The Center of my Universe

Infinite, ever-expanding, and multi-dimensional; I invite you to explore the three-dimensional realm where time ceases to exist and reality collapses in on itself.  I need you to make transcendent, unbounded love to me.  Your kiss, the feel of your full, sensual lips against mine, launches rockets of desire within me and makes me go into orbit.  Spread my legs, lover, gaze upon the heavens.  Taste my sweetness, the cosmic soup that is the source of all life.  Enter my sweet vortex, my black hole of sensuality.  Join with me, let our heavenly bodies collide in a fusion of spirit, mind, heart, and soul.   I want to feel your God particle planted deep, deep inside me.  Stars collide when I feel waves of not sound but pleasure consume me.  The feel of your mass pressed densely to mine, becoming one with me, bonds us at an atomic level.  Our limbs intertwined make a double helix of sensual, erotic delight and our intimacy and love defy every known and unknown law of physics.  Timed perfectly, our orgasms allow us to know our true higher selves, to have an out of body experience of an inconceivable, explosive, truly divine magnitude. 

Our bodies, united, have answered the question of the ages.  It is not a battle of science versus religion.  The union of our souls proves the theorem that God is the energy that animates our atoms.  Our collective consciousness, our energetic union cannot be created or destroyed, it will exist eternally, it has always existed.  Our love was created before time began and it has evolved over billions of light years to become this wondrous, complex system of light and dark, positive and negative, of masculine and feminine.  You are my sun, I your moon, and together we are the stars that light the way to the truth and to the light. 

Copyright 2015 AfroerotiK 

Image taken from the internet as free to share

I Have Seen the Promisedland

I am feeling really accomplished in my life today, really proud of myself.  I started calling myself a writer back in 2003.  I knew I had talent and I knew I had something to say about race, sex, sexuality, and relationships but I was scared to call myself a writer because all I had ever known was you had to get a job and work for someone else until you were retired and half dead.  Saying I was a writer was sort of like the people who wait tables who call themselves actors.  I knew I wanted people to hear what I had to say about race and racism and the psychological diseases Black people inherited from slavery and I knew I could get them to listen with the words that flew from my fingertips on a keyboard.  I knew there was power in using erotica to get people to hear my messages.  I just didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin calling myself a writer.  My family certainly didn’t support me.  They still don’t.  The only message of encouragement I get are from people who have read my words over this strange thing called the Internet and they have responded to my call.  For that, I am immensely proud. 

When I started this journey, when I created AfroerotiK, there were NO photographic images of Black couples that weren't pornographic or artistic nudes.  The two extremes that existed were either gross and crass or contrived and not arousing.  I was the very first person to create true erotic images of Black couples, stimulating images that showed emotion and depth, that showed passion and intimacy, not just body parts, not weird poses that no one could ever replicate.  Today there are photographers who have made their careers from creating erotic images of Black couples.  I single-handedly opened that door.  For that, I feel tremendously accomplished and gratified. 

When I first started preaching from my soapbox about how detrimental it is to emulate the slave master with this pathological need to have straight hair, to put toxic chemicals on our scalps, next to our brains, to sew some Filipino woman's or some poor, naked yak's hair on your head, wasn’t no one trying to hear that.  When I started out, I was adamant about being PROUD and feeling beautiful with our own natural, nappy, wooly, African hair, there were no other public figures as unapologetic as I was saying anything similar. There was no such thing as the big chop.  There were no websites for women to go to to get support to transition from slave hair to natural hair.  There wasn't even such a thing as YouTube when I started preaching, let along videos teaching women different techniques to wear their natural hair.  There was me, from my yahoo group, Black Planet, and MySpace, screaming from my computer that it was way past time that Black women started loving our own natural hair, the way God intended it to be.  I got hatred.  I got personal attacks.  Today, there is a community of Black women embracing their natural hair.  There aren't enough today but at least I'm not the only person speaking out about it, who refuse to back down because they know that it's detrimental to Black women to find their beauty in the standards of our oppressors. 

Ten years ago, when I was relentless with my critique of Black men's emotional maturity, when I was using my knowledge of consciousness to attack patriarchy and sexism and misogyny, and I was really attacking the demons that created a nation of Black men who trapped in unhealthy behaviors and who refused to budge, my voice was the only voice.  I got death threats from Black men.  I got attacked and called everything but a child of God.  Today, this very day, I got a message from a young man. 

“. . . . I'm different now after reading that and I’m making serious changes in my life.  I've chosen to practice abstinence from sexual activity for a while. I’m incorporating yoga and meditation into my routine so that I can purge my mind of the views I had of women. The objectification and lack of intimacy was like a soul-eating cancer that must be starved and cut out and replaced with that which is whole and pure. I'd rather be in solitude then continue to see through those poisoned lenses.  I read in one of your posts that said we have to do better and scouring the Internet for meaningless sex was one of the things I was guilty of. So I instituted a hands-off policy. Off myself and anyone else if it's not whole and good and mutual and with a spiritual foundation.” 

Ten years ago, there weren’t more than a handful of Black men who could have made those choices, let alone articulated them so well.  Today, I not only get very few attacks on me from Black men, on my womanhood, I see more and more introspective Black men, I see more and more Black men working on themselves, trying to be better, trying to heal their emotional wounds.  I see them trying to address the things that I’ve been preaching about for more than a decade.  It’s not a lot but the fact that I can see some small change, I can feel a tiny shift in consciousness occurring.  I’m certainly not the only voice that has been calling for the necessity for Black men to take ownership of their behaviors but I’ve been one of the few soldiers on the front lines, dodging the bullets, getting hit by the shrapnel[SL1] .  I’ve never backed down.  I’ve never surrendered.  I can’t think of anyone else off the top of my head who has used their public platform to address Black men’s emotional immaturity but I’m sure there are others.  But the message I got this morning from that beautiful, young, Black King is validation enough that I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.  A new mother showing of her beautiful newborn couldn’t be more proud than I am right now. 

I started writing interracial erotica because white people were reading my stories and they were learning that Black people were more complex than the ghetto, stereotypical images that they saw everywhere.  I was teaching white people what Afrocentric meant, that there were Blacks, groups and communities of Blacks, who spoke in ways they had never heard, that our “superiority” was not just in our oversized genitals or excellence at sports and entertainment.  Today, I have a huge following of white supporters who have a vastly different take on race because of my unapologetic stance, my unwillingness to back down, my fervent mission to rid them of the fallacy of white supremacy that has been in place and unquestioned for centuries.  I’m clearly not the only person who has been addressing racism.  There are lots of other voices out here, some louder than my own.  But, I know that I have been able to shift the perceptions of a significant portion of white people with my work.  I know that the handful of people that I have been able to reach now question their beliefs and have had to re-evaluate their biases based on the words that I have written.  That makes me feel incredibly proud. 

In my own personal life, I’m surrounded by dysfunction.  The stench of it has permeated my very soul.  I let it consume me at times, but today, I am not.  Today, I’m rejoicing in the fact that I have been instrumental in shifting the collective consciousness of people of African descent.  Today, I’m celebrating the fact that I have created a paradigmatic shift that is only going to grow and continue to spread.  I’ve known my mission for a very long time.  I was put on this earth to create social change, to educate and enlighten, to lift the collective consciousness of Africans born in AmeriKKKA, and to break the chains of mental slavery.  I’ve done that.  I’m not finished.  I have lots more work to do.  There are new battles to be waged.  The newest demon is the plague of young women who think that degrading yourself is empowering.  The next monster in line are the young people who think that being respectable is a bad thing.  I will slay those beasts with my words.  I will not give up the fight.  The war has not been won but today, I know that I have won some significant battles.  I may not have the wealth, success, and fame of many of my “peers” but I have a clear conscious in knowing that I have ONLY promoted, celebrated, and championed what is true, righteous, and healthy in our evolution as a people.  I have never sold out.  I’ve never compromised or lowered my standards or my integrity.   

So, going forward, I still have work to do.  I know now that the outcome is assured.  What I must do is what I have done. Write. I can write about what I know about and that's how the collective consciousness of Africans born in America was formed. (I don't write about Africans on the continent even though I have a tremendous and loving following there). I can write about the dysfunctional and detrimental beliefs we have inherited from white people. I can give models of what it means to be emotionally mature, vulnerable, and to be AfroerotiK. To be AfroerotiK is to be secure in your sexuality, to rid yourself of unhealthy views, to redefine everything that we've been brainwashed to believe is true. What other races do is not my concern. My only concern is to lift the consciousness of MY people. 

And for that, today, I am very proud of myself. 

---

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.

Immature vs. Decent

This is like a bad broken record. "I'm a good black man, I have a job, I have an education, and the reason why the Black community if falling apart is ALL Black women's fault because they only want thugs and they are gold-diggers, etc." If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it 34,791 times. It's a glaring sign of emotional immaturity on the part of Black men and it's tiring. The fact that so many, many, many black men can't even say, “I don't know how to deal with my emotions because I've never been taught," is embarrassing. It's embarrassing that grown men can't even acknowledge that they have areas to work on without it being seen as if they've said something that makes them weak. Hey, this is life; it's not a competition to see who can die without admitting that they have faults. The men who blame Black women for their shortcomings are the men who are the least introspective, the most emotionally distant, and the ones looking for the woman who will not hold them accountable for their actions, who will tolerate their belligerent, uncompromising foul behavior and not say a word.

Women, you can keep quiet all you want, you can blame other black women but if you don't start speaking up and holding these men accountable then you deserve the sorry assed emotionally immature men that you get. If you want a partner who respects your opinion, who will have integrity when making choices that effect your lives together, who has come to terms with the hurt he's caused in the past and who is willing to make a very concerted effort to treat his relationships with more respect in the future, THEN YOU BETTER START SPEAKING UP. You better let your voices be heard. If all you can do is blame other black women for Black men's poor behaviors then you are as emotionally immature as Black men. I won't coddle, I won't cajole. Your silence equals death. Death of the hopes that black relationships will ever flourish.

A decent sista won't let you run in and out of her bed without a commitment. I decent sista won't let you get away not accounting for your whereabouts when you are in a relationship with her. I decent sista will not pretend that your lies are truth. I decent sista will not accept you stringing her along with romance and empty promises without giving of yourself emotionally. A decent sista won't be number two three or four in your life just because you are "honest" with her. A decent sista won't let you disregard her feelings when your actions put your relationship with her in jeopardy of failing. A decent sista put up with your constant need to argue, have the last word, and constantly be right. A decent sista wants a man who can outline his past mistakes and show how he's making efforts not to repeat them in his current relationship. To be a good man to a decent sista is a lot harder than just saying you are a good black man and then blaming Black women for the destruction of the Black race.

Men, ask yourselves, do you want a decent sista, or do you want a decent looking sista who will have a high paying job, cook your meals, not stress you over where you go and what you do, and who will let you buy all the toys and gadgets you want without ever asking for money for the bills and who will give you sex when you want it without having to work for it and who fulfills all your sexual fantasies like a damn Playboy bunny? That’s not the sign of a decent man.

A decent man wants a decent woman and a relationship with a decent woman takes a lot of hard work. It’s easier to blame women than do the work it takes to be a decent emotionally mature man.