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 essay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label essay. Show all posts

Sunday, May 09, 2010

What Scottie Wants

I consider myself somewhat of an elitist; I’m not entertained by the same sorts of things that hold the masses captive. I gave up television for nearly a decade, didn’t own one at all, and I was very content entertaining and educating myself with the real world. I found the programming offensive, even back then, and that was LONG before reality television and the degrading shows that overwhelm the airwaves today. Even since transitioning back into the world of the boob tube, I limit my television watching to a few tried and true shows that don’t insult my intelligence, gender, or race. I pretty much stick to TNT, USA, The Food Network, and HGTV and very rarely stray. Recently, my cable network changed the station number of HGTV and I wasn’t sure of the new channel number so I just set out to surf around until I found it. What a tragic mistake that was.

I stumbled upon a show called, “What Chili Wants” on VH1 and something, some ineffable force, led me to leave the TV on that channel and watch the entire show. I was horrified on so many different levels that I was left speechless, staring at the screen in disbelief, looking around at my darkened, empty room, to find solace where there was none and expressing shame and disgust with myself for watching what was the equivalent of a cultural car crash. For those who don’t know and who have never seen the show (and I’m going to hope that constitutes a great number of readers) the premise is finding a mate for one of the members of the girl group TLC, Chili. Apparently, as she ages, she feels the pressures of that damned biological clock (and honey, let me tell you that clock is REAL) and she’s looking for a partner with whom she can settle down and raise a family. That part, I have no issue with. I’m there with her, I feel her pain; I am her. Anything and everything beyond that, turned my stomach.

Evidently, the producers at VH1 felt that Chili needed the assistance of a . . . a . . . a young lady, I refuse to use the word professional, to help her in finding a match. This young lady, whose name I don’t know and don’t care to know, was directed to find suitable men to set Chili up with on a series of blind dates to see if she found someone who matched her list of criteria for a potential mate. Now, I don’t know everything on this list but I could ascertain that he was to be Christian, older (relatively speaking), ready to commit to a relationship, attractive, and successful. I’m sure there were other things on the list but the show didn’t allude to them. In the particular episode I watched, Chili and this young lady had some tension because Chili wouldn’t lower her standards to date any one of the dozen or so men she was selected to date. Suffice it to say, this particular matchmaker wasn’t qualified to fill an order at a drive through window, let alone counsel anyone as to what makes a good partner and what qualities or characteristics should be compromised or not in seeking that soul mate. Suggesting that she lower her standards and setting her up with individuals who didn’t even meet her minimum criteria has to be, unequivocally, the WORST advice anyone could give in the process of finding a potential partner. The message in all of this absurdity was, having a man, any man, is better than being alone and as long as he’s attractive and employed, shut your mouth and be happy.

I recently ended a relationship, one in which I admittedly compromised my standards, and I ended up paying the price for it in the end. I’m still in the healing process and I am doing my level best to redefine what I want and need in my next relationship. Over the years, my personal list has changed, well, it’s evolved more than changed. I’ve refined what I want and I’m more determined now than ever to be stricter, more selective, more discerning in my partners and for good reason. If I have a certain set of criterion that is essential for me in forming a relationship, then if I compromise in those essentials, I will set myself up for failure. Most men, and quite a few women as well, get offended when I say that I will not compromise on my standards. They immediately interpret that to mean that I will not compromise in the relationship which is something totally different and untrue. There’s even a large collective of men who feel insulted when the things on my list of requirements don’t encompass qualities or characteristics that they possess. Apparently, I’m a bitch if I don’t lower my standards to date any and every man who thinks I’m attractive.

I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination but I can assure you that I’m a great partner in a relationship. Now great is relative because what I bring to the table, not everyone wants or cares about. Most people don’t have high standards for a partner. I suspect the majority of people want superficial things in a partner, like a certain level income, car, or a certain height, weight, skin tone, or some other meaningless trait that has nothing whatsoever to do with the quality of the person they to whom they are going to committ. Another contingent of people want characteristics so general, so non-specific, that almost anyone can fit their criteria. Simply saying, “I want someone who is intelligent and nice,” can cover a multitude of sins when trying to find someone who will be a great partner. Intelligence is relative and nice is subjective and neither of those things can reveal how a person is going to treat you in a partnership.

So, in my effort to be extremely specific as to what I require in a mate, I’m going to set out my criteria exactly for what Scottie wants. I don’t want what any other woman wants. I don’t want what most men bring to the table. I’m not interested in editing, modifying, or changing my list to appease anyone else’s ego.

• I require a man who is emotionally mature and introspective. That means he has to be able to express his feelings, show emotion when appropriate, communicate his position without projecting, blaming, or deflecting guilt, rage, or passive aggressiveness. I expect him to have done a great deal of work on himself, his issues, and to be able to articulate his challenges, to know the areas he still has to work on and be willing to grow and learn.

• I need chemistry. I’ve attempted to date men in the past who are, for all intents and purposed, very nice and suitable partners, but there is no attraction or chemistry. I can’t do that anymore. I need that spark, I need that electricity, that intangible connection that allows us to get each other’s joke, to communicate non-verbally from across a room, to just enjoy each other’s company without having to say a word. There is no rhyme or reason as to why I have innate chemistry with some men and not with others; I simply know that I am unwilling to form a relationship with someone unless that element is present. So much of forming a healthy, happy relationship is contingent upon being happy and without that chemistry the relationship is superficial. I need to be as physically attracted to my mate as I am spiritually, socially, intellectually, mentally, and culturally and we have to have an attraction to one another that goes beyond mere affection. If I am going to wake up next to someone every day for the rest of my life, I want to experience joy when I do, not regret, ambivalence or dread.

• It is essential for me to have a partner who doesn’t affiliate himself with any major religion. Religion is man-made and created to keep people oppressed and uninformed. I can’t form a relationship with someone who thinks that God is male, that people were created from dirt, or that the only people who are going to be favored by God are those who believe exactly as he does. I am spiritual; I believe in something infinitely wiser and more ordered than anything the human mind can comprehend. I’m not so arrogant to assume that anyone has the right answers as to how to define God, but I know it’s not a male being, I know it’s not random and arbitrary; I know I cannot form a relationship with anyone who has those beliefs. Are there others who can form relationship across religious beliefs? Sure. I’m not one of them. I need a partner who has questioned, researched, evaluated, and studied all the world’s religions and found truth in all of them and, ultimately, the frailties of all of them as well. To partner with someone who doesn’t share my beliefs would be tantamount to saying that what I know to be true isn’t true. If I believe that God is indescribable, scientific, all-encompassing, to partner with someone who believes at all the earth’s animals could fit on one Ark would setting that relationship up for failure.

• Similar interests and aptitude are essential for my partner. I don’t require that he like the exact same things as I do but he can’t like things that I find offensive. It would be great to find a man who likes the same music and movies and who loves to write as much as I do but that’s not possible or even reasonable to expect from someone. I would like, however, someone who respects that hip-hop (the vast and overwhelming majority of it) is misogynist, offensive, and degrading. I will not date a man who thinks that the N word is funny, appropriate, or no big deal. I will not ever, never, ever in my life date anyone whose political beliefs are right leaning. I would like a man who is as equally right brained as he is left brained. I desire a partner who can read my stories, articles, and essays and contribute thoughtful, insightful commentary without trying to debate or berate my every word. There are too many social ills that need to be fought in the world, I have no desire to fight with my man about the things I’m trying to educate and enlighten people about. I desire a partner who has varied interest he can teach me about but that are not in conflict with my beliefs.

• Sharing similar ethics, values, morals, and governing principles are essentials for my next mate. I need someone in my life who is equally as committed to telling the truth, monogamy, doing what’s right even when it’s not easy, with respect for their family, who carries themselves with dignity, and who treats me with reverence at all times. I learned the hard way that compromising on someone who doesn’t see the value in honesty, integrity, and upstanding character will ultimately make me unhappy in the relationship.

• There was a time when I would have said that my partner had to be African-centered. I’m willing to amend that and say that my partner has to respect that I see myself as a citizen of the world, that my spiritual and cultural homeland is Africa, and that I do not adhere to the vast majority of Eurocentric norms held as the standard. I have come to see that most people who identify as African-centered, Black Nationalist, or any other pro-Black movement have only replaced one set of oppressive beliefs for another. I desire a partner who can respect my identity as a Black woman, my hair as a political statement, my gender as an oppressed class, and my desire to stand up for the downtrodden people of the planet.

• I would prefer that my man be a man of color, what color exactly doesn’t really matter to me. I will remain open to that man being white as long as he meets all my other criteria as well. I will not date a white man simply because I find the pool of Black men lacking. He has to be held to the same standard as I would hold to my brothas and even higher because he has to have rid himself of his false sense of superiority that white men born in this country inherit and he must be willing to eradicate the fallacy of white supremacy alongside me. Is it likely that I will find a white man like that? Not very but I am not ruling out the possibility of finding love across the color lines. I don’t want to die old and alone. I’d like companionship and love and if that man is not a man of color, as long as he genuinely loves and respects me, I’m willing to do the work necessary to make it work.

• If there is one thing that I’ve held fast to on my list, that hasn’t changed in the past few years, that has offended and outraged more people than any other thing on my list, is the fact that I require my partner to be openly bisexual. I require a man who has redefined his sexuality, who is comfortable with his sexuality, who is open to loving and being loved by another man. I require a man who is sex-positive, meaning he has to be accepting of lesbians, gays, bisexuals, and the transgendered community. I will not date a man who is down low, meaning he’s bisexual but not willing to admit it to those whom are interested. It is essential for me to find a partner who has redefined masculinity and manhood in his life, who appreciates and respects that being receptive does not mean being weak, that male and female are compliments, not opponents. Most Black women want a heterosexual man, they think that bisexual men have AIDS, or they want a man who is macho and unemotional. Good for them. I want a man who can cry when he has to and not feel that’s a determinant of his manhood. I want a man who doesn’t have to tell gay jokes and bash gay men in front of his friends in order to validate his manhood. I’ve been told time and time again that I won’t be able to find a bisexual man who is willing to be monogamous but I am willing to compromise on that depending on the person and the dynamics we share. I’ve long since given up my need to be with another woman but if I find a partner who is all that I seek and he’s interested in maintaining relationships with other men, I will certainly entertain the conversation, see what sort of compromise we can come to that doesn’t hurt my feelings or leave him feeling unsatisfied. Too much of my identity and my mission is wrapped up in liberating our people from our sexual dysfunctions and I don’t want a man who believes that men can only get or receive pleasure in certain ways in order for them to be a real man. If he is not as open-minded and progressive as I am about issues of sex, we will not be a good match.

What Scottie wants is compatibility. What Scottie needs is love, respect, and commitment to forming a healthy, long-term, emotionally mature relationship. I want someone who fits my criteria because I’ve worked long and hard on myself, because I’m unique and I don’t have cookie cutter needs, because I deserve a partner who fits me like a glove and I won’t compromise my standards for love or money.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

. . . . To Be Fucked

It’s that time of year again. Every Spring, it never fails, my sexuality is awakened like the return of the birds and the bees and the flowers on the trees. My nipples seem to stay hard constantly and my pussy throbs at the slightest provocation. I fantasize about sex, about the sights, smells, and sensations of sex at its most raw, passionate state. I think about it, dream about it, I am reminded of past erotic exploits constantly, throughout the warm, sunny days and steamier, hot nights. I CRAVE a man in my life with whom I can express myself, my uninhibited, unashamed, primitive, primal, sexual self.

I need a lover I can let down my guard with, express myself without fear or shame, someone who cares about me outside the bedroom and who desires me completely inside it. I want hours and hours of hot, sweaty fucking that wakes the neighbors and leaves me drained of my every bodily fluid. I want to make a huge wet spot on the sheets and then fuck those same sheets off the bed.

I want him. I want MY lover. I don’t want to share him; I don’t want to question his fidelity. I want to suck his dick like no other woman has ever done, no, I want him to fuck my mouth like he fucks my pussy. I want to lick every inch; I want to swallow him whole, spit running down his balls. I want him to play with my nipples while I’m giving blowing his mind and tell me that he loves the way I give him head. I want to lick his nuts and feel them rolling around on my tongue. God, I want to spread those beautiful, brown asscheeks and look at his asshole as my mouth waters. I need to let my tongue flutter softly, gently over his sensitive skin, making him jump and moan. I want to put him on his knees with his ass in the air so I can take my tongue and drive it deep up inside him, licking, kissing, and sucking his hole while he begs me not to stop, while he tells me how good I make him feel.

Just when he’s going out of his mind, when he thinks he can’t take any more pleasure, I would roll him over and make a feast of his dick meat again. This time, I would lick my finger and work it up his asshole, hit his spot, make him squirm and yell into the pillow as I swallow, lick, and suck him all over again, stopping just when he’s about to blow. It’s not that I don’t want to taste that hot cum; I want him to save it for me. I want him to pump his sperm deep inside me, to be driven to unload his ball juice deep in my pussy because he craves me so much.

It’s the intimacy I miss so much, the connection with your lover where you can share all your secrets, be totally uninhibited. There is something comforting about laying back and feeling your lover please you from head to toe and not feeling like you are being selfish, not feeling like he is holding a score card over your head that you have to reciprocate in kind. There is no greater pleasure than feeling my lover pleasure my nipples, licking them softly, sending delightful sensations directly to my clit. Feeling his tongue gently flick those hardened brown peaks, cupping my full breasts to his mouth, back and forth, it’s indescribable. Kissing his way down my body, I can spread my long legs for him, giving him access to my treasure. I can feel his masculine fingers part my moistened pussy lips; expose my hardened clit, his warm lips just inches from my aroused sex. Hearing him inhale the scent of my wet cunt tells me that he craves me, my essence, all that I am. I long to feel his fingers invade me, manipulate me, to make me bite my lip trying to hold back my moans and sounds of pleasure. Knowing me so intimately, he would know that a flood of profanity will follow the minute he starts licking my juicy slit, tenderly coaxing my hardened clit from it’s hood. Giving him all access, pulling my legs back to my chest, exposing myself completely to him, feeling decadent and sexy being so vulnerable, I want to feel his tongue lick me from my clit to my asshole and every inch in between. I need his fingers in my asshole while he softly sucks my clit, my legs wrapped around his head, grinding my pussy on him, holding him to my mound while I try to cum so hard in his mouth he thinks he’s drowning, coating his face with my juices as I BEG for him to fuck me.

Make no mistake about it; fucking me is what I want. I can fantasize about all sorts of foreplay, even about how adventurous we could be as a couple, playing in public or playing with others. But all the mental stimulation in the world always ends up at the same destination. I want to be penetrated by a beautiful, strong, loving Black man. I miss the sensation of having that dick rub my pussy lips, teasing me, sliding up and down my slit, making me anxious and excited for that split second when we connect, that instant when I feel him enter me and we become one. I can’t think of a better sensation than feeling that thick, hard dick thrusting into me, pumping me, filling me with ecstasy. If there is a heaven, it’s having the full weight of my man on top of me, hearing him whisper in my ear, “Damn baby, your pussy feels so good on my dick, I love you,” with my nails digging in his ass, pulling him deeper and deeper inside me. And I crave him deeper, harder, faster, fucking me with all his might. From behind, I want him to grab my hips, to feel my tits swinging while his thrusts with all his might and he puts his finger in my ass. On top of him, I want to use his dick like my dildo, making myself cum, rubbing my clit up and down the shaft of his penis while I feed him my tits. Finally, with my legs pressed back and his tongue in my mouth, I long for that explosive finale when I can feel his dick POUNDING me, making me scream, tears in my eyes and ready to receive his precious gift when I’m getting thoroughly fucked.

Copyright 2010 AfroerotiK

Monday, November 02, 2009

A Short-term Thang

Relationships, at least here in the self-centered West, have a specific pattern. When a couple meets, they feel each other out, they date, they make an assessment as to whether the person to whom they are attracted is worth the emotional effort, and if said couple falls in love, the couple decides to pursue a relationship. The understanding is always that the couple is pursuing a “long-term relationship”. The unspoken definition of a long-term relationship, as we have been led to believe, is one defined by no end date. A long-term relationship is supposed to be forever, happily ever after, it’s supposed to symbolize the dissolution of the individuals and the birth of a couple who combine their lives and goals and stuff in a romanticized notion of pair bonding.

I have the distinct pleasure, the very unique opportunity to be in a short-term relationship. A short-term relationship is, as I have defined it, a relationship that has no specific end date but one that is also not formed with the false belief that it will last forever. A short-term relationship is one that takes advantage of the feelings of love, intimacy, companionship, and connection one can feel with an individual while taking into consideration that there are very specific impediments to the relationship that will not withstand the test of time, that will not pass the long-term-litmus. A short-term lover is one who has the benefits of all the closeness, passion, commitment, and love without the threat of maintaining everlasting bliss looming overhead.

My lover, my manfriend and partner, the person with whom I share my life and body is an amazing man whom I love conditionally. He is someone with whom I share a history -- a history that has been blemished by his betrayal and poor decision making. We are vastly different individuals in many ways who are also so alike it is scary at times. I hold no fairly tale illusions about a happily-ever-after with him but I am more than willing to revel in the happy-right-now feelings I have in my heart (as well as my other body parts that are outrageously satisfied). I’m working hard to implement all the things I’ve learned over the years about what it takes to be in a healthy relationship, the things I’ve practiced in my mind with my fantasy partner about not expecting him to read my mind, trying to communicate my fears and dissatisfaction without trying to belittle or demean him. I’m loving every minute of being able to express all the love I have in my heart by spoiling him, nurturing him, by loving him totally and completely without hesitation or reserve. Our core philosophical compasses are so dangerously opposite however it would be foolish to think that we can build a life of long-term goals together.

I am Black. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not only Black, but I’m super, unapologetically Black. I’m passionate about providing people of color, descendents of slaves, individuals of African descent a model and example of healthy relationships and sexuality that celebrates our differences without having to whitewash our unique identity, without conforming to clownish stereotypes, while divesting ourselves of detrimental and destructive behaviors we’ve acquired in trying to conform to an identity that is not our own. While he is a man of color on the outside, he doesn’t identify himself as such. He rejects his identity; he is comfortable, dare I say happy being surrounded by rednecks and very, low-class white people. He has spent his entire life believing that being Black is something negative that has to be overcome, something he has to deny in order to be accepted by his peers. To think for a minute that he and I have the potential to form a long-term relationship would be foolish. I NEED someone in my life long-term who can be supportive of my goals and objectives. I need a partner who not only can believe in my goals but whose goals are similarly aligned with my own. For right now, however, I can overlook those differences and see the things about him that are exceptional.

Because we have been socialized is such different circumstances, my great fear is that because his core/intrinsic attraction is to smoking, drinking, bi-polar, dysfunctional, mentally unstable, white women that I will once again become the discarded victim of his need to distance himself from being Black. He is uncomfortable with my blackness. He doesn’t like me talking about race unless I say that color doesn’t matter. He is more willing to let white people ridicule him about his race than he is willing to consider that I have a right to publicly express my displeasure with the way Black people are portrayed, depicted, and stereotyped. So . . . we choose not to talk about race. For the short term, that works. I can compartmentalize my life in such a way that we can laugh and joke and share a great number of conversations that don’t touch upon race, we can enjoy the moment without the burden of projecting what is going to happen years from now. Can I do that forever, for the long-term? Unquestionably, no!

He has never seen a healthy relationship; I come from generations of Black couples loving each other as far back as slavery. Our perceptions of what it takes to be in a healthy relationship are vastly different as well. His approach to relationships is not to think about anything, never question his choices. My approach is to analyze, dissect, think, and think again. We both see each other’s position as being flawed. I need to assess the mistakes and patterns of my past so that I can grow, mature, and make healthier choice in partners and relationships. His belief is that every choice he’s made in the past has been valid and justified because he was doing what he thought was right at the time, no matter how detrimental the outcome. We live in a tiny, backwards town where adultery, drugs, alcohol, and violence are the norm for relationships. We live in a town where everywhere we go, we are faced with one of his past dysfunctional lovers, all of whom he still cares about and defends as valid choices. I could easily say that I don’t need the drama, that I deserve better in a partner but that would be stupid of me to dismiss the fact that I’ve never met a man more committed to my pleasure, to my happiness, I’ve never met another man more willing to try to be a better man with me.

The things I love about him, the things that make him such an exceptional man, are largely the things that make him so vastly different than most African American men that have been socialized in Black communities. He doesn’t have the defensiveness, machismo, or absurd notion of what it means to be a Black man so he can be his authentic self. He makes me happy. I love being with him; I know deep in my heart that he loves me; I know that being my boyfriend is important to him, so much so that he’s willing to try something different than what he’s tried before. I question his ability to be completely honest but we are working daily on that with very good results. I’m working hard on trying not to change him, I’m trying not to be judgmental of his current emotional maturity but accept him for who he is and all the wonderful things that he brings to the table. I can be outrageously condescending in believing that my way is the only right way and that he has to think and believe as I do. I’m working on that. I know him to be thoughtful and kind, he is beautiful, sweet, sincere, intelligent, warm, and loving. When I think of his accomplishments and abilities, given his surroundings, I’m in awe of how outstanding a man he is. I know that when I tell him my concerns and objections that he’s going to make a concerted effort to address them immediately. He is attentive to my every desire and need. Those things have more value and weight in my choice to be the woman in his life, to be his girlfriend, than the fact that he was raised in a community of rednecks and has embraced them as his peers, loved them as his partners.

I think of all the romantic interests I’ve had in the past that would have benefited from a short-term philosophy. I think about how many nuanced things that adults should experience in a relationship that I’ve been deprived of because my relationships didn’t have long-term potential. I’m not at all sure that my man understands or believes in the whole short-term concept but he’s wiling to take things one day at a time and see where it leads us.

This culture, this society bombards us with clichés about opposites attracting and love conquering all but I’m introspective and self-aware enough to know that those are just empty words meant to distract people from the very real, very hard emotional work it takes to build a healthy relationship. I’m attempting to replace the dysfunctional, romanticized Hollywood picture of a long-term relationship with one that is based on appreciating the good things a person brings to the table while those good feelings last. When will our relationship end? As my grandmother used to say, “Honey, you have to ask someone smarter than me.” I would like to think that our relationship will come to an amicable end when it is time for one of us to move from this place. Maybe the relationship will end when one or both of us decide that the current situation is no longer fulfilling. Ideally, the relationship will end with no hurt feelings and the acknowledgment and recognition of the tremendous love we have for one another and how it has been a wonderful component to what will be our history as we move forward. There are those who would have me believe that our relationship will be long-term as long as we continue to accept each other, love will prevail, don’t be a cynic, anything is possible. etc. Equally as loud and equally as critical of my short-term relationship model are those who say that any man who has hurt me in the past, who doesn’t value me for who and what I intrinsically am as a person is not worth my time and effort as even a short-term partner. I have to say that I’m not only comfortable with my choices but I’m outrageously happy. I have weighed his pros and his cons and the benefits FAR outweigh the negatives. For the short-term, what he and I share is positive, affirming, beautiful, loving and wonderful and that works for me.

Scottie Lowe Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

Saturday, September 12, 2009

To Be a Black Feminist

I recently read a deluded and sad “Letter to a Black Feminist” by a gentleman who blamed feminists for . . . well, basically, anything and everything he could think of. The fact that he didn’t even correctly identify what a feminist was or our real agendas didn’t seem to bother the numerous people who responded and told him how insightful and well thought out is misguided ramblings were. I am a feminist. I am an unapologetic Black feminist. I’m saddened by the lies, mistruths, and ignorance being perpetuated in my name and feel it’s my responsibility to share the truth for anyone who may be so inclined to learn and grow.

Here’s the Feminist Primer as simply as it can be explained.

Feminists work to dismantle the social, sexual, political, and economic disparity between the genders.

Feminists seek equality. Equality doesn’t mean we think we are as physically strong as men; it means we want our different strengths and abilities to have the same weight as men’s strengths and abilities have.

Feminists don’t want to be superior to men; we are not looking to replace patriarchy with matriarchy.

Feminists don’t want to emasculate men (although the concepts of masculinity and femininity are flawed, that’s besides the point). We have no agendas to make men more feminine but simply understand that there is a certain harmony and peace when masculine and feminine energies are in balance.

Feminists don’t seek to form matrilineal societies where women rule and have multiple spouses.

Feminists want to be seen as human beings, not objects, not submissives, not broken ribs or whatever fairy tales Black men want to quote to justify their insecurity with the concept that man and women should hold no power over each other.

Feminists aren’t lesbians, although we can be, but our sexual orientation has nothing whatsoever to do with our desire to fight the systems that keep women as second-class citizens.

Feminists don’t hate men although we certainly have a right to hate their privilege.

Feminists aren’t “against the family,” as so many Black men want to imply, we just don’t want the family to be based on a patriarchal model where men have the final say just because they have a Y chromosome.

Feminists simply take a stand against the oppression and tyranny of women under the false assumption of men being somehow inherently superior.

Feminists don’t want to be defined by how attractive we are to men but by our intellect, skills, talents, abilities, and our humanity.

Black men are so terrified of being equal to women that they raise these absurd and paranoid rants against feminists in order to deflect from their own emotional immaturity. Black men are hysterical. They yell and scream about how they want an end to the fallacy of white male supremacy but they don’t want anything to do with the end of male supremacy, ESPECIALLY if it means they might lose their historically unearned place as leader, ruler, and so-called king. As long as Black men feel they have a right to oppress, subjugate, or dominate women because some white man wrote a book that said that God deemed that anyone with a penis has special privileges to view women as inferior, then black men will be forever handicapped by their own ignorance and arrogance. Emasculating or hating men has NEVER been the agenda of feminists, that's nothing but bullshit rhetoric from immature and insecure men who want to keep women silenced and maintain their privilege of oppression. The very men who so vehemently hate feminists, who make us out to be evil estrogen wielding castrators, are the very men who are raping women, who are committing domestic violence, who are complacent when they see women being treated like whores and objects. Misogyny is a sickness within the Black community; it is a rampant disease that threatens our very existence. Until Black men can boldly declare that they are feminists, activists who fight for the equality of women, meaning they are willing to divest themselves of their unearned penal privilege and address how dysfunctional our society is in terms of gender, they will forever be emotionally handicapped oppressors.

Black women aren’t much better. We have no clue what a feminist is other than what we hear Black men yell and scream, we are so conditioned to try to conform to Black men’s whims, fantasies, and irrational demands, that we never question anything they tell us and we go along with what they say. Black women can more easily define what a touchback in football is rather than correctly define the term feminist, even though one is meant to make them appear more attractive to men and the other benefits their status and standing as a woman in society. Of those who have a tiny clue what the word means, they inevitably say, “White women have commandeered the feminist movement for their own agenda so I consider myself a womanist.” Ask a Black woman, “What’s the difference between a feminist and a womanist?” “Well, a womanist is more concerned with Black issues.” Does that mean that we need to come up with a different name for Democrat since I’m more concerned with Black issues than white Democrats? “Well, a womanist is more concerned with the family.” Well, white women get married more than Black women so this Black womanist movement isn’t being particularly effective, is it? You lessen your position of power if you refuse to face Black men head on with their misogyny and you attempt to side step them by using a more neutral term that they don't object to. You cannot be a warrior in the struggle if you are starting your crusade from a place of concession. If you refer to yourself as a womanist, you’ve already said to the world, “I don’t want to be equal to men because I don’t want them mad at me for being too radical.” Womanism is not the lite version of feminism, it's not the Black version of feminism, it's the patriarchal conformation to Black men's insecurities.

If there was ever a platform upon which we could stand and unite, all men and women, it is the feminist one which states that we will be seen as human beings, no more, no less, that women serve a greater role in the world than doing housework and being receptacles for sperm to satisfy men’s lust. We are individuals with equal strengths to bring to the table as men. They are not the same strengths, but they are equal nonetheless. Just as left is not better than right, hot is not better than cold, up is not better than down, white is not better than black, let us all agree the man is not better than woman.

Scottie Lowe

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Sensual evolution

When I was a child, I thought as a child, when I became a woman . . . the theory is supposed to be that my thoughts and perceptions shifted to that of an adult. I’m convinced that one’s orientation doesn’t shift, one’s primary programming doesn’t evolve, one just becomes older and more adept at justifying and validating the belief systems passed down to him or her generationally.

In an effort to define my sensual evolution, I’ve taken some serious time to assess where I was and where I am now and where I want to go in terms of my sexuality. I’m reluctant to use the term evolution because I’m not convinced that my shift in sexual desires has moved to a higher plane. Perhaps it has just shifted around like a box of tissues in the back window of a car on a bumpy ride.

When I was a developing teen with raging hormones and no one to help me navigate my sexual feelings other than my other pubescent friends, my sexuality was defined by my mother’s collection of pornography in her closet. I was thrilled with words more than pictures and obviously, given my career choice, a fact has carried over into my adult life. I learned about sexuality from overtly misogynist and sexist material that objectified women. Thusly, my sexual desires reflected that fact. I wanted to be seen as desirable and subsequently my fantasies were in relation to that. My earliest fantasies were of doing the things that would make men want me, to see me as the most beautiful, to be the most pleasing to men. I worked hard to perfect my skills at giving head; I would construct intricate and complex scenarios to seduce my boyfriends, all my fantasies revolved around giving pleasure to men. Rarely, if ever, did I fantasize about men giving me pleasure. Two rapes, a failed marriage, a decade of being single, and the conscious effort to become more comfortable with my sexuality have caused my fantasies to shift. I no longer have a desire to be seen as beautiful or desirable to men, in fact, my desires are just the opposite. I want to be seen as a human being and a woman and the person inside the package.

For many years now, I’ve been asexual. I’ve put up a wall around my sexuality intended to keep people out. For me, the concept of planning a seduction and performing outrageous feats of sexuality to please a man are totally foreign to me. My sexual fantasies now mostly revolve around me being seduced and pleasured. In my 43 years of life, I’ve only been seduced once. I’ve had plenty of men want to give me pleasure but that really had nothing to do with pleasing me as a human being, it had more to do with conquering me as some sort of trophy or possession. I do fantasize of once again planning intricate and detailed seductions for my mate but the concept of finding a mate that appreciates all of me are the details I can’t seem to fill in in my imagination.

I used to fantasize about being with women; it’s been years since I’ve had those sorts of thoughts. I used to fantasize about sucking dick; now I chant “Eat me” in my fantasies. In fact, for the first decade of my sexual life, I never asked a man to perform oral sex on me because I thought that was an indication of being selfish. I would REFUSE to sit on a man’s face, even if he insisted that I do it. In my mind, it was indicative of something exclusively for me I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. (I still don’t like doing it but that’s mostly because men tend to suck too hard on my clit when I’m on top and I like it SOFT) I still fake orgasms, almost pathologically, because I can’t let go of my conditioning that says that I have to make the man happy. Today, a large percentage of my fantasies unashamedly revolve around reciprocal anal play. Five years ago, the concept of two men together sexually triggered what I call the “knee-jerk talk show reaction.” That’s the standard, “That’s disgusting,” indignation that 99% of people have in the audiences of Jerry and Maury when the concept of male bisexuality is discussed that is blatantly absent when the issue is two women together. I realize now that my beliefs were part of conservative, Protestant-ethic, brainwashing that has no basis in really dissecting the causes, issues, and genesis of same sex couplings. Today, I find myself aroused by the concept of two men together and I also am aroused by the act of intimacy that a man extends to me in sharing his bisexual desires. Rarely do I fantasize about being penetrated and when I do, my fantasies are romantic more than sexual. In recent years, I was aroused by dominating men. Now, I no longer have a need to be sexually dominant I just accept that as a part of my sexuality. I don’t have a need to assert power over men, or to psychologically manipulate them, I simply long to be treated as a queen.

My ideal sexual fantasy at this stage in my life is to have a mate, lover, partner, boyfriend/husband that is committed to pampering me each night. I dream of a man that draws my bath every evening and pampers my body with oils and lotions and shea butter. Completely relaxed, he then takes painstaking efforts to bring me to orgasm based on the things that arouse me specifically, i.e. licking my asshole, fingering my magic spot, sucking my nipples gently, and eating me SOFTLY. Then and only then, when I’m completely satisfied, do I fantasize that I’m so wickedly pleasured that I have to have him inside me and we make love in a passionate and intense erotic experience. Upon awaking, he’s there behind me, to give me the morning wood that I love so much. I do fantasize that I take great efforts to keep him aroused and plan intricate seductions but it’s difficult to get a good picture of how I do that for the simple fact that I can’t see a man in my life.

I’ve tried to map out a roadmap of where I want to go in my sexual life from here but a lot of that is dependent upon finding a mate. Right now, I tend to think that I’m going to be primarily celibate for the rest of my life and that I’ll supplement my sex life with meaningless episodes once a year or so. That saddens me more than one can imagine but I’m extremely pessimistic about finding a mate. I would like to see myself evolving sensually with my mate, practicing tantric techniques and growing in love and communication. Where I go, how my fantasies will evolve is yet to be seen but I will be sure to monitor my motivations and desires in an effort to track my sensual evolution.

Have you assessed your sensual evolution? Have you asked yourself what things went into making up your sexual personality and how have you grown or changed? How are your desires different now than in years past and are they more healthy or have you just continued on without thinking about your sexual motivations? Share your thoughts and opinions.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Black Porn Sucks




The images of African Americans in the adult industry are largely atypical of the true Black experience. The perpetuation of racist and stereotypical images prevalent in the adult industry work to foster unhealthy and diseased perceptions of African Americans and render the majority of African Americans without avenue for healthy erotic expression. The perpetuation of the Black woman as the Ghetto Bitch, Ghetto Whore, and Ghetto Freak is not reflective of the vast and overwhelming majority of Black women. The perpetuation of the Black man as the barely literate, one-dimensional bull is offensive and steeped in sick prejudices that are not reflective of the vast majority of African American males as well.

The quality, or lack thereof, of Black or Ebony adult material available is horrific. Internet sites tend to list ebony or interracial content as “fetish” as if there is something freakish or abnormal about Black sexuality that sets it apart from the norm. The videos available are as low budget as one can possibly get; the actors and actresses are usually taken from the most disenfranchised and marginalized portion of the population, the sets appear to be nothing more than housing project residences with an HD camera and a tripod purchased from Best Buy. Similarly, Black oriented magazines seem to produce a fair amount of income from recycling images from 1975 with production costs that range around $.04 per poorly printed copy.

The word nigger is a racial epithet, not an aphrodisiac. There needs to be an immediate cease and desist of the use of the word Nigger (or any pronunciation thereof) in adult films/websites. That word should not ever be used in connotation to sexual arousal. When used in that context, it becomes the sexual trigger for people of other races and they then associate that word with Black sexuality and their arousal. It’s unacceptable convince anyone that it's erotic or sensual to throw that vile, offensive word around during sex to fulfill or perpetuate their racist/slave/Mandingo/dark continent fantasies.

Intentional and concerted effort needs to be made to show African Americans in a more favorable and well-rounded light. Black people are capable of more than interracial couplings and Freak Fest Ghetto Extravaganzas. Black adult stars are rarely ever featured together, implying that Black people are only arousing when paired with white people. All black adult entertainment usually panders to the lowest common denominator, virtually excluding those individuals that might be seeking adult entertainment that does not originate from housing projects or Black Bike Week.

Using economically disenfranchised African Americans as tools for adult entertainment is standard fare for the industry. The very nature of the practice is racist and offensive. It leave people of other races with the false impression that Black people are all on welfare, all victims of gunshots, and only capable of the most vanilla and mundane sex acts perform while drunk on malt liquor. It leaves the "actors" themselves with a false sense of identity by promoting the concept that all they are capable of is sex in exchange for money. Most importantly, it is not entertaining or arousing for the vast majority of African Americans that exist outside of that reality. It is offensive to suggest that showing such a miniscule portion of the Black community in an adult light is the source for arousal for all of us.

African Americans that come from all walks of life and aesthetic expression should be represented in tasteful, erotic scenarios. Black women can be beautiful and sexy with natural hair yet they seem to be dangerously missing from the adult industry. Showing image after image solely of African American female buttocks simply serves to objectify and dehumanize the subjects. Apparently, lighter complexioned African American men are not considered attractive or sexual because their presence in the adult industry is minimal which only serves to reinforce the “Mandingo, cotton-picking, big-dicked-Negro-as-Buck” stereotype. That negatively defines Black manhood as being equivalent to skin tone and penis size.

I find it disheartening that it's almost 2010 and I, a reasonably intelligent, sensual mature Black woman, can't find one single erotic film/video that speaks to me. It's sad that my female peers feel the need to deny their sexuality because we have no concept of what it is to have erotica that isn't raunchy and degrading, because we have no erotic outlet other than books. I'm prepared to take the industry by storm, create material for us, by us, that speaks to us and appeals to all races. I create erotica that arouses men and women, both black and white. I write stories that show our complexity and sensuality that aren't whitewashed, colorless tales but rather I write about our issues in our language and that isn't a coon/minstrel show that makes us look like buffoons. People of African descent deserve adult material that is light years ahead of what's available to us now. "Well, the adult industry isn't going to change. We have to make our own." I hear that all the time from the legions of people who share my frustration. Unfortunately, the white power structure has to sign on, someone has to open the door in order for us to get our foot in or else we will be spinning our wheels in futility.

Copyright 2009 Scottie Lowe

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Promiscuous Girl

There’s a HORRIBLE song, musically that is, that touts the virtues of being a promiscuous woman. We, as women of color, have been socialized to fall on either ends of the very limited spectrum. We either think of ourselves as freaks, a derogatory term that has become synonymous with Black women who believe their value is in their big asses. The rest of us think that any sexuality beyond heterosexuality union with our prince charming is bad and we live our lives trying to force men into that role or denying out sexuality and any expression other than the most conservative of behaviors.

Just a couple of years ago, I thought going to a swing club was quite possibly one of the nastiest things I could do. I turned up my nose at it and judged anyone who would go. I couldn't wrap my head around the concept that anyone that would have sex in public was worthy of my respect. Until I experienced a swing club myself. My first experience, I went with a friend who was going through some deep shit and she was going to go with or without me and I decided to go with her in order to make sure she didn't do anything crazy. We walked around and asked a lot of questions mostly but one couple invited us to watch them have sex in a private room. It was better than any porno I've ever seen because they were mad about each other and they were having sex for US. It was like having my own action figures that I could move and position any way I wanted. While the young lady was getting fucked, I was whispering in her ear. She held my hand when she came. That's a moment I won't ever forget. I went to several more swing clubs after that and found that even though I didn't have sex or participate, I enjoyed the experience I shared with people who were willing to share their experiences with me. I had two friends I would go with on a semi regular basis and we would "play" together. Did that make me a promiscuous freak? No. Are there women who go to swing clubs who are promiscuous freaks? Yes, by all means, but just because one engages in sexual expression doesn't define them.

It wasn't until I went to an all Black swing club that I allowed myself to experience group activity. It was so beautiful, so sensual, so natural, so erotic . . . I loved every second of the experience. There was something so spiritual about the entire thing. My friend was going down on me, making me cum like mad, and I was my usual very vocal self. A crowd gathered around to watch and I turned my head and kissed this guy who was lying next to me who happened to be fucking another sista at the time. It was mind-blowing. Before I knew what was happening, there were total strangers, men and women, lined up to give me pleasure.

Did that experience make me a promiscuous freak? NOT AT ALL. I have no regrets whatsoever. It was amazing. If I had two lovers whom I cared about, and my libido was resurrected, I would probably welcome the possibility of double penetration. I had a threesome with a two friends once, a man and a woman, and it was one of the most sensual experiences of my life. There was no jealousy, no hang-ups, it was three peers coming together to experience a level of intimacy that no words can describe.

Judge the person, not the act. It is not beyond my comprehension that a woman would be able to enjoy the act of being fucked in the pussy and asshole at the same time and NOT be a ho. Unfortunately, most women aren't sexually liberated, no matter how promiscuous or celibate they are. How the men who engage in the act perceive it afterwards has a lot to do with the maturity of the individuals beforehand and it has very little to do with the woman herself.

Copyright 2006 Scottie Lowe

Friday, June 26, 2009

Dear Michael




This is not a letter to Michael, it is an ode; my ode to the boy who helped shape my identity.

I will be the first to admit that I was not a fan of Michael Jackson in his later years. I believed him to be a pedophile, largely influenced by the fact that he had never emotionally matured past an adolescent himself. I believe his love of children, while sincere in his mind, heart, and interpretation, was unhealthy. I was repulsed by the physical transformation he underwent and saddened that he hated his blackness so much that he felt the need to mutilate his face to look monstrous and grotesque.

But this is not about the Michael Jackson of later years. This is about the brown, immensely talented little boy with whom I fell in love before I knew what love was. The Jackson Five’s first hit was released when I was three years old. I literally grew up with Michael Jackson. I had posters on my wall and every birthday and Christmas of memory is one marked by a Michael Jackson gift. On my 6th birthday, I received an orange record player and the album Got To Be There. I played the song Ben over and over again, believing in my heart that I felt a connection with young Michael that only he and I could share. His emotion poured through my young body and loved him.

Michael Jackson was the boy to whom I compared all others. In the third grade, I had a crush on Kim Williams because he had a big afro like Michael Jackson. In junior high I had a crush on a boy from my church who had a jheri curl just like Mike. I vividly remember getting a cassette tape of a Jackson 5 album and playing it on my grandmother’s tape recorder one summer until I broke the tape and cried incessantly. I would watch the Jackson 5 cartoon because I felt like it was “my” cartoon, created for me and little brown girls like me. Yeah, there were the Osmond’s for white girls but the Jackson 5 belonged to me. They danced like I danced, they grooved like I liked, and they looked like me with brown skin and African features. I have vivid memories of staring out the window and wondering how far it would be to Indiana. Many a night, when I suffered the abuse of my dysfunctional mother, I would dream of packing my clothes in a red bandana handkerchief, tying it to the end of a stick, and walking to where Michael Jackson lived. I felt sure in my heart that he would love me as much as I loved him.

As I got older, my walls filled with posters of the various heartthrobs of the day. Foster Sylvers, Lawrence Hilton Jacobs, and Ralph Carter all had their respective spots. I even had Scott Baio, Sean Cassidy, and Leif Garret to reflect my diversity. The only person who remained consistent, the only space that remained reserved was the place for Michael Jackson. He represented all that was beautiful to me. I would dream of the day I would be old enough to marry Michael Jackson and I just KNEW that I was his biggest fan.

If I were a gambling woman, I'd put good money on the bet that the very first person I had a masturbatory fantasy to was Michael Jackson. I don’t have a specific memory, but I remember being under the covers, a flashlight, a Right On Magazine, and a funny feeling "down there". When I got Off the Wall, I would play She’s Outta My Life over and over and over. I wasn’t allowed to curse so when he said, “Damned indecision and cursed pride,” I had to skip that word. When he cried at the end, I cried. And even though I knew he wrote the song for Tatum O’Neil, I convinced myself that if he had ever had the chance to meet me, that he would have written it and sung it for me.

When MTV started playing Michael Jackson videos, I would stand in front of the TV and duplicate the choreography and go to school and perform for all my classmates. The debut of a new MJ video was all that we lived for. I remember when Thriller came out. There hadn’t been anything like it before and my best friend and I were MESMORIZED by it. I’ll never forget the woman’s name, Ola Ray, who played his girlfriend. I hated her. Not “hate” the way the word is used today, but hate in the sense that if I had ever seen her I would have beat her ass senseless. I was so jealous that she got to kiss Michael Jackson that I was green with envy. By the time I had gotten to high school, the delusions of me meeting Michael Jackson and falling in love with him were over. I was content to think that I could however marry Randy Jackson and just be NEAR Michael during the holidays and family gatherings. That seemed perfectly reasonable to me.

When I was in college, he made the Bad video in a subway station in Brooklyn. My friends and I went down there and thought we were going to be able to get a part in the video. She was light skinned and half Puerto Rican and I was the best dancer of anyone we knew. We just knew that if anyone two people could talk our way on the set, it would be us. Needless to say, they didn’t let us anywhere near the set and we went home, dejected and arrogant. “Michael Jackson ain’t shit . . . he don’t know talent when he sees it.” Forget the fact that we didn’t even get close to him. It was after that that my love affair with MJ started to fade. When his nose kept getting smaller and smaller, and his face started getting whiter and whiter, and when his dance moves stayed the same, I fell out of love with my first true love.

Without Michael Jackson, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today, of this I am convinced. Without having him as my tween idol, I’m convinced I wouldn’t love black men the way I do. Michael Joseph Jackson set the standard to which I compared all other potential lovers for a very long time. He was my first crush, my first boyfriend, he was my first true love. I mourn this day at the loss of my first love. I mourn this day for a soul who shaped lived in ways that he may have never comprehended. Beyond his music, beyond his transformation, his core, the beautiful brown boy with the immeasurable talent was a driving force in the creation of who I am today and I honor and praise all that he was.

Copyright 2009 Scottie Lowe

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Who’s Your Daddy?

I had a guy friend once who had two small daughters. He would take his daughters to work with him, he would pick them up from school, they loved their daddy and it showed every time they would see him. I was mesmerized by their relationship because he took such pride in knowing that his daughters could count on him for anything they wanted or needed. If they were having problems with children at school, they knew that their daddy would be there to resolve the conflict. If a man said something inappropriate to them, they knew that they could run to their daddy and he would defend and protect them at all costs.

I’m 40 years old and I’ve never known what it’s like to have a daddy. I’ve never had a daddy, I have a father I met when I was 16. The only interaction I have with him is him giving me a check on my birthday and Christmas and sending a few emails a couple times a year. I’m no expert but I know that parenting has to go much further than that. I’m not real sure I know all the intricacies of what having a daddy involves but I’m sure that it’s more than giving $400 a year and an email that says, “Hey kiddo.”

I have to wonder how my life would be different if I’d known the safety and security of a father’s love in my life. I have to imagine that my choices in men would have been vastly different if I’d had a daddy to help shape my perceptions. They say you can’t miss what you never had but that’s bullshit, complete and utter bullshit. I’ve missed out on what it is to know that there is a man that loves me unconditionally. I’ve missed out on what it is to know that there is a man in the world whose primary responsibility is to protect me and provide for me. If I’d had a man to love me, I sure as hell wouldn’t have begged undeserving men to love me and spent so many years of my life trying to convince them that I was worthy of love.

My father isn’t some ex-con deadbeat. He’s a genius whose worked at the same high paying job for over 40 years and who is a daddy to two other daughters other than me. When I was growing up, the concept of “daddy” was something that set my mother off on a rampage so I dared not even bring up the subject. Now I realize how detrimental that was to me.

All too many fathers only want to be a daddy to their sons. Daughters are expendable, disposable and only sons have value in far too many men’s eyes. I know my mother resented me for not being a tiny replica of her and I grew up trying to compensate for being a constant disappointment to her. It’s only now that I’m realizing that I have been compensating for feeling unlovable to the men in my life because I never knew a father’s love. We as women have to start coming to terms with the fact that we’ve been handicapped emotionally by never knowing a father’s love. Moreover, we need to start ensuring that our daughters know a father’s love. This whole, “I can raise my child by myself, I can be the mommy and the daddy,” is noble, but it’s fucked up. Men need to be daddies to their girl children. Maybe then, when we let go of the dysfunctional beliefs that are so prevalent, that so many people want to justify, then we can have a community of women who, when some undeserving man who wants to use and manipulate us for sex asks, “Who’s your daddy,” we can know with assuredness to whom we belong.

Copyright 2007 Scottie Lowe

Saturday, November 29, 2008

What is Healthy Black Sexuality?

For all too long Black sexuality has been defined by extremes. We have been defined as hypersexual, untamed savages who are ruled by our lust and far too many of us have embraced that misrepresentation without the presence of a healthier alterative example to model. Others of us have adopted a role of sexual conservatism in order to conform to a standard that tells us that the only sex that isn’t dirty . . . is boring. Somewhere between the freak and the frigid lies AfroerotiK sexuality.

Where do intelligent, middle class Black people turn to find sexual expression? What outlets do we have to be aroused without offensive, degrading, vulgar pornographic images? My work is providing such an outlet yet I'm continually and repeatedly told that my work is offensive. What's offensive is a nation of Black people who can't form healthy relationships because they don't know how to be open and honest with their partners about their needs, desires, and fantasies. What's offensive is that as an educated successful Black woman, I'm told that I'm a freak if I even make reference to sex, however academic the discussion. If my work glorified sex in exchange for money, cheating, or manipulation, that would be a perversion of sex. My work glorifies couples being intimate, communicating, sharing their secrets with one another and validating that adults, and young adults should be having sex based on LOVE first and foremost.

The African American community is diseased in our perceptions of sexuality. The middle class can't even have a conversation about sex; we can't even have a discussion about the subject of sex before someone is trying to censor it. The rest of us are out having unprotected, irresponsible sex like it's recreation. There's a vast difference between saying, "I'm a big booty ho looking to swallow seven loads of cum," and "I long to feel the sensation of your tongue licking me until I explode in your mouth." Until we as a people can discern the difference, until we as a people can stop relegating anything to do with sex as being dirty and unmentionable, we are doomed to be dysfunctional and sexually immature. We should be able to have discussions about sex in all forums, with relative boundaries in mind, and not be so quick to feign false indignation as if sex is dirty and unmentionable.

Monday, November 03, 2008

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE UNDECIDED: YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS AND YOU KNOW IT

by Tim Wise

November 2, 2008, 10:21 am

To Whom It May Concern,

With so little time remaining before election day, and with so many things running through my mind--things that I'm hoping might, if presented correctly, somehow influence your vote--I hardly know where to begin. I guess I could speak to you about one or another public policy issue--perhaps health care, or education--and try to convince you that Barack Obama is the better choice. But I'm not going to do that. Not because I doubt that it's true, but because there's something more important to think about. It's about you, and who you are, and what you want to stand for and associate with come election day.

I won't try and change your mind about issues. My own ideological commitments are decidedly to the left, far more so than Barack Obama by the way (which is why I actually find it funny when folks suggest he's some far-out radical or socialist). I actually wish Obama were more bold in his progressivism, but many years ago I learned that when it came to presidential elections, I'd likely have to settle for voting for the candidate who I felt was better, even if they were far from my own ideal. I could spend the other 364 days fighting for what I believed in, without apology or compromise. Election day, for me, has always come to be about harm reduction: a political equivalent of the hippocratic oath. And that's OK.

I'm asking you now to make that same leap: to relinquish the need to be totally behind the person you vote for, and instead to make the best out of a situation that you may see as less than ideal, but which nonetheless posits a very serious choice in terms of which direction this nation travels, less so in terms of policy than in terms of tone, demeanor, and its overall political culture.

Because this election isn't just about taxes, or the war in Iraq, or energy policy, though it is all of those things. Honest and decent people can disagree about those subjects, as with any political issue. But this election is about the public face of the United States of America in the early twenty-first century. And when it comes to such a matter as this, the difference between an Obama and McCain vote couldn't be clearer.

If you don't believe me, I implore you to take a look at the numerous video clips of McCain and Palin's hardcore supporters (links embedded at the end of this letter) as they scream words of anger and hatred at Obama supporters who are merely standing with signs announcing their preference outside one or another McCain rally. These mobs, and that is what they are, are not merely people who disagree about issues with Senator Obama--which would be fine--but rather, they are persons who seem incapable of even seeing the humanity of their opponent, or his supporters. They are people whose vitriol and venom know few if any bounds. They are people who call him names that are only thinly-veiled racial slurs, who threaten him with violence, and who suggest that he is a "baby killer" whose election would destroy America. These are dangerous people, and what's important here, is that they are not like you.

If you agreed with this kind of rhetoric, I suspect you wouldn't be undecided, or perhaps merely leaning towards McCain. You would be a full-blown acolyte. That you are not suggests that you are trying to avoid the trap of overblown emotionalism. For that, I thank you. And for that reason I am asking you to consider that if you vote for McCain, you will not merely be voting for policies that you may prefer, but you will also be empowering some of these very forces visible in the videos. You will be casting your lot with them, making common cause with persons whose anger and rage threatens to tear the country apart at a time when we desperately need to come together to solve common problems. These forces, if victorious, would think their triumph a signal event, one that would give them a green light to ramp up the volume of their hatred even louder.

Although most McCain supporters are not like the thugs attending these rallies, surely it must give you pause to think that you could vote as they vote, that you might contribute to the election of a man whose base includes such persons as these. People who have verbally abused Obama campaigners canvassing door-to-door or on the phone, who suggest that we should "Bomb Obama," and who have spread vicious rumors about the candidate with no basis in fact. And through it all, Obama himself has sucked it up, smiled through it and tried to take the higher ground.

And so we return to that notion of the public face of our nation, which is on the line in two days. Do you want this nation to elect a man whose victory would be dependent on the kind of persons as you can see in these videos? People whose sole commodity is fear, contrasted with Obama supporters whose mantra of hope--however simplistic you may think it, and however vague it may indeed be--at least appeals to the better angels of our natures, and to the positive, constructive impulses that have animated the nation's people in their better moments.

Perhaps you think it unfair to link John McCain to the yahoos attending many of his events. Perhaps you feel that his status (self-proclaimed at least) as a maverick, would mean that, if elected, he would clearly distance himself from fringe wingnuts such as these. But you know what a real maverick would have done by now? A real maverick would already have distanced himself, clearly and repeatedly, from these folks. And John McCain has not. These videos have been bouncing around for weeks, and with the exception of one tepid comment about how both sides need to tone down the hostile rhetoric--which seemed to imply an equivalence between Obama supporters and the folks on those tapes that simply doesn't exist--McCain and Palin have said nothing. Rather, McCain said he was "proud" of the people at his rallies, including, apparently the kinds of people we can all witness spewing their bigotry for the world to see.

A real maverick would have said the following: "My friends, I want your vote, and I sincerely believe that I am the best man for this job. But if you are supporting me because you are afraid of having a black president, or because you believe my opponent to be a terrorist, or a Muslim (and you believe Muslims are evil and unqualified to hold office), or because you believe the long-since discredited rumors about him that have been bouncing around the internet, or if you wish him harm, either now or in the future, I am asking you not to vote for me. More than that, I am telling you not to. I am asking you to stay home on election day, because I don't want the support of people like you. If the only way I can win the presidency is on the backs of bigots, I'd rather not win."

Now THAT would have been a maverick move. It would have been a bold move, one filled with courage and honor and character. It would have cemented McCain's place in history as a man of principle. But he never said this, or anything remotely like it. He knows he can't win without the support of two groups: the crazies, and the undecideds. The first of these he feels confident he can hold. The second of these? Well, that's for you to decide. But for my money, I think you are not only smarter, but fundamentally more decent than that. On election day, please show the nation and the world that my faith in you was not misplaced.

Sincerely,

Tim Wise

LINKS TO McCAIN RALLIES:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vL20TdHjX2s
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fbpZXivv-M
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLuI1NHpQnc&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjxzmaXAg9E&feature=related