It’s Mating Season

Goddamnit, I want to have sex! It’s Spring and I am in heat. It’s not even so much that I’m horny. To me, being horny is when you are distracted by the physical sensation of wanting to have sex. That’s not at all what I feel. I want to have sex with my entire mind, body, and soul. I want to experience intimacy. I want the release of an INTENSE orgasm and kissing and foreplay and all the stuff that goes along with sex that I’m sure I’ve forgotten all about. I want to experience some new and improved sex where I re-learn everything I’ve every been taught and move to a level transcendent love-making. I’m so desperate to be penetrated that I’ve lowered my standards and I’m willing to have sex with the next half way decent guy that wants me. All I’m looking for is a summer lover who can be monogamous, who is the tiniest bit introspective, and who is willing to take a chance on being with me. He can be the poster child for Heterosexual Digest, a delegate for the Republican National Committee, he can be a deacon in the church, and he can even . . . be white. You know what? I can’t even find a man who meets my lowered standards.

Everybody gets in my ass that my standards are too high, that I’m too negative, that there are LOTS of great men out there and that I’m somehow at fault for not attracting them. It is my contention, and has been for some time now, that the standards that the Black community sets for good Black men is soooooooooo incredibly low, that any brotha with a job, a car, and who lives on his own is considered a good man. Hell, I know more than a few Black men who don’t have two of the three and they are still considered good Black men because they are reasonably attractive and have a college education.

If there are so many good Black men out there, where the hell are they? Where are the men who are introspective? Where are the men who aren’t passive aggressive? Where are the men with integrity and honor and who can tell the truth even when they know that they are going to suffer negative consequences? Where are the men who are able to commit to monogamous relationships? Where are the men who aren’t intimidated by a strong, independent woman? Where are the men who are willing to show their fears and insecurities and don’t see their manhood in inches? Where are the brothas who won’t run at the first sign of trouble in a relationship and who know how to communicate their feelings in a way that doesn’t project their insecurities? Show me the Black men who don’t put their feelings first and who don’t see sex as recreation and view their penis as something that gives them some sort of undeserved right to control and dominate women? Every Black man that I’ve met who even comes close is either married or gay. I contend it is exponentially easier for a brotha to find a good black woman, meaning one who brings the exact same things to the table that he does, than it is for a sista to find her equal if she worked on her issues.

I KNOW, I KNOW, every Black man reading this is going to scream that he’s a good Black man. Unfortunately, the problem with that is this . . . Black mothers don’t teach their sons to have integrity, to be introspective, to form relationships with women that aren’t based on getting their needs met first. Black society doesn’t teach Black men to work out there problems, to deal with their issues and hurts, it doesn’t reinforce to brothas that truth is better than lying. So, while every brotha THINKS they are God’s gift to women because they meet the Black communities low standards, they’ve never once thought about what it means to really be introspective. I bet five bucks most Black men can’t even define the word introspective correctly, let alone have they done the emotional healing needed to be introspective. You can’t put something into practice if you’ve never been shown how.

I KNOW, I KNOW, every Black woman reading this is going to scream that I’m being too harsh, that there are plenty good Black men, that all I have to do is wait, and pray, and work on myself, and put positive vibes out into the universe and stand on my head in the full moon in a month with R in it. It’s always my fault why I haven’t found a partner. Black men are never to blame, making sure the standards for Black men remain soooooo low that anyone who doesn’t have a criminal record is considered a good man. Don’t worry, we can always make concessions for those who do have criminal records so they don’t feel ostracized and they can be included in the good Black man category as well.

Where are the Black women who are frustrated, sick, and tired of being alone that can say that Black men aren’t being pushed to be better human beings and partners? Where are the Black men who can concede that they have no fucking clue how to heal their emotional scars? Yeah, I’m sure there are a few select men who meet my standards of good Black men somewhere on the planet but they are few and fucking far between.

Copyright 2009 Scottie Lowe

What am I to do?

It’s Spring. The weather is getting warmer, everything is coming back to life, the flowers are in bloom, it’s time for planting and new beginnings. It’s time to form new relationships. It’s time for romance and passion and sensuality; it’s time for eroticism and love. I want all of those things. I want flirt and kiss and . . . I want to have sex. I want to have more than sex, I want mind-blowing, brain-numbing, hot, sweaty, intense love-making. I want to have sex for so long I’m dehydrated and exhausted. I want to fuck the sheets off the bed and annoy the neighbors. I want someone to share my bed with, someone I will go out to dinner with and leave early because we can’t wait to rip each other’s clothes off.

I want all of those things and sadly, they are all elusive. I can’t find a partner. I can’t find someone to even be my lover for a few months, someone whom I can trust and let down my guard with enough to be to satisfy my very carnal and very real desires. I need chemistry and attraction. I need someone who takes my breath away and who stimulates my mind. I want someone who wants me, all of me, not just my body but someone who can see me as more than a booty call. I don’t even mind a summer fling with some dark and mysterious stranger who has to leave for Sudan in September to fulfill his Doctors without Borders responsibilities. I want is man who isn’t terrified of me saying I love you and who understands the concept of intimacy and monogamy. I crave a man who knows how to seduce me, mmmmmm, and who knows how to whisper in my ear and get me wet. WHY, dear lord, is it so difficult for me to find connection?

I am in awe and wonder at the people who can go out and find a partner in no time at all. I know people who are the most dysfunctional, the most oblivious individuals possible who can get a new boy/girlfriend every year. I haven’t been in a relationship since Bush, Sr. was in office. Sad but true. I don’t know what to do. I want to have sex. I deserve that. I have to wonder what act of God would it take for me to find a lover. I’m trying not to be melancholy about it but the thought of spending the spring alone, celibate, is making me depressed.

In the Sunshine

My childhood is peppered with memories, both good and bad, that are not unlike many people of color but also so vastly atypical and unique as to be extraordinary by any measure. I was born to a single mother in the sixties when being a single mother was still shameful. I was raised by my grandparents who were civil rights activists and intellectuals who never once subscribed to stereotypes or adhered to the narrowly defined pigeonhole to which Blacks were assigned. They were exceptional in that they adored each other and expressed that love for each other in word and in deed every day. There were never instances of people coming over to play cards or listen to music rather people stopped by when they needed help because they were facing discrimination and racism and needed a place to turn for solace. My middle class grandparents were never concerned with cars, clothes, or expensive belongings but with knowledge and justice. I was challenged to expand my mind, to treat people fairly, and to live with INTEGRITY. When I moved in with my mother, she made great efforts to expose me to the world and a myriad of experiences that would not limit me to those things to which only little Black girls were relegated. I didn't play double dutch or the dozens, I learned sign language and wrote reports on Black history. So while I was born in a tiny town in Maryland with two stop lights, reared on the border of white suburbia and rural isolation, and became a woman on the streets of New York City, I am an amalgamation of various people, places and events that color the canvas that is my life.



My sexuality, for the first 15 years of my sexual adulthood, was shaped by limiting, patriarchal, misogynist dysfunction. My sexuality was shaped largely by reading my mother's vast and extensive collection of pornography. I suspect my mother was more interested in collecting the erotica of the day in order to appear progressive and make men fall in love with her rather than her own sexual liberation. My identity was shaped by trying to distance myself from my dysfunctional mother who dated every married man she could get her hands on in order for her to never have to deal with betrayal and hurt again like she experienced from my biological father. My sexuality was shaped by an overwhelming sensation that I was inherently unlovable because my father never wanted to lay his eyes on me. My sexuality was formed by being a physically and emotionally abused child who thought she had to apologize to the world and who thought she had no right to express displeasure or demand that my boundaries be respected. When I was raped, I never thought to press charges because I had been conditioned to expect a life of pain and disappointment. When I was rejected by men who discarded me like trash, I would beat myself up and try to prove to them that I was worthy, that I was a great lover and partner and anything that they could ask for. While my grandparents showed me this fantastic, unconditional, all-encompassing love, they taught me that my sexuality was dirty and unmentionable. Everything I learned from those early life experiences I had to unlearn as I've grown in consciousness.



I attended an all white elementary school, junior high, and high school. I was ridiculed by the few Black students as not being Black enough because I got all A's and B's. I was an exceptional student who wasn't nurtured and encouraged by white teachers because there were uncomfortable with my Blackness. My Blackness didn't fit in their definition. I was not ghetto but I also wasn't willing to deny my unique history and the history of my ancestors. I attended an undergraduate program in textile technology because, while I wanted desperately to be in the fashion industry, I didn't want to be average or superficial. I wanted to have knowledge that the average person on the street wouldn't dream of knowing. I dedicated myself to mastering subjects like organic chemistry and weft knitting only to graduate and only get recognition and acknowledgement in the work force for my creativity. Nearly a decade later, I decided to pursue a Master's degree in African and African American Studies with a concentration in psychology. I had been growing and evolving personally and I needed a change. I needed to push myself, again, to learn things that the average person walking down the street wouldn't know. I chose to attend an HBCU, to surround myself with what I thought would be progressive, forward thinking Blacks who were equally as committed to dismantling the mindsets learned in slavery that keep up oppressed. I was faced with a reality that my fellow students didn't give a damn about the things I was concerned with and I felt even more isolated than when I was the sole Black student in a classroom of 30. Earning a 4.0, I accomplished that mission and did my very best to understand how African Americans came to think and behave in such detrimental, dysfunctional ways and how to go about healing those pathologies and exactly what a healthy model of behavior for descendents of slaves should look like.



My mission in life is to create social change, to educate and enlighten, to lift the consciousness of Africans born in America, and to break the chains of mental slavery. I use sex as a means to accomplish my mission, specifically, I write Black and interracial erotica in an attempt to discuss the issues that plague us, to dismantle the beliefs that keep us limited, and to paint a new picture of us as healthy individuals. Erotica is not the only tool I use but it certainly is an effective one. My personal sexuality has been influenced by my mission in that, in trying to live my life in a way that is congruent with my mission, I've alienated myself from a great number of men who only want to fuck me because of my big booty or because I have pretty feet or because they just want a piece of ass. I've redefined my sexuality because it can no longer fit into the narrow box that made me think that sex was, at best, recreation, and at the very least, something reminiscent of a porno.



Simply stated, I define erotic as a culmination of sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and sensations that arouse the body. AfroerotiK is intimacy; it is an intimacy that is so deep and abiding that you can be your authentic self with your partner without fear or hesitation. AfroerotiK is spiritual; it's a connection to a larger scheme whereby an individual can understand that their sexuality can't be defined by oppressive, rigid, and puritanical beliefs created by white men to keep people oppressed but that is a divine expression of pleasure and connection. AfroerotiK is displaying pride, dignity, and strength of character by releasing the debilitating and harmful mindsets inherited in slavery/colonialism and embracing a holistic perspective where sex is not about power or money or some tool to dull your senses but about communication, about honoring oneself, about the decadent and hedonistic abandon that can be experienced in the throes of passion.



When I sit down to create a story, I draw upon an ideal vision I see in my head of a future world where gender roles aren't so rigid. I dream a world where people embrace newer, more evolved ways to address sexuality and completely divorce themselves of the behaviors that lead them to lie, cheat, and manipulate in order to have sex. Every time I create a story, I close my eyes and envision a world where couples are more open, expressive, and honest with one another. I'm inspired to expose white people's inherent, core racist beliefs, no matter how much they deny their existence, each and every time I write a tale of interracial lust. My goal is to show Black people, complex and healthy, as role models who just happen to have passionate, intense, uninhibited sex.



My gender preference in a lover has been exclusively male for the past decade. Moreover, my most intense, emotional attraction is to men of color. The qualities I most appreciate and respect in a man are those that are rare in most African American men today, thus making my search for a partner extremely difficult. The trait most essential for me in a partner is introspection. I desire a partner who has been able to examine the events and influences in his life that shaped him, shaped his consciousness, identified those things that were detrimental to his development, and who is constantly working on redefining himself anew. I desire a partner who understands his emotional triggers and is cognizant enough to understand how those things are injurious to forming a healthy relationship and is working on healing those wounds. My ideal partner is a man of integrity, who understands the concept of honesty and embraces it, who practices a spiritual system other than Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. The perfect man for me is also a man who identifies himself as openly bisexual, having rid himself of absurd notions of manhood and who relates to me as a human being and a woman without expecting me to adhere to patriarchal, oppressive roles. To finish off my grocery list of things I desire in a partner, I would add extremely intelligent, creative, and capable of being monogamous.



My sex life has been severely stunted in the past 10 years, so much so that I find it difficult to remember what sex is like, let alone great sex. I vaguely remember having sex, with certain people, at certain times, but my memories are distorted. I don't have a "most memorable orgasm" experience. The experiences that are most memorable for me are the ones where I felt most loved. I don't remember the physical things we did so much as I remember the emotion of the experience. Even then, I'm still fuzzy on the pictures in my head because I'm so divorced from my sexuality now that everything sort of seems a blur. I do remember faking a hell of a lot of orgasm with men to appease their egos, or at least my motivation was to make them feel manly. I remember being used for sex a lot. I think the thing I've learned about my sexuality in the past is that my greatest sex is yet to come, with a partner who loves me, where I can experience completely uninhibited, unbridled, passionate, romantic, sensual, AfroerotiK sex.



There are too many vital, important, pressing issues of sexuality today to just limit it to one. HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, is rampant and deadly and is being spread amidst a cacophony of lies and denial. Rape, molestation, and sexual abuse are happening behind every door and leaving a trail of damaged, broken people in its wake. The objectification of women is sooooo pervasive, so accepted that it's hard to even address the issue because people have accepted the hypersexualization of women as being normal and expected. Sex in exchange for money distorts, warps, and damages the delicate equilibrium of intimacy that sex should be about and makes it about power and control. Everything about sexuality is fucked up. There isn't one thing that is more important than another; all the issues are interconnected and seriously in need of fixing.



Right now in my life I'm trying to become comfortable with the fact that I just may never find love. I'm trying to become comfortable with the fact that the rest of my life just might be lived with a series of short term relationships that are meant to teach me about life and nothing more significant than that. It's been brought to my attention recently that I send mixed messages to the individuals to whom I'm attracted, coming on strong when I feel an attraction and then doing a complete 180 in the opposite direction at the first sign of what I experience as rejection. I'm going to make it my goal to speak from a place of clarity without trying to play the martyr or victim but also tone down my intensity when I meet someone. I've decided to focus on getting my book published, on building and growing AfroerotiK to what I dream it can be and not focus on my sexuality for the time being. I don't think shutting off my sexuality is healthy; I think there needs to be balance in everything. But I'm also aware that I have to play the cards I've been dealt. So while love and intimacy and sex are the things I desire the most, they have also remained elusive for a reason. The only way I know how to cope with that is to stay clear about what I want, not compromise just to fill a void, and live with integrity to my goals.