My Soul is Restless

Something is not right in my soul, there’s something amiss.  I feel ill at ease, anxious maybe, like I’m suffering from withdrawal; something’s just not right.  Old folks used to say, “Honey, you just have a good ole fashioned case of the blues.” It’s not that I’m depressed or melancholy; I’m simply frustrated. My body is aching for connection, touch, for intimacy.  Really, what I feel right now can be summed up with two words.  I’m lonely. 

I want to dive into that magical bond with a man that is chemical, genetic even.  I want to sit across a bistro table in the warm summer night air and stare into beautiful brown eyes and laugh at silly jokes and flirt.  I want to smile . . .  just smile from my heart when I see him. I want my hand to fit perfectly in his when we walk along the water’s edge, staring at the full moon, and feel him put his arm around me when I get a chill.  I need that romantic, thoughtful, sweet, amazing brotha in my life who takes my breath away every time I see him. 

I want to kiss.  Oh God, I want to kiss for hours.  I want to feel his body on top of mine, feel his arousal pressing against my body, his hands roaming over my entire curves while he whispers in my ear, “Scottie, I want you.”  I want to be serenaded by Coltrane playing softly in the background as I feel his lips kissing the nape of my neck, nibbling softly on my ear.  I need to fall asleep in a brotha’s strong arms, feel his body conforming to mine, our naked bodies covered by a soft, white, cotton sheet as a ceiling fan swirls above us. 

I’m lonely.  I miss the sensations that only a brotha can bring.  I want to make love.  I want to join body, mind, and spirit together in a hot, sweaty union of passion and bliss.  I want to fuck for hours: tasting, touching, exploring and every inch of his body.  I want to feel my orgasm building to a fevered pitch, feeling the pleasure consume my body as I fight it, as I struggle to channel that energy up my chakras through the top of my head.  I miss the sensation of my juices flowing freely, that slippery, sticky sweat coating our bodies. 

I can’t sleep at nights.  I don’t like going to bed alone.  I toss and turn in solitude, longing for that touch, that connection that I crave so intensely because I’m a better woman when I’m connected.  I offer up my prayers, my petition to the One Most High that I might find a partner with whom I can connect and bond intimately. 

The Opportunity to Love

The end of the year always ushers in the opportunity to reflect on the past year and optimistically dream a new world into reality.  I can say with unwavering conviction that 2011 gave me the most incredible opportunity a person can ever have.  I had the opportunity to love.  I was able to share my heart intimately with another human being.  There is no greater gift.  In 2011, I had the chance to feel connected, to feel that someone, somewhere thought about me.  I was able to pamper, cater to, nurture, and care for someone else.  I’m incredibly blessed for that experience.  Love is what we’re here on this planet for.  Each and every time we get a chance to share of ourselves, to be open, to connect, it is nothing less than miraculous. 

On this day one year ago, I was aching with betrayal and pain from someone who hurt me terribly.  Less than 24 hours later, I met the man that dried my tears, made me smile, aroused me, and eventually became my lover.  And while it’s true that he didn’t love me in return, I am no less rewarded for MY opportunity to love him.  I’m thankful that I had the chance to express my love.  Bottled up inside me, unable to be expressed, my love is suffocated and stagnated.  My spirit soars with the opportunity to give love, show love, and to become love. 

On the threshold of a new year I desire to love and be loved.  I desire a partner who revels in being partnered with me, who sees me as a treasure, who challenges me to be a better woman, who stimulates my mind, body, and soul with his character, integrity, honor, sincerity, and above all, his love.  I invite a lover who is my intellectual, spiritual, social, cultural, mental, emotional, sexual equal who is available to love and be loved.  I create this reality with my intention, with the belief that I am, in fact, deserving of having a partner with integrity, who has dealt with his issues and is working on himself and sees in me something to be treasured and adored.  I draw this person to me by being my most authentic self, by honoring that I am profoundly lovable, by accepting and understanding just how special and unique I am and not settling for someone who is not my equal.  I invite, real, true, deep, abiding love into my life. 

And so it is. 

Intimacy Deprivation

A friend of mine told me the other night that he suffered from a condition called skin hunger.  I was reminded of him telling me that years previously and it resonated with me then but it’s just something that I haven’t had in my conscious mind for a long time.  Skin hunger is a term used to describe basically a lack of human contact.  Other than the same short article reposted on several sites, http://everything2.com/user/arianne/writeups/Skin+hunger there really wasn’t much information on the condition.  I need to find out the effects of adults going without touch.  I’m convinced that I suffer from the effects of skin hunger and I suspect a great deal of what’s wrong with our society is because of an epidemic of skin hunger on a very large scale. 

I’ll summarize the article for you.  Essentially it says that babies, the elderly, and monkeys suffer without human contact and that they thrive, are better adjusted, less aggressive, and overall just do well with touch.  It also says that adults probably, more than likely, maybe in some vague, abstract, undocumented, unscientifically researched way do also.  It says that technology, the media, and disconnected lifestyles have led us down a path where we no longer touch.  It doesn’t discuss the results of adults going without touch and it only offers massage therapy as a solution. 

I’m here to say that going without touch for extended periods of time is detrimental to our physical, spiritual, and social identities.  I suspect it’s a vicious cycle.  We don’t get touch which in turn means we feel isolated, which means we recoil in solitude where we don’t get touch.  Going without touch hinders your interpersonal skills, leaves you feeling isolated and lonely, it just isn’t natural to go without human contact.  This society tells us that human contact is bad, sinful, wrong.  We discourage children from touching because we think it means they are going to be sexual.  I think we need to explore the effects of going without touch in greater depth and I think it needs to be called something else other than skin hunger.  Intimacy deprivation is what it is, going without connection, being deprived of that which makes us flourish. 

I’m single, have been for four months now.  Other than an accidental bump into someone at Wal-mart and a few hugs from friends, I’ve gone without any human contact whatsoever.  I crave to be held, touched, caressed, and to snuggle.  I know for a fact that my heart feels better when I can just lay my head on a man’s chest, I feel lighter, less burdened.  I used to babysit for a little boy and we hugged, kissed, and touched all day.  At nap time, he would say, “Scottie, you rock me to sleep,” and I would hold him in my arms and gently rock him until he couldn’t fight the sandman any more.  I remember what I felt like for that year and I have tried to get that sensation back.  I’ve tried to figure out what it was about that time in my life that made me so much more enthusiastic about life and serene and I’m convinced it was because I was getting so much touch.  I’ve often said that I flourish in relationships, that I just function more optimally in with a boyfriend.  It makes sense.  If your heart rate, your vital organs need touch, and you have someone with whom you can share a bed, even if it’s not every night, it just makes perfect sense that people are supposed to be partnered, that it’s genetically wired into us to have that connection. 

I know in the past when I’ve lamented about feeling lonely and depressed and longing and aching for intimacy with a partner, people come out of the woodworks to tell me that I should find happiness being alone, that I need to work on myself.  They basically suggest that I’m some sort of whiny, insufferable wretch who is complaining for the sake of complaining and that I just need to suck it up and put on a happy face.  But just as babies fail to thrive without touch, as do the elderly, I know in my heart that human beings of every age suffer from lack of human touch.  I think of the number of Black woman who are alone and who say, “All I need is Jesus,” and they go without human touch for years.  I think about how trapped they are in behaviors that are detrimental and how it’s accepted as normal.  They feel the longing for human contact and they go out and have sex with someone and then deny it because it goes against their religious beliefs when clearly God created us to need touch for our human survival.  I think about how Black men are socialized to not touch, feel, to seek anything other than sex.  They are getting their touch needs filled by being promiscuous because they have never been taught to snuggle or hold hands or hug.  We don’t teach our children to touch in a healthy way so they go out and have sex.  Baby strollers and playpens and all the stuff of an advanced age has created a nation of aggressive, unbalance, unhealthy people and we are cutting ourselves off from one another even more. 

I’m sitting here, alone, with no prospects of touching or being touched any time soon and I have to say it feels like a death sentence.  I don’t even live close enough to someone whom I can say, “Hey, come spend the night with me and let’s just touch.”  I’m going to work on that in 2012.  I’m going to throw AfroerotiK cuddle parties, I’m going to develop friendship with people I can touch and be intimate with.  I’m going to make intimacy and touch a priority in my life. 

A Full-Course Meal

I struggle with finding suitable partners, ones to whom I attracted, who meet my criteria, and who appreciate what I bring to the table.  I’m most assuredly, unquestionably sapiosexual; I’ve yet to meet the man who is too intellectual for me, so finding someone who stimulates me mentally (notice I didn’t say challenges me mentally, I ABHOR verbal sparring with my partner) is essential.  That eliminates quite a few men from my potential dating pool.  I’ve dated men who were smart, I’ve dated men who were intelligent, I’ve even dated those who were not particularly bright, but nothing compares to dating an academic and an intellectual in my book.  I don’t need to date Einstein (Who am I kidding? Yes I do.  And, if he comes in the body of a 6’3” beautiful black man, I'm chaining him up in my basement and never letting him leave.) but I mos def need a man who thinks outside the box, who sees things beyond black and white, who has challenged the status quo.  I’m tall, I’m outspoken, I wear my hair short and natural, and I’m AfroerotiK, so that intimidates a lot of men.  Bam, my dating pool just got infinitely smaller.  I’m convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt in fact, that there is a man out there who will find me attractive, whom I find attractive, who meets my criteria (I will not settle for anything less than a Black man who is HONEST, a man of integrity, socially and politically liberal, and emotionally mature) AND who appreciates all that I have to offer. 

I am the real deal.  If I have to say so myself, I’m quite the package, or as applies in this metaphor, I bring a lot to the table.  First and foremost, my table is set with fine china, linens, crystal and sterling silver cutlery.  I’m far from ghetto.  I’m not average, mediocre, or typical.  I’m sophisticated, worldly, traveled, well-read, educated and I come from a family of professional, intellectuals, and activists.  I carry myself like a queen because I am descended from royalty.  I don’t do drugs, I’ve never engaged in any illegal activity, I don’t associate with riff raff, degenerates, or those prone to drama.  The table itself is reflective of five-star dining. This ain’t no take out joint or chain restaurant. 

What’s on the menu?  Well let’s start out with the appetizer.  How about a woman who is mentally stable, a great communicator, pathologically honest, of above average intellect, creative, talented, and independent?  I’m not at all superficial or materialistic; I’m extremely grounded and down to earth.  I’m loyal, a great friend, and trustworthy.  I’m a great cook and very domestic but a phenomenal entrepreneur to boot. I’m socially conscious and empathetic and very much an advocate for the oppressed. 

Is that enough to whet your appetite?  Well for the main course we have a woman who has a HUGE heart and who is unbelievably loving.  Caring, affectionate, romantic, and thoughtful are all words that accurately describe how I behave in a relationship.  Do you like gifts and surprises for no reason?  Perhaps you like a woman who is spontaneous and adventurous?  That’s me.  I will be supportive, I will help you fulfill your dreams, I will take excellent care of you when you’re sick, and be your biggest cheerleader.  I won’t give up on the relationship; I’ll work hard at it to make it happy and satisfying for both of us.  Compromise is my middle name and I’m never so arrogant as not to admit when I’m wrong. 

And for dessert . . . ahhhhh . . . dessert is the sweetest, most mouth-watering treat imaginable.  My sex is like whoa.  I do not give my body away indiscriminately; I’m very selective with my partners so if you get to taste this rare delicacy, consider yourself lucky.  Once you get it, once you get my juicy, hot, sticky, sweet, wet love it is all yours, and no one else’s.  I am a fanatic about keeping the fires burning in a relationship and seduction is an art form I’ve mastered.  My passion burns hot and I love to express it all the time.  Intimacy is my drug of choice and I’m addicted to it.  Prepare yourself for a night of extended foreplay, beautiful love-making, and finished off with sweaty, loud, primal fucking over and over and over again. 

What’s the cost of this sumptuous meal?  Your commitment to me and the relationship, your complete honesty, and your love.  Not a very high price to pay for such an exquisite meal. 

I Am Not Mediocre

I am unique (and nothing less than blessed) in that I have huge numbers of people who like and respect me, even if they don’t agree with everything I say. I try to stay as humble as possible and recognize that those people who like my work, who validate me with compliments and praise, are worthy of my recognition and gratitude. There are times when I couldn’t make it through the day without the kind words and accolades I get from friends and fans alike.

I’m baffled, however, by the number of people who seem to express a hatred, disgust, and venomous rage towards me. By every conceivable measure, I am a nice person. I treat people fairly, with respect, I am kind and considerate, I don’t gossip or backstab. So I am taken aback at those times when people attack me personally, with malicious intent, who try to hurt me, who seem to get some sort of pleasure in saying hurtful things to me.

It’s always my nature to ask myself at those times, when I’m the victim of attack from people, “what did I do wrong, what’s wrong with me?” Intellectually, I have to recognize that there is something inherent in me, something unique, different, and special that makes people uncomfortable with my energy, my aura, my being. It’s precisely because I’m not average, because I am have done the work to evolve, grow, and transform that people find me sooooo offensive. I realize academically that the very people who hate me most, who direct so much energy trying to tear me down and hurt me are the very people who have not done the work to mature or evolve themselves. They would rather I stagnate and wallow where they are, in their complacent, satisfied existence where they don’t question or challenge their worldview or try to grow and evolve. The people who love to wallow in their dysfunction, the ones who have lived their lives rationalizing and justifying their pathologies in order to elevate themselves, in order to make themselves feel good are the ones who HATE me, who feel the need to try to tear me down.

I am different. I see the world differently. I’ve challenged myself to see beyond the mediocre trappings of this society. I’ve redefined what beauty means to me, what masculinity and femininity mean to me. I’ve seen the lies in organized religion and let go of the brainwashing that controls the masses. I work hard to heal the detrimental messages that were forced down my throat about sexuality, relationships, and that have tried to silence my independence. I am HONEST. I speak truth to power. I attack ideas, not people. That offends many people. They hate that I can expose my flaws and shortcomings so easily, so truthfully with the world and they have to hide their true feelings behind a façade of being perfect. My vulnerability and candor makes them angry. They hate me for going against the grain, for not succumbing to the capitalist, materialistic, superficial trappings that hold them captive, by which they measure their worth. Because I can’t be defined by an income amount or a type of car but because I live my life in integrity and in truth, in pursuit of higher goals, they want to do and say whatever they can to hurt me. It seems that they feel better about themselves if they denigrate me.

I am not mediocre, nor will I ever be again. I will not be entertained by Meet the Browns or The Housewives of Any Place. I will not my spend money on any form of entertainment that uses the N word; I do not tolerate the use of the N word in my presence. I do not consider myself a bitch, I’m not aroused by bad boys, I do not want a man with a Hummer or a basketball contract. I do not think Zane is a good writer, in fact, I think she’s horrible and while I have nothing against her personally, I hate what she has done to generations of black girls and women in terms of warping their view of relationships and sexuality. I don’t listen to commercial urban radio with their monotonous, talentless songs and mediocre talk hosts. I do not idolize Oprah or anyone just because they have a big back account. I don’t think my beauty is in my pedicured toes, the length of my hair, or how much of my ass I can show off in my tight jeans. I speak out about racism. I identify the diseased mindsets white people have and black people buy into that perpetuates oppression and bigotry.


I embrace the fact that I’m not average. I accept with graciousness that I have been given the gift of mastery of the written word, insight, and a level of honesty that does touch people. I’m not mediocre and I accept that, I celebrate that. If that means that I have to endure the virulent, bitter attacks of people who wish to tear me down, I will accept their attacks with the understanding that if I weren’t living my life, outside the box, In Loving Color, they wouldn’t be moved to hate me so vehemently.