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 fantasies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasies. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 09, 2014

Show and Tell




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved 

Saturday, November 01, 2014

Savannah Film Festival




The first week in November is my favorite time of the year.  It’s the time of the annual Savannah Film Festival and my own personal time for indulgence.  I just pack up a bag and head down to Savannah where I’m transported to a different place in time.  If I’m lucky, I can catch the fall foliage colors, hit the museums, and listen to some great jazz while I’m there as well.   Usually, I go as a spectator, taking in the film and surrounding myself with culture.  This year was going to be particularly special for me.  I was going to be debuting my first erotic short film.  Upon leaving last year, I decided I could do the same thing some of those other people I had done and set out to tell my story on celluloid.  I was nervous because there was no “genuine” Black erotic film out there and I was afraid of how it was going to be received.  I didn’t want people to think it was porn and I didn’t want intellectuals overanalyzing what I was intending to do.  I wanted to present to the world twenty minutes of cerebral dialogue, intense emotions, and exquisite lovemaking between Black people. 

I was disappointed because it was yet another milestone in my life where I didn’t have a partner with whom I could share my accomplishment.  I couldn’t dwell on it; I had to expose myself to the world.  I knew most people wouldn’t be able to appreciate it, so I just meditated on staying grounded.  I spent the morning in Forsyth Park right across the street from my Bed and Breakfast.  For me, staying in the Magnolia Inn was a far different experience than the other guests.  For me, it was a reminder of the slaves that labored to build its opulence while they lived as less than humans.  I thought of the black women that had been the possessions of white genteel masters that had to entertain late nights in the very chambers where tourist now casually laid their heads and long for the days of old.  No, for me, Savannah was the vehicle to my history, a dark and painful past that came alive to me in the tortured whispers of my ancestors. 

The Lucas Theater was relatively packed.  I held my breath and recited my brief introduction like I had rehearsed 52 times in my bathroom mirror.  I was praying that people would not be able to tell that I had never directed a community play before, let alone an erotic film.  I closed my eyes and let the entire thing play out in my head, I knew every second of that film by heart.  By the time it was over I had finally exhaled.  The kudos and the backslapping reigned down supreme.  Everyone was congratulating me on a job well done and talking to me about features and a whole bunch of movie industry terms I had never heard of . . . but I played along like I had. 

I saw him lingering in the periphery, waiting to make his approach.  He looked nervous almost, or hesitant might have been a better description.  The crowd thinned out and he made his way to me.  “I loved the fact that you gave him a sense of responsibility.  He was selective with whom he slept, I appreciate that commentary.  So many sexual representations of Black men make us out to be callous and indiscriminate with our partners.  Thank you.”  He turned and started to walk away without further introduction. 

“Wait . . . thanks . . . wait . . .”  There was something about his demeanor that, while soft-spoken, was genuine.  “No one else got that.  Everyone else thought it was just about the sex.”  He turned to face me and I couldn’t tell which one of us was more unsettled.  I didn’t want him to walk away but I was scared to appear too eager.  He was beautiful, there was no denying it, but more than anything I wanted to ask him what he thought, how the movie made him feel.  We stood in silence and stared at each other in awkward pause.  “My name is Robert, I really loved your work.”  We grinned and exchanged pleasantries through the awkwardness. 

“Do you have plans for dinner,” he asked, “If you like seafood, the Sapphire Grill is the best place in town.  I’d love it if you joined me.  We can celebrate the debut of AfroerotiK.”   It looked like it took every ounce of courage in him to ask me but I was the one that was nervous and flattered and speechless.  I felt like a schoolgirl being asked out to prom.  I accepted and he agreed to pick me up at 8.

Dinner was magical.  The conversation was seamless; we laughed and talked well into the evening.  We spoke of erotica and what it meant to us as Black people.  He listened intently as I went off into my passionate discussion of my work and what I wanted it to accomplish.  Wine loosened my inhibitions and I inched closer whenever I could, I made a point to rest my hand on his arm when he made a particularly interesting point.  I let my leg linger on his under the table and made sure my eye contact let him know in no uncertain terms that I was attracted.  I was feeling rather brazen, at least for me who spends the majority of my time in front of a monitor with little or no human interaction for weeks at a time. 

We stood at the steps of the Magnolia Place and talked some more.  “So, I have to ask one more thing. Was your film about your own personal experience?”  If anyone else had asked me that I would have been offended.  That was personal information that no one had a right to know.  The truth of the matter was that I was in everything that I wrote, every erotic story I created.  I knew my feelings and motivations better than anyone, so I didn’t have to guess what a character would say, or how she would react.  All of my erotica represented a side of me that didn’t have an outlet in real life. 

I looked him intently in his eyes and, without answering, took his hand in mine and turned to walk up the ivy-covered steps of the inn.  There was no turning back and I didn’t even have time to formulate a plan.  I was going off of pure adrenaline, and merlot.  Andrew Jackson would probably be rolling in his grave if he knew the things that were going to happen between the two descendents of slaves in the room named after him.  I didn’t want to speak; it would have broken the spell.  I just wanted this to transpire like a movie in my mind—a sensual, erotic scenario of artistry and magic. 

I kept the lights off as we entered the room and dropped my bag by the door.  I didn’t have to worry about what to do next as Robert turned me around and pulled me to him.  I loved that masculine instinct that took over, that thing men do when they want to unleash that primal beast.  It supercedes the reserved, conservative nature that some men have.  It’s so sensual; it makes me feel wanted and desired.  He pulled me into his arms and I reveled in the sensation.  I could feel his hands caressing the small of my back.  I didn’t want to speak because that would have broken the spell.  If I started talking, my doubts and fears would have crept in.  I didn’t want this to stop.  I wanted to live life for once with no safety net. 

The heat was intense between us.  I threw my head back and felt his lips on my neck.  My fever was rising.  I was unbuttoning his buttons as we moved backwards to the bed.  His kisses tasted sweet, his tongue was soft and yielding.  He gently laid me back on the bed and undid the ties of my wraparound dress.  I felt sexy, revealing myself to him like that.  My breasts were aching to be touched and caressed.  My eyes had adjusted to the dim light that peaked through the heavily curtained windows and I watched as he undressed at the foot of the bed; his golden brown skin a delicious contrast to my slightly darker mocha.  My hands caressed my secret places in anticipation.  He lifted my hips and removed my wet panties.  He held them to his face and inhaled deeply my scent. 

I slid back on the bed and he prepared his complete and relentless seduction. My neck was his first target and he kissed and sucked it, cradling in the gentle slope of my throat, licking his way to from my shoulder to my ear.  I threw my head back and moaned; it was my signal to him that I loved every second of his attention.  He found my hot spot and began gently sucking on it while his hands found my breast and began massaging them.  My nipples were aching from arousal as he slid his mouth lower and began sucking and licking all over my breasts.  My arousal was climbing to a fevered pitch as he was arousing me like he had a map to my body and knew exactly how to pleasure me.    I watched in amazement as he kissed his way down my stomach and made my belly button into an erogenous zone.  He made love to my tummy with his mouth; pampering me in a unique way no one else had ever thought to do.  The teasing became more intense.  Robert began kissing his way down the fronts of my legs, my hips, my inner thighs, every place except my incredibly aroused pussy. 

He positioned himself between my legs.  I was grabbing the sheets and thrusting my hips forward trying to get his to lick me.  He was blowing hot breath on my parted and aroused lips; the moistness of my inner flesh evident on my pink folds.  His mouth made love to my sweet, sticky center.  His tongue softly licked my clit and made me cry out with pleasure.  His fingers entered me and drove me to the edge of orgasm.  He was playing my body like a fine tuned instrument.  Giving me pleasure became his sole objective.  I was mumbling incoherently, “Yes . . . oh shit . . . yeah, lick my pussy . . . fuck . . . fuck me.”  I was pulling my nipples and his hands were caressing every inch of skin he could reach.  I placed my hands on his bald head and rested them there because he didn’t need instruction where to go.  He held my long legs up in the air and broke his silence with a pointed question, “Do you want me? ” 

I needed him more than I needed air at that moment.   I let my eyes respond, my eyes, my body and my heart.  I was relinquishing control, giving myself to passion.  I couldn’t stop; there was no turning back.  I didn’t want to be reserved and alone.  I wanted to feel like a woman and I wanted Robert to take me there. 

My moans were louder than they should have been.  He was teasing me and he knew it.  I needed to feel him inside me and he was torturing me with his slow seduction.  His mouth lowered to my hard nipples and I cradled his face in my hands.  I watched him in awe as his left hand touched my body like a paintbrush to a canvas.  He stopped only to position himself at my core and drive himself inside me in one thrust. 

“Mmmmm, no, yes, wait, don’t stop.”  My hands grabbed his ass and pulled him to me.  We fell into a rhythm, a solitary unit of passionate expression.  I was riding high and about to cum.  I shut my eyes tight and felt it about to hit me.  I pulled him to me and wanted to feel every ounce of his weight on me as I reached that place that I can only find in the passionate embrace of a beautiful black man.  His body tensed and I could tell his orgasm was only a minute or two behind mine.  My wetness coated him and added to the soundtrack of pleasure we were experiencing. 

He held me in his arms and I drifted off into a peaceful slumber.  I already knew what my submission to next year’s festival was going to be. 

Ó 2003 AfroerotiK