to . . .”  He stopped himself, realizing that his lack of full disclosure counted as a lie.  “I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.”  He waited patiently; ready to answer questions if she asked, mentally preparing himself for her to walk out of his life forever.

Karen sat on the bed next to him, covering his hand with hers.  She comforted him.  “I can understand why you wouldn’t tell me about this.  I really wish you had but I can understand why you didn’t.  Boo, we were tested.  I know you aren’t positive.  I could have handled it.  You should have trusted me.”

Marcus felt a sigh of relief flow over him.  He’d been expecting the neck rolling, irrational, deranged tantrum of a woman who was going to rip him a new asshole.  It almost seemed to him that Karen was being supportive, allowing him to share with her without judgment.  He couldn’t even conceive of a woman like that.  “Have I watched one too many Oprah shows or is it possible . . .”  He sat staring at the floor, afraid to speak. 

“Or what?  Is it possible that I’m understanding of you being with another man,” she said, finishing his thoughts.  Baby, you should know me by now, you should know me well enough to know that I would never equate your manhood to something as silly as who you share yourself with.  My identity isn’t shaped by whom I sleep with, why would I think anything different for you?” 

With those words, a weight had been lifted off Marcus’ shoulders.  He turned to face Karen and she touched his cheek softly.  She kissed his lower lip, gently sucking it in her mouth and his hands instinctively encircled her.  She fell back on the bed and he tumbled on top of her, driven by passion.  “No, stop,” he said, “We have to talk about this.”  He stood up and paced the room.  He was trying to find the right words but he was just saying the first thing that came to mind. 

“Sometimes, I think we are more alike than is even possible.  I wanted to tell you so many times.  I wanted you to know but I was so afraid you’d leave.”  He continued pacing and talking.  “Reggie and I were lovers, for over a year in fact.  He’s the only man I’ve ever been with, I swear.  I have to tell you the truth and do with it what you want.  It wasn’t just sex, we were a couple.  I cared about him; he cared about me.  There was no top or bottom; nobody was the woman.  We were both men, involved in an intimate, sexual relationship.  I guess I secretly wanted to get caught by leaving the video of us in the machine.  Seems like some sort of sub-conscious fuck up, right?”  He went on and on about how the relationship taught him more about himself than he had ever imagined, and how he sometimes just missed the sex.  It wasn’t a reflection of his dissatisfaction with Karen; it was just a part of his sex life that really couldn’t be duplicated. 

Finished pouring out his heart and soul, Marcus came out of his oblivion and looked up.  Karen was on the bed naked, with her legs spread, watching the video and rubbing the remote on her clit.  His dick jumped at the sexy sight and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between those silky thighs.  He looked at the TV and his dick jumped again.  It was the scene where he was engaged in a hot, wet 69 with his lover.  Karen’s eyes were glued to the screen and she seemed to be in a trance. 

“Marc, sweetie, is it inconceivable to you that I could be aroused watching you with another man?  How would you feel if you were to watch a video of me with another lover?  You should have trusted me, trusted that I wouldn’t unfairly judge you.  You should have had faith that I would respect you for who you are and not whom you have sex with.  When I look at that video, I see two incredibly beautiful people engaged in an intensely erotic situation.  It turns me on incredibly.”  She spread her legs and beckoned Marcus to come join her on the bed.

It was Marcus who was in a trance now and he fell to his knees and pulled her sexy body close to him.  Karen took his head and held it tightly against her mound.  Karen spread her legs and awaited her moment of reckoning.  He lowered his mouth to her sweet center.  Her slippery and sweet juices were flowing freely.  Her lips were parted slightly, exposing her silken and pink center.  His tongue softly flicked at her clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body.  Karen’s body jerked and shook every time his lips sucked her sensitive button.  The more he licked the wetter she became.  Her moans and utterances of profane and graphic directions were music to his ears.  “Baby, I love the way you lick my pussy . . . oh shit . . . fuck . . . yesssss.  . . finger me.  Oh, it feels so good.”  Marcus cupped her ass in his hands, pulled her pussy to his mouth, and drove his tongue deep inside her as she released her juices down his throat.  



Karen was not a woman to be denied her own brand of pleasure.  She moved quickly to take advantage of the situation and climbed on top of Marcus.  She held his stiff dick in her soft hands.  She began to softly, gently lick the head, licking it like a soft serve cone and expertly using the tip of her tongue in his slit.  She began swirling her tongue around the head, getting it wet and slippery with her spit; stroking him to full hardness with her hand.  She looked at him with a sexy look in her eyes took his entire length in her mouth in one stroke.  She took a deep breath and went further down, deep-throating him with a technique that would make porn stars jealous.  “Is that the way your boyfriend did it,” she teased. 

Totally consumed, all Reginald could do was moan and grab the sheets tightly.  He was breathless as he knew what was about to come.  Karen began her technique of licking, sucking, and stroking his dick in a way that made him want to lose his mind.  The pleasure was indescribable.  Her lips, her tongue, her mouth and hands all worked together to suck with the right pressure, to lick the right spots, to give him sloppy, wet, sensuous pleasure. 

Marcus, out of control with lust, grabbed his dick and squeezed it tightly so as not to cum.  “Marcus, make love to me, please.”  She was pleading with him, desperate to have him inside her.  Marcus paused, nervous again.  He took the head of his dick and placed it at her hole.  The heat traveled up his body and Karen pulled him to her.  Her silky walls grabbed him and pulled him deeper.  Their cries echoed out into the calm night sky.  He was stroking her hard and she was meeting each thrust with passion.  It was too intense.  Marcus couldn’t control himself.  He needed to be deep inside her, to fill her completely.  Perspiration glowed on their bodies and their grunts became animal-like.  He braced himself and started working her pussy, hitting every spot, every angle.  He was a machine, giving her pleasure like he’d never done before, experiencing pleasure in ways he’d never known were possible. 

Karen was cumming all over him.  Her body was trembling and her juices were flowing freely.  She was begging for more, pleading with him not to stop, so Marcus concentrated and kept up his technique.  He placed her legs on his shoulders and gripped her hips tightly.  Her soft flesh filled his hands.  The head of his dick was hitting bottom and he couldn’t stop his own orgasm from overtaking him.  The cum in his nuts boiled up and exploded inside his lady love as she held him tightly to her body.

           
His orgasm hit him hard.  More than just the physical sensation of pleasure overtook him; it was the realization that they there were no more secrets, that he was accepted and loved unconditionally.  He collapsed on top of her and she cradled him and comforted him in her sweet and loving embrace. 
           
“I will always respect you baby,” she kissed his cheek, “as long as you continue to be a man of integrity,” she whispered our of breath, “and as long as you let me control the remote.”  They laughed, snuggling together as they fell asleep in each other’s arms contemplating the possibilities of what was to come with their new-found sexual freedom. 

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

Well, I hope I’ve given a few people something to think about and I’ve opened the door to greater communication for some others.  It’s really past time that we redefine what makes a man and stop having such illogical, knee jerk reactions to healthy erotic expression.  We need to raise our standards of behavior so that sex becomes more than just a way to bust a nut but it is really about sharing someone special with your partner, whether they be male or female. 

Monday, September 15, 2014

Abuse



Hear  me clearly when I say that I do not condone, endorse, defend, nor can I justify the actions of Ray Rice or the dude who beat his child with the switch.  I CAN and do understand why they behaved the way they did; I understand how Black men across the country are filled with rage, unable to process their emotions, and developmentally stunted so much so that the only thing they know is to perpetuate the violence that was inflicted upon them.  If there had ever been any significant study done on the effects of slavery in this nation, a slavery that is different than any other crime against humanity in the history of the world, there would have been investigation into the repeated and persistent torture and abuse that slaves suffered and how it affected them.  Because white people, and let’s put the blame squarely where it belongs here, again, because white people are intent on denying, ignoring, and negating the impact of slavery on the mentality and psychology of contemporary African Americans, the practices learned and handed down from generation to generation, the practices we learned at the end of the white man’s whip, those practices include beating, whipping, spanking, and punching to control people.  Black men are particularly affected because they are socialized and raised to be emotionally immature.  They are not given an outlet to express their emotions.  They are raised and socialized to be super macho, super manly, super emotionally retarded.  They don’t know how to even identify their emotions, let alone express them in a healthy way.  There are millions of Ray Rice’s and millions upon millions of men exactly like the other dude. 

Human beings, more specifically the human brain, has a need to justify and rationalize that its experiences, the factors that contributed to the influences that shaped them and BELIEIVE that were right.  It’s the mind’s defense mechanism.  It works to make people feel safe, to rationalize and soothe their feelings of insecurity and fear of judgment.  Slaves were beaten, BRUTALLY beaten, abused, and tortured for white people’s perverse pleasure, entertainment, and ego.  Slaves learned that abuse is the way to control people.  They passed those messages down generation from generation.  They beat their children because that’s all they had to control.  They beat their children because that’s all they knew how to do. 

My grandfather beat my mother and my uncle the way white slave masters beat slaves, with the same force and brutality.  He didn’t do it because he was a mean person, he was a very gentle soul.  He beat them brutally, BRUTALLY because he believed that was the way to make his children behave, conform, and stay in line like mindless slaves.  He was brutally beaten as a child.  He never thought that it was wrong or bad because his father was brutally beaten by his father, who was born a slave.  My mother beat me.  Daily.  She beat me when things went wrong at work.  She beat me when she was frustrated with the married men in her life.  She beat me to beat my individuality and uniqueness out of me, to make me be just like me.  She denies it now.  She claims she never even spanked me.  She swears she was a perfect mother.  Her mind is in conflict because some part of her understands that it’s wrong to beat your child that severely but there is also a part of her that tells her that what she did was right because it was done to her. 

My uncle probably got the most severe beatings from my grandfather.  He is an alcoholic now with EXTREME rage and anger boiled up in him.  He has severely beaten and abused all the women in his life.  He beat and abused his sons repeatedly.  His sons have perpetuated the same violence in their lives.  My uncle has been dangerously quiet about Ray Rice and the other dude because he is guilty of the things they did and worse.  It has to be causing emotional conflict.  He knows that he should say that what they did was terrible and wrong but he knows in his heart that he has done far worse than what they did.  What we do to Black boys by telling them not to cry, by telling them to be a man, by telling them that they can’t show emotion or they will be sissies is we create the inner rage and frustration that makes Black men rationalize and justify that punching a woman is okay because they desperately want to control something in their lives.  They want to be this one-dimensional and stereotypical “head of the household” and king of the castle that society tells them that they should be by virtue of their penis but they feel frustration and they lash out at the things that they are told that they should be able to control, the women and children in their lives.  It’s a pathology born in slavery. 

I cannot, will not, and do not condone what these men have done but I understand how their behaviors have evolved.  I get how Black men who are abusers are among their friends saying, “Yeah, I would never hit a woman, I would never hit my child like that,” when in fact they’ve done that and worse.  I understand how Black men feel that punching, beating, and whipping is all they have in their arsenal to control the rage that they feel.  I totally understand how Black mothers who feel angry, alone, frustrated, and who need to justify the abuse inflicted upon them repeat the patterns. 

Let us pray that the cycle can be broken.  Let us pray that there is within each and every descendant of slaves a tiny spirit of liberation that whispers that abuse and violence is wrong and it must end.  Beating your children doesn’t keep them out of jail, LOVE does that.  Nurturing does that.  Discipline does that but discipline doesn’t have to mean abuse.  What we suffered, we being you, me, and the collective Black race, was abuse.  Rather than saying, “Well, I was raised that way and I turned out fine,” let us now say, “What happened to me was wrong and I will not perpetuate the same thing on my children.  I will break the cycle of abuse.”