Verifying Your Heterosexuality

For some years now, I’ve been in search of my openly bi, monogamous, non-Christian, emotionally mature divine-right partner.  I’ve never even come close to finding him.  I dated a man who shared my spiritual beliefs but who couldn’t stop fucking anything with a vagina.  I’ve dated several men who could stay monogamous for the short time we were together but they were extraordinarily emotionally immature.  I’ve never dated a man who was openly bi.  I’ve met and engaged with men who were bi in the hopes of forming a relationship, but I’ve never met any who were open about it.  They all struggled with their identity.  Oddly enough, they all started out proclaiming how heterosexual they really were.  Once they got it, once they figured out that I was really interested in an openly bisexual man and I wasn’t trying to trick them into revealing that they were down low so I could denigrate and degrade them, then all of a sudden, they miiiiiiiiiiight have experimented with something in their ass at some point and time or once or twice may have maaaaaaybe looked at tranny porn.  Once they realize I’m legit and I really am romantically interested in bisexual men, then comes the time when they confess how much they love dick.   They say that they have to lie about it because Black women will cut their dicks off if they tell the truth about it.

And I fully acknowledge and respect that a great many Black women are foaming at the mouth to demonize Black men for any sexuality that isn’t reflective of a Macho, Macho Man (I’ve got to be a Macho MAN!) demeanor. 

Here’s the thing.  I’m not aroused by heterosexuality.  I find the concept of heterosexuality to be juvenile and dysfunctional (and created by white men to perpetuate their egomaniacal need to oppress, dominate, and degrade women).  Human beings are capable of fluid sexuality.  All human beings, regardless of gender or race or whatever religion they practice, are capable of fluid sexuality. The men who insist that they are 100% straight, the ones who boast and brag about how straight they are and feel the need to verify it constantly in their conversations, the ones who are adamant that if another man sends them a message on Fetlife, they should fear for their lives, the men who act like they are going to vomit and convulse and die if they see another naked man, are 1. lying, and 2. offensive to me. 

This macho/masculine posturing is a deeply-ingrained part of Black male psyche.  It seems Black men need to constantly validate how heterosexual they are because they are the standard for male sexuality.  They have better bodies, they have bigger dicks, they are ostensibly better in bed, and they are lusted after by everyone.  Black male heterosexuality is the standard for machismo.  Black men are supposed to be driven by sexual lust, they are supposedly consumed with raping white women and making abandoned babies with Black women.  The Black man must be straight at all costs and he has to prove it constantly by reinforcing how he’s NEVER once thought about anything sexually other than “pussy” (women aren’t even usually given the respect of referring to us as human beings, we are only what we possess between our silky thighs).  

Now, FOR ME, and I understand that I’m in the minority but there are other Black women who respect and are aroused by bisexual Black men, I find the constant need to remind me that you are heterosexual to be immature.  It’s 2020.  We’ve all had access to the internet for more than 2 decades.  If someone says to me that they have never seen gay porn, I have to ask why.  You’ve never been curious enough to click on one video?  You think your heterosexuality is that fragile that you think that if you looked at gay porn that you would turn gay?  I’ve looked at every genre of porn there is just to see what it was about and I’ve never feared that my sexual identity would change if I just watched something.  I’ve watched people getting fucked by dogs and I’ve never had a desire to have sex with a dog so I feel pretty safe exploring the internet.  Why is it so hard to find a man who can admit that he’s watched gay porn? 

The few men I’ve met who identified as bisexual were still caught up in verifying their heterosexuality.  “Oh, I don’t kiss men.”  “I top, I don’t bottom,” , “I only like passable trannies, the ones that look like women,” and they ever-popular, “I am not really attracted to men, just dick.”  For the record, all of those perspectives are equally as unhealthy and dysfunctional as the, “I’ve NEVER thought about being with another man,” perspective.  And all those things are evidence that they still think there is something wrong with being bisexual or gay.  There has to be one brotha out there who gets that being bisexual is natural and nothing to be ashamed of, that it doesn't make him less of a man.  Where for art thou?

Everything we know about sexuality and gender is WRONG.  There is no law of nature that says that the rods and cones in a man’s eyes can’t appreciate and respect the color pink or a beautiful rose yet white men have convinced us that men can't like soft pretty, pink things.  Heels and makeup and all the trappings of what women are supposed to wear were all created by white men, not found in nature.  It is IMPOSSIBLE to say that women are supposed to wear heels and makeup when those things are the invention of men, not the divine power that created us.  To say that only women can wear pantyhose and dresses, man-made inventions, is to conform to the limited, fucked up mindset of the people who created those rules.  And the people who created gender rules were fucked up because it was there agenda to make men superior when we should all be considered equals. 

All people, all men and women are capable of being aroused anally.  There is no moral code, no extreme strength of character, no number of swinging inche between a man's legs that prevents some manly, masculine Alpha men from liking anal stimulation.  It’s biological.  Like crying.  If men have tear ducts, it means they are supposed to cry.  But we believe that if a man cries, that makes him . . . duhn, duhn, duhn, . . . weak, it makes him . . . a woman, and there is nothing more repulsive for a man to be than a woman, right?  Look at the rise in cross dressers over the last decade.  White men are buying more women’s clothing than women.  All because they think that if they like anal stimulation that means they are a woman.  How stupid is that?  It’s 2020 and we collectively believe that if a man likes anal penetration, that means he’s  immoral, he’s transgendered, or he’s gay.  It’s past time we stop believing these ridiculous and flawed gender rules.  They were made by white men with little dicks in order to try to control and oppress women. 

Black men are tied to proving how heterosexual they are but that’s extremely unappealing to me.  I want a brotha who doesn’t think he’s gay or immoral if he likes a finger in his ass when he’s getting his dick sucked.  Fuck around, I want a brotha who has kissed another man, I want a brotha who has loved another man; one who has been penetrated by and penetrated another man.  I want one who can admit that he’s looked at every genre of porn, and even one who can admit to being aroused by fringe and fetish porn.  I want a man who doesn’t have to lie about his sexuality and prove that he’s such a real man that he has never ever ever looked at anything other than straight porn. 

Do white men do it too?  Hell yes they do.  But white have the stigma of having little dicks so they are more apt to pretend to be alpha and straight in social settings and in public but their secret sexual identities are tied to being sissy faggots the second they are behind closed doors.  White men love to overcompensate and prove how straight they are, how dominant and alpha they are, but I don’t really give a fuck about white men’s mental health.  I don’t care if they lie about what they like.  I do care that Black men are so sexually and emotionally stunted that they are still holding on to concepts that will prevent them from ever forming a healthy relationship if they have to constantly lie about natural feelings, sensations, inclinations and proclivities.  We have to start being more honest with ourselves, with our partners.   

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.