I Want a Lover with a Slow Hand

Life is always giving us opportunities to grow and evolve, right?  Ever the introspective one, I’m always attempting to look within, challenge my beliefs systems, and heal my wounds by being radically honest and self-aware.  I had the opportunity recently to connect intimately with a potential partner.  For several reasons, I decided that it was going to be several months before we had sex.  Of course, there were times when I was hot and bothered and I rationalized how several weeks rather than months would be sufficient for our self-imposed abstinence.  Of course, at times, I was so incredibly aroused I was willing to say, “To hell with weeks, days, hours, or minutes, I need you inside me NOW!”  Calmer heads prevailed and we didn’t have sex.  I’m fortunate that we didn’t because I subsequently learned that he was not anywhere near the quality and caliber of man that I was looking for in a partner and sex would have not only made me more intimately bonded to him, it also would have made it virtually impossible (or, more accurately, extremely difficult) for me to break that bond when he revealed his true, disingenuous colors.  In our erotic exploration, however, I learned a few things about myself and my erotic needs.  

I have a clear vision of what I want, crave, and need from a lover.  AfroerotiK is not just my company, my brand, a vehicle for my writing, it is my philosophy.  AfroerotiK is how I live my life.  My lover, the man who will ultimately get to share my body in ways that few will ever tastes the pleasures of, is someone who does not feel the need to degrade me during sex.  While I understand clearly that the prevalence of porn and women who have been socialized to be objects creates an almost understated forgone conclusion that women will want to be called a bitch, whore, and a slut during sex, that we will want to be pounded, slapped, and made to suck dick, gag, and willingly accept cum on our faces or down our throats and enjoy it, there are some of us, at the very least I am absolutely NOT aroused by or interested in any such treatment.  That doesn’t mean that I need slow and gentle lovemaking with candles burning and Teddy Pendergrass playing every time in the background.  I just need the simple acknowledgment that he understands that my body is a gift to him and that I don’t feel any arousal at being objectified, used, or humiliated.  I love getting fucked.  In fact, I adore the concept of my lover being so incredibly aroused that he is driven to fits of almost maniacal lust inside me.  My lover will not need to spank, slap, restrain or call me names during sex.  That means that I want him to see me as the special, unique, and wonderful woman I am.  I cannot and will not tolerate being called names in the heat of passion in order to appease a male ego that needs to degrade women in order to feel arousal.  

I desire a lover who understands well that intimacy, sensuality, and passion are intricately tied to lovemaking and that sex is an expression of spiritual and emotional communion and love as well as lust and desire.  I need a lover who understands that making love is not just fucking slow.   He will understand that the more time he takes to get me wet the more I will be willing to show my passion for him in virtually unspeakable and unthinkable ways.   He will be willing to take his time to learn my body.  And by take his time, I don’t mean 30 minutes of foreplay and dirty talk, I mean weeks if need be to understand what buttons to push to make me soak the sheets and wake the neighbors.  I need a lover who will slowly, sensually, caress every square inch of my body in an effort to provide me with pleasure, not just a perfunctory, half-hearted massage that barely masks his thinly-veiled attempts to get to get directly to my pussy.  The man who understands that my asshole needs slow, tender gentle attention in order to get to the fast, furious earth-shattering fucking that will come when he takes his time.  I am not the first woman you fucked when you were 16 years old and what she liked is surely not what I will like.  I need someone who can understand that my body is sensitive in ways that most other women’s is not and that biting, pinching and grabbing will not get me anywhere near the place where I’m begging to have a man inside me.  Quite a few men would do well to learn how to give a good massage, not trying to squeeze and knead out tension like a sports therapist but to play my body like an instrument, coaxing it to arousal with soft caresses.   

One of the traits that is essential for me in a man is his ability to control his lusts.  If a man feels he must masturbate every day, look at porn every single day, then it’s apparent to me that he can only see sex as a physical outlet and that I am nothing more than a receptacle for his sperm, a masturbatory aide.  Masturbation is healthy, it feels good, it’s a much needed release.  Being unable to go a week or even two weeks without ejaculation is a sign of sexual immaturity and dysfunction.  Yes, I fully understand that men tend to have higher sex drives than women and I’m almost sure I understand that what they feel is vastly different to the sensations I feel when I orgasm.  That being said, however, a sexually mature individual is someone who can appreciate delayed gratification.  I’m sure there are lots of men who are offended by the concept of me suggesting that their daily masturbation is somehow wrong.  For them, perhaps it is not.  For my potential lover however, it most certainly is.  A man who is driven by his need to cum is a man who will lie, cheat, and manipulate in order to get sex.  That man has absolutely NO chance of ever experiencing my body.  I might add that there are some men who say that they never masturbate.  I think I am to understand that they say that masturbation doesn’t feel as good as the real thing, that it’s not manly, or there is some biblical reason to abstain from self pleasure.  Those are the very same men who will fuck anyone without standard or discrimination in order to get off.  Needless to say, those men are not the men who will gain access to my sacred space either.  Balance and maturity are the keys to my treasure.  

My AfroerotiK lover is one who will use his lips, tongue, and mouth gently to explore every inch of my body.  He will be willing to take the time to bathe my body, anoint me with oils and lotions, lick my pussy softly and sensually until I’m creaming in his mouth and begging for him to penetrate me.  He will use his dick, not as a weapon to stab but as an vehicle of pleasure to drive me to fits of pleasure, orgasm, and ecstasy over and over and over again.  

Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

At Last

My entire relationship with Charles, what little there was of it, consisted of countless opportunities for emotional growth and never-ending nights of frustration. We hadn’t been dating long, only a few months, but our liaison was defined by what seemed to be an endless supply of patience on Charles’ part and innumerable occasions for me to redefine myself anew. Unfortunately, I am plagued with a biological preponderance for self-doubt which he was challenging me to face head on. My mother hadn’t bonded with me during her pregnancy thus I was left challenged to form healthy, loving relationships as an adult. My brain had been wired differently in the womb than most people’s, my subconscious mind operated under the assumption that I was inherently unlovable and intrinsically without value despite how much work I’d done on myself, no matter how many rituals I’d performed, regardless of how many pages I’d written in my journal or affirmations I’d recited in the mirror, even in spite of how wonderful I believed myself to be in my heart. I’d taken tremendous strides toward healing and I had shown marked improvement and I was more than willing to exert the effort needed for me to tackle the internal demons that had been preventing me from attracting someone who was capable of loving me unconditionally.

Apparently, I was doing something right, because I had attracted this amazing, enlightened man of my dreams into my life. So while I didn’t entirely feel worthy of his love, I knew in my heart and in my soul that I was divinely worthy of a love that was greater than my mind could imagine and Charles was intent on proving to me that he wanted to give me every bit of his love. From the moment we met, from the moment I laid eyes on him, I was drawn to his energy, his aura, and his incredible beauty. Initially, in his presence, I felt like he was going to reject me at any moment; I felt like he would prefer someone with a name like Ausar Nut Ma’at Imhotep, who wore locs and constantly smelled of patchouli oil, and who carried around incense and shea butter in the red, black, and green backpack that she had crocheted by hand. I just knew in my heart that he could never really love a woman who wrote about sex and sexuality and whose opinions on race and gender were so outside the norm, who loved wearing high heels occasionally, and who showed signs of insecurity and doubt openly. Luckily, I was wrong. He saw me as infinitely talented, grounded, inspired, and beautiful and he felt the pull of my African centered consciousness and saw my ability to free the descendents of slaves from our mental and psychological bondage with my words.

We vibrated on the same level in so many ways. While not identical in our every thought, we shared similar master numerological energies, spiritual outlooks, and interests. There was something very holistic and organic about what we shared and he was more than willing to nurture and heal my soul and that meant more to me than anything else. Our masculine and feminine energies complimented one another and we just seemed to fit like hand in glove.

For weeks, we grew together. Our days were filled toiling in the earth, growing vegetables, expanding our consciousness academically and culturally. We were always preparing food together as we were both dedicated to a living and raw diet and we even fasted together as well. He pushed me to trust him, to trust that he loved me, to see myself as the special and unique being he saw me as. I met each challenge he gave me head on, never afraid to push myself. Much of our time was spent in meditation or doing ritual. Sometimes we sat in silence, other times would laugh, talk, and listen to music until the early hours of the morning. I loved that he never made me feel like a victim or try to pity me because I was going blind. Charles would use his inspired words to paint pictures so I could see through his eyes and he helped me work out how to get around my apartment with my eyes closed for when the day would come when I had no sight at all. In every way imaginable, he was there for me like no other man had ever been there before and I found myself in falling in love with him in ways that were more profound than I had ever thought possible.

At times, our evenings were simmering, smoldering, and steamy, building a raging inferno of sexual tension between us. He seemed to know how to get me to the edge of explosion without any direct stimulation of my special places. He could whisper in my ear, telling me all the things he wanted to do to me, describing his fantasies about me in poetic, glorious detail and I would melt. He had the ability to lay his body on mine, I could feel his erection, engorged and rock hard grinding against me, and I could detect his unbridled passion, his intense desire to be inside me. His energy was strong and I would arch my back and wrap my legs around him as we kissed, hoping against hope that he would cross the threshold into my sacred space without my verbal consent. My hardened nipples would ache for his mouth to devour them and my swollen, wet pussy throbbed with anticipation and delicious expectation of his penetration. I’ll be the first to admit that when things would get hot and I was on the brink of erotic surrender, I would sometimes freeze up and ask him to stop. It had nothing to do with him. I was letting old tapes play in my head about being used, about men in my past who didn’t mind sexing me up but didn’t want a relationship with me. Charles wanted our lovemaking to be unfettered by fear or negativity; I didn’t want to have any emotional blocks between us. And we both wanted us to join in a union of transcendent, unparalleled ecstasy so we waited until the time was right.

Other times, the subject of sexuality never entered our evening experience. Sometimes, I could sense that I shouldn’t initiate anything romantic or sexual between us because he was at his very limit for frustration. I would hug him and he would give me a look letting me know that I needed to back off. On those nights, after we would part, I would lie in bed alone, pleasuring myself, wanting to call him to me and invite him to be my lover. When I showered, my fingers would find the slippery folds of my pussy and rub my clit and I would imagine him thrusting deeply inside me, completing me. I imagined him, at home alone, white cotton sheets covering his nude body, his erection tenting the covers, a sheen of perspiration covering his lean frame as he lay tortured, frustrated and aroused, thinking of me.

Our dance of frustration came to a screeching halt one night without much fanfare or preparation. We were fixing dinner one night and I was standing at the sink washing up a few dishes as he was moving around the kitchen doing his thing. I felt him slide up behind me, placing his arms on the counter beside me, his lips brushing the nape of my neck. He used his body to push me against the counter and I could feel the evidence of his erection against my backside. Instinctively, I pushed back, grinding the soft, full curves of my ass against him, leaning my body back and luxuriating in his hands caressing my waist and his nibbles to my earlobe. I could feel my temperature rising and my body was responding to his every touch.

As if by conditioning, when I could tell things were reaching their critical boiling point, I said, “Come on baby, stop. Let’s not get too carried away.” That did nothing to deter him however and he became even more assertive, sliding his hands over my breasts and making me elicit the most intense moans of pleasure. “Mmmm, king, that feels amazing.” I forgot all about my request to have him stop momentarily and I met his every thrust with equal passion. As the temperature began to rise, I renewed my objections, thinking he would be at his threshold and he would be packing up his stuff and heading for the door any minute.

Turning me around, facing him, using his body to press my body against the counter, Charles took my face in his hands. “Queen, I’m not going anywhere. I love you; you are in love with me.” I stood frozen. I heard the words fall softly from his lips like lyrics to a song. I diverted my eyes to the floor and he tilted my chin up, his eyes meeting mine. He said it again and this time I held his gaze intently. “I am in love with you and you . . .”

“And I am in love with you,” I cut him off. I swallowed hard, half expecting the floor to open up and swallow me whole but deep in my heart knowing that, at last, I had found the love that I had been searching for all my life, for many lifetimes. “I . . . ,” the words momentarily got caught in my throat and found the strength to go on and speak my truth, fixing my gaze on his beautiful brown eyes for comfort, “I . . . need you. I want you to stay tonight. Join with me. Be my lover tonight. Enter me, taste me, and feel my . . .”

This time, he cut me off with a kiss. He placed his mouth gently against mine and tasted my lips. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was much more. It was his declaration of love. I breathed in his air and we became united in that instant. I kissed him, his tongue softly and gently conforming to mine in a soulful dance. My heart raced as I felt his lean body press more deeply into mine, feeling his engorged manhood against my mound. My breasts pressed against his chest and I started to unbutton his shirt, tracing my lips down his slightly salty neck, eliciting gentle moans from him.

Something about him, about what we shared comforted me and I released all my inhibitions and allowed myself to be sensual, erotic, passionate, and primal without reservation. He met me where I was and matched my passions equally. Our kisses become more fevered; his hands under my sarong and slid up the soft, inner flesh of my thighs, finding the moist juncture between my legs. I took his hand and held it firmly in my own. “Let’s go upstairs,” I whispered.

He led the way; I followed with complete trust. Inside my sanctuary, the lights off, he made his way around the room, lighting candles as I put on some music. We met in the middle of the room and embraced again. This was our night to join together in a holy, transcendent union. This was the quintessential union of man and woman, of masculine and feminine energies, of yin and yang. This was the universe revealing itself, creationism and evolution coming together in the ultimate expression.

He laid me on the bed and untied my sarong; he unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off my body. Pulling his locs up and securing them atop his head, he began to make a feast of my body. Slowly, methodically, he used his mouth to lick, suck, taste, and kiss every inch of my body. His lips gently explored the inside of my elbow and his tongue made sensual love to my belly button. As ticklish as I am, I couldn’t stop squirming and giggling. It made me more at ease; I was able to laugh and enjoy every delicious second of his seduction. Charles’ hands explored my curves and with each passing caress, with each tender stroke, I became more and more aroused. I responded to each touch with a moan, a guttural groan, and a heavy sigh. My skin tingled under the manipulations of his fingertips.

Just when I thought I was at the very limit of my arousal, when I thought I could take not one more millisecond of stimulation, Charles decided he was going to up the stakes. Standing, he removed his clothing and stood beautifully naked and erect before me. Without using words, he used his eyes alone to instruct me to spread my legs. I arched my back and did as I was “told” sliding my hands down my body, teasing him seductively. The candlelight bathed his silhouette beautifully, creating shadows and light on his golden skin. I was beyond aroused; each and every one of my senses was stimulated and heightened. My mouth watered staring at him; I wanted to explore his body with my mouth the way he had done with mine but Charles had other plans.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, “I’ve been waiting for this moment from the day we met. I need to feel you explode in my mouth. I want to give you pleasure untold and drink freely from your center.” I slid my finger between my engorged lips, brought my finger to my lips and seductively sucked it, tasting my slippery, sweet juices. He took his time, positioning himself so that he was comfortable between my legs. He wasn’t one to be rushed. At first, he just stared at me, taking in every detail of my sacred sex. He spread my lips and studied my clit and lips like a painter studies his subject. He inhaled deeply my fragrance, intoxicated by my personal aroma. Then, only after he had taken in every detail, memorized my every contour to memory, he closed his eyes and softly, gently, lowered his mouth to my flesh. I let out a sound that was otherworldly. Bliss consumed every pore in my body. He tasted, licked, sucked, and kissed me, building my passion, raising my energy up my chakras. I wrapped my legs around his head and grabbed a handful of locs. I was nearing the point of no return. My muscles tightened and my orgasm was eminent. Charles was a man on a mission. He used his fingers to penetrate my holes and his mouth to gently, rhythmically suck my clit. Unable to hold off any longer, I released my cum into his mouth. I shook and trembled with ecstasy but that was not he signal to stop. He wanted my orgasm to unfold against itself, to replicate like a strand of DNA.

Trembling and shaking, I felt intoxicated with pleasure. I was beyond wet; I had soaked the sheets with my juices. Taking his true place between my legs, he positioned himself to penetrate me for the very first time. I wanted to speak words in the moment but none came. Our communication was cellular. I felt him enter me and he took my breath away. I met each thrust and he maintained eye contact with me intensely. I could see concentration on his face but I could tell that he was experiencing intense pleasure as well. He stroked deep and hard, my juices coating him, our bodies sweating, moving in time. We made love, he made loved to me more intensely, more passionately than I’d ever experienced before in my life.

When he was on the verge of erupting, he flipped me over, he entered me from behind, filling the room with the sounds of our bodies colliding as he made love to me like a man on a mission. My orgasms outnumbered his at this point by about five or six to none and he wasn’t even close to finishing. I grabbed the sheets and met his every thrust. I think I might have passed out from pleasure, or at the very least, I was delirious with satisfaction. Four positions later, I was no longer able to keep track of my orgasms. Finally, he laid his body on mine and, almost imperceptibly, I felt his penis throbbing and pulsating within the warm, wet, velvety walls of my vagina. Our eyes held each other’s gaze, we kissed; we were connected body, mind, and soul. In that moment, I felt his body tense and he arched his back and buried himself deeply inside me. I joined with him, releasing my energy into him as I exploded in what was more than sexual ecstasy, it was spiritual bliss. We had made it to a new place in our relationship, and at last, I had released all the pain and negativity that had kept me from experiencing true and abiding love.

Copyright 2010 Scottie Lowe All Rights Reserved

Good for one Quickie

Print this out and present it to your lover and reap the rewards.

Round One

The ice cubes melted and left a trail of moisture down her skin. The heat emanating from her body and the cool sensation of the ice were devastatingly contrasted but she barely noticed the goose bumps on her skin. It was her lover that held her attention. His lips found her neck and gently brushed her perspiring nape. She threw her head back and invited him to kiss her more passionately, finding that spot that drove her to maniacal fits of ecstasy.

He would not be rushed. She was his canvas and he was intent on painting pleasure on every square inch of her. He was a master artisan, preparing his subject and studying her from every angle. He noticed the swell of her breasts as she breathed new life into him. The light and shadow created by the candlelight were his guidelines as he kissed her beautiful body. The tones of her skin, flush from her arousal, were a sensual palette of various shades. The texture of her hair and the roundness of her curves were a sculptures dream. Yes, she was his creation, an exploration of sensuality and lust.

He descended upon her, kissing her with a fervor that had no compare. Her lips parted and tasted the sweetness of his passion. Their tongues sensually danced and played with one another as her arms surround him, pulling him closer. He lay all of his weight on her, causing her to gasp for air. If not from the pressure, certainly from the intensity of their connection.

Her fever was rising ever higher. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him to her even closer. His hands roamed freely over her body, leaving marks occasionally where his passionate embrace was enthusiastic. They were moving in unison, a well-oiled machine of sensual delight.

She needed to take charge of this ship, show him who was in control. She made him stand, nothing for support. She grabbed his wrists and pulled them behind him. He could obviously overpower her so his compliance was symbolic of the fact that he wanted to relinquish power. She knelt before him and surveyed her prize. She began to kiss him softly, eliciting gentle moans of pleasure from him. She heard a sharp intake of breath as she enveloped him with her mouth. Softly, gently, she licked him. His knees began to buckle and he wanted to lean on something or pull her to him, but he couldn’t she was now the master artisan, painting indescribable pleasure with her mouth.

She licked every inch of steely resolve as his breathing got louder and louder. Her mouth enveloped him completely and he began moaning uncontrollably. She used her lips to pleasure and her tongue to torture, but only the kind of torture that ushers in the most decadent release. He shut his eyes tightly; afraid that he would explode and bring the sensations she was giving him to a crashing halt. He concentrated. Lights danced behind his eyelids and he felt the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips slide sensually up and down his erection. Harder, faster, deeper and wetter, she was on a mission and there was only one goal.

A sound formed in his throat, in his belly actually. It was the sound of animalistic lust. He was in a different time and space as he began moaning uncontrollably. He cradled the back of her head and tried to push her away. He wanted to wait, to last, and to return the favor. She was a woman not to be denied. She looked up at him with lust in her eyes and said, “cum for me.”

With that, she made one more decent with her mouth. This time, she swallowed him completely and he reached to point of no return. He felt his orgasm hit him hard as he released the evidence of his arousal.

They cradled together in silence. He stroking her hair gently, she snuggled in the place between his chest and neck. “I love you,” he whispered as she whispered back, “get ready for round two.”

Afroeroticism

Communication, Romance and Intimacy

If communication is the recipe for a healthy relationship, romance and intimacy are the key ingredients. For most men, the concept of genuine, truthful communication in a relationship is an alien concept, let alone understanding the concepts of romance and intimacy. For most men, the idea of romance is equated to “game” or trying to get a woman into bed and the concept of genuine honesty is incomprehensible to many. Men have been convinced that crying, a natural, healthy, biological release of emotion makes a man weak. Reality check. If men weren’t supposed to cry, they would not have tear ducts. Crying is as natural as sneezing, it is necessary to help an individual process emotion, yet we have an entire population of men that think that shedding a tear means an individual less than a man. Black men in particular have been socialized for generations to deny their feelings and never taught to process or share those feelings with another person. To have feelings is to be considered weak or gay. When we look at all the false perceptions that are in place to keep men from being fully functioning, emotionally mature human beings it’s no wonder that the state of Black relationships is in such peril.

Being someone that has dedicated her life to showing Black sexuality in a healthy light, men often come to me to share their desires, secrets and fantasies when they have wives, girlfriends, and lovers that should be that confidant. Day in and day out, brothas come to me and share with me, a total stranger, their most intimate desires. They always seem to preface it by saying, “My wife would never understand . . .” News flash, your wife should be the first person you go to share your feelings and if she’s not, you need to re-examine your relationship and take the steps necessary to make that so. Your wife is your partner and your mate, if you don’t have a relationship where you can be open and honest with her, there’s something drastically wrong with that. Let’s assume that you married a woman with whom you share common ideologies, goals, and beliefs. If all of those things are in place, then you have the makings of fantastic communication and all that needs to be done is learning how to open up and share with your partner your thoughts.

The number one fantasy that Black men come to me and share as their secret desire is to be submissive to a (in most cases, Black) woman. We must be cautious how we use the term submissive in this particular case because mainstream society would lead us to believe that being submissive means being beaten and whipped and assuming an inferior position in some sadomasochistic exchange. While in some cases, that may be the desire, more often than not they mean that they want to put aside their satisfaction for that of their partner. Unfortunately, the term submissive is the closest term Black men have to describe their fantasies of catering to a woman’s needs. I hear it time and time again, “I want to satisfy my woman . . . her pleasure is more important than mine . . . I want to do whatever it takes to make her cum until she passes out.” Society would have us believe that a Black man is supposed to “kill it” to use his dick as a weapon and that pleasing a woman is of no concern. Imagine Jay-Z making a rap where he says that he gave a woman pleasure without concern for his own. That’s not going to happen in this lifetime because Black men have to live up to the stereotype that women are for their pleasure, not the other way around. Again, the absurdity of the concept and the extent to which we as a people hold on to it is causing us to perish.

When Black men approach me about their fantasies, they tend to be somewhat forthcoming with the details. Conversely, when I approach Black men about their fantasies their responses tend to be either, “I don’t have any fantasies,” or, “I have done everything that I want to do, I prefer the real thing.” When they do admit to a fantasy it’s the standard “threesome” scenario. Black men aren’t adept at expressing their fantasies or allowing themselves to creatively explore their sexuality. It’s only after intense and directed questioning that they can admit to having other fantasies. Conversely, white men tend to be able to describe in great detail their fantasies and have very involved and complex scenarios. Fantasies are a natural, normal part of our existence and allow us to experience different realities in a safe way. Going out and engaging in unhealthy behaviors rather than learning to express healthy fantasies is dysfunctional. Not being comfortable enough to share one’s fantasies with one’s partner and then going out to explore those fantasies as a reality with someone outside one’s relationship is unhealthy. We must, as a people, reexamine the guidelines that are keeping us dysfunctional.

There seems to be a tremendous difficulty in men understanding that women crave romance and intimacy, a reluctance to embrace any personal responsibility in creating romance and intimacy in their relationship and even a difficulty understanding those terms. There is a belief that men seem to have that is reinforced by a society that says that women have to do the work to keep a man, not the other way around. Men, understand this if you understand nothing else I say. If you want peace in your relationship, if you want your woman to treat you like a king, then the single-most easiest way to do that is to treat her like a queen. For every one step you make to make a woman feel special, she will take ten in return to make you feel special. Surprise her with a small token that lets her know you are thinking of her, that she crosses your mind during the day. It needn’t be something extravagant or expensive. There are more things than just flowers, candy, or a designer purse that you can give that will show her that you care. Sadly, men don’t seem to understand the erotic potential and possibilities of anything other than material gifts as indications of romance have been conditioned to, thus they are limited in their creativity and expression.

I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss Black women’s responsibility in fostering healthy communication and intimacy in relationships. Sadly, there are a great many women that will judge and condemn a man for sharing his thoughts and fantasies with her, no matter the level of honesty or intimacy he is showing. We’ve been conditioned to either view any expression of sexuality outside of missionary sex as vulgar, or conversely, we view sexuality as a tool of manipulation, source of income, or as recreation. As Black women, we’ve also been socialized to narrowly define manhood and equate it with sexual prowess and earning potential, not realizing that emotional depth and intimacy are things that men are capable of giving. We must be held accountable for our false perceptions and debilitating belief systems but the change must be partnered with Black men in an effort to grow together.

Getting a woman to be receptive to your fantasies is not as difficult as one might think. Increasing communication, romance and intimacy in your relationship is not an impossible task. The most effective way to introduce your fantasies to your partner is to get her to a heightened state of arousal and subtly introduce the new concept to her. She will be more receptive to any new ideas that are initiated during that time. Getting her to a heightened state of arousal takes work on your part. It means that you must be willing to ask questions about what arouses her, to set aside everything that you’ve learned about what turns a woman on, and set aside your preferences for the things that turn you on. The benefits will be amazing and you will lay the foundation for a partnership with outstanding potential.

Scottie Lowe is a regular columnist at Black Men in America and the founder of AfroerotiK. If you need some suggestions on what you can do to create more intimacy, romance and communication in your relationship, check out AfroerotiK for dozens of ideas or email Scottie directly with your questions.

Minority Affairs

When the alarm on his Blackberry went off, reminding him of his 3:00 appointment, Kevin Reynolds was almost tempted to reschedule. He was all the way on the other side of town at a meeting with a real estate developer at a construction site. With traffic, it would take him no less than twenty minutes to get back to his office and he would be rushed. As fate would have it, the fortuitous winds of destiny were blowing, and keeping that particular appointment would be the best thing to ever happen to him.

Kevin’s job as the Business Development Coordinator for the City of Sausalito, California had him on the go constantly. Part of his job responsibility was developing minority business for the city. He was so entrenched, so consumed with the demands and rigors of his position that he’d forsaken any attempts at trying to maintain a social life. That would have been a sad state of affairs for most people but for Kevin, it was really just an inconsequential byproduct of having his dream job. Given his recent forays in the romance department, he really didn’t mind. Lucky in love was not a saying that could be used about his love life as of late. It wasn’t as if he bad looking, at 6’ tall with black hair and blue eyes, was very handsome but he was maybe a little too much of a nice guy to be considered edgy in today’s dating pool. He’d heard the infamous, “I think we should just be friends” speech too many times to count. He’d expanded his dating pool to women of color in the past few years and he was comfortable with that but he hadn’t been able to form anything long-term thus far. Timing is everything and his job was just taking up too much of his time for dating. Nevertheless, he loved his work and he was enthusiastic, no passionate about attracting the sorts of businesses to Sausalito that would benefit the residents and the community as a whole.

Exactly on time, with a minute or two to spare even, his appointment was waiting in the reception area as he introduced himself and asked for a few minutes grace period to put his things down and get situated. “You must be Ms. Jenkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, the City Manager, Mr. Gold, I think you’ve already met with him . . . he gave me some preliminary information on your venture and I’ve done some prep work in anticipation of our meeting and I just want to go over a few things before we meet.”

Sylvia Jenkins stood to respond, extending her hand as an act of civility and yet igniting a spark that would fan the flames of unspoken passion. She was breathtaking, nothing less than abso-fucking-lutely, stunningly, insanely gorgeous, and Kevin was caught off guard momentarily with her grace, charm, and style. At 5’4” tall, with skin the color of bronze and almond-shaped eyes that danced with light, she was the epitome of Black beauty. Her hair was a mane of flowing dreadlocks adorned with beads that were twisted and piled on her head in some sort of creative crown-like hairstyle that defied gravity and the laws of physics. Her full, sensual lips parted to respond but the words were momentarily lost on Kevin because he was captivated by the sexy pout and the shiny lip-gloss that accentuated the most perfect smile he’d ever seen. Wearing a white cotton blouse that would have been conservative on most women, hers wrapped around and sort of had ties in the back or something that gave just a hint at a very, VERY, voluptuous cleavage. It wasn’t unprofessional, like a stripper inappropriately showing off her new set of triple Ds, it was just sort of a declaration of her womanhood. A long denim skirt that went to the floor and hugged her undeniably round bottom and full hips completed her outfit. She wasn’t fat; she wasn’t even heavy set. She was just the sort of woman that was blessed with heavenly curves in ALL the right places.

She smelled like an exotic combination of flowers and tropical fruit that was subtle yet intoxicating. She wore an arm-full of copper bracelets that made a sort of musical sound as she moved her hand. Her skin looked like it was the most expensive chocolate-colored silk that had been imported from a distant land. Even after taking in all the details of this exquisite woman in a split second, Kevin was able to pull himself back together and remain professional enough to hear her say, “Take your time, it’s not a problem.”

Her venture was an exciting one for the city of Sausalito. She was opening a cyber café/gallery/bistro right downtown. It was the perfect location and the concept was complex but genius in its simplicity at the same time. She was attempting to create a space where people could come, explore unique African imports for sale in a hands on environment, have some dessert, drink some herbal tea if that was to their liking, connect to the net, and even have some space where she could offer various classes and workshops taught by artisans and talents from around the country for two or three week at a time. The meeting went seamlessly as Kevin walked her through the final paper work that she would need for her project, assuring that there would be as little red tape as possible with permits and licenses and the many steps it required to have such an intricate business plan.

It was also a venture that would have the two in constant communication for several months. An artist herself, Sylvia wanted to have a residential space in the space above her storefront that could house the various instructors she wanted to come and teach for a few weeks at a time, that could be used as a studio, and a place for her to crash when she didn’t want to go home. That meant putting in a kitchenette, a shower, and getting residential permits. That required a whole ‘nutha set of paperwork to process and deadlines that couldn’t be missed and just the sort of red tape that Kevin was expert at circumventing. He was there to help her every step of the way and he made the process seem effortless, shielding her from the tedium every chance he got and going above and beyond to make things flow smoothly. He wasn’t doing it to try to gain points or seduce her. He was simply doing his job and being true to his nature to be a gentleman.

Sylvia was appreciative yet professional. On more than one occasion, he would stop by the storefront at 7 or 8 at night, after a long day of his own; only to find Sylvia painting or unpacking boxes herself. He never even inquired if she had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, he never asked if she dated interracially, he never asked about any aspect of her personal life. He kept their interaction professional yet her beauty mesmerized him each and every time he laid eyes on her.

The grand opening of Mombasa was an event like none other. Kevin stopped by to congratulate her and wish her well. The place was filled to capacity with an eclectic mix of people; there were spoken word artists, drummers, reflexologists, and curious passers by who tasted some of the delicious desserts that were being given out for free. “I want to thank you for all the help you gave me during this entire process. I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sylvia said, as she kissed Kevin on the cheek and quickly disappeared into the crowd to mix and mingle as she beamed with excitement.

It would be several weeks before he spoke to her again. Having put her project to bed, Kevin was deeply engrossed in his next project and pouring himself into work as usual. He was pleasantly surprised when he answered his phone to hear Sylvia say, “The Chamber of Commerce is holding that black tie fundraising event at the Crowne Plaza on Saturday night and I was wondering . . . I didn’t know if you . . . I was thinking . . . “

Sensing her unease, Kevin cut her off, “Oh, are you going to that thing too? I was going to make an appearance. I can stop by and pick you up if you want to carpool.” Regretting his choice of words, not wanting to sound like he was being too aloof, he quickly amended it to say, “I’d love for you to be my date if you would do me the honor. It would be my distinct pleasure to accompany you.” He was thinking on his feet because prior to that very minute, he’d never even known that she might have had a personal interest in him. He wasn’t even sure she did have an interest in him romantically, all he knew was she was fine as hell and if she wanted to go to a formal affair with him, there was no way he was going to say no.

For Kevin, the evening was alive with potential. He bought a new suit for the occasion and had flowers for Sylvia when he picked her up at Mombasa. She was even more breathtaking than usual, attired in an evening gown that accentuated her body to perfection. “Wow, you look fantastic,” was all he could say, rendered essentially speechless by her beauty.

“Thank you,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek for the second time since their meeting, this time it seemed to linger a bit longer than the first time. She did a twirl and showed off her outfit and said, “Shall we go?”

For Kevin, the evening was an extension of work, introducing movers and shakers to policy makers and trying to coordinate deals outside the office. He as shaking hands with everyone and he didn’t really have as much time as he wanted to spend with Sylvia. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it just seemed that every time he set out to focus solely on her, someone would interrupt and he would go back into Business Development Coordinator mode. Several of his co-workers were giving him slaps on the back and nods and winks, implying that they had no clue that he was dating a Black woman, and such a hot one at that.

“Excuse me Miss, you look rather lonely sitting there, would you care to dance?” That was Kevin’s chivalrous attempt at adding a little romance to the evening as he extended his hand and wanted to show Sylvia that he appreciated her being so tolerant of him being pulled in so many different directions during the evening. Sylvia didn’t mind being left alone. She liked watching Kevin do his thing. It was part of the reason she was attracted to him. She was attracted to his understated power and efficacy at what he did for a living.

On the dance floor, everyone else seemed to fade away. Kevin held her close and ran his hands up and down her back. For the first time in months, he was reminded of his dormant sexuality as he could hear gentle moans of pleasure emanating from Sylvia as they sort of swayed to the music. For the rest of the night, he paid attention exclusively to her. They talked and laughed and seemed to emit a signal that they were not to be interrupted for business or any other reason. As the night wore down to a close, he offered to take her back to her car and call it an evening.

“You never saw the complete finished product,” Sylvia said as Kevin escorted her to her car. “If you have a few minutes, come inside and I want to give you the grand tour, considering you were so instrumental in helping me.”

He really couldn’t have cared less about the tour. He wasn’t being rude; it’s just that he was captivated by the way Sylvia’s ass moved in that dress and when she walked in those high heels. He mumbled, “That looks nice,” more than a few times, not really mentioning that he wasn’t talking about the various pieces of art or the décor of her establishment.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Would you like to see the upstairs portion? It turned out fantastic.” Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up a back staircase. Kevin was expecting something close to a sparse dorm room with a futon, a cook top, and a half fridge, but what he saw looked like a beautiful showroom. It was decorated in beautiful fabrics and colors, there was artwork all around and lovely touches that made it feel like a home.

“You did all this yourself? It looks fantastic! I should have known that if you were going to do anything you were going to do it well.” While intended it to be innocent, there was a sexual undertone to the comment that was felt by both.

“If you only knew, sir,” Sylvia replied, and winked to acknowledge the chemistry that was tangible. “Would you care for a glass of wine, you don’t have to go now, do you?” She offered graciously but she was prepared for him to decline her offer.

“I don’t mind if I do, thanks,” taking off his jacket and making himself comfortable on the cozy loveseat. After the second glass of wine, and even more conversation, the two began to get a little more comfortable with each other. Before either of them realized it, it was 3 in the morning. It

Being a gentleman, he rose, saying, “I better get home. Will you be okay staying here for the evening or would you prefer I call you a cab to get you home? I don’t want you driving. I’ll leave my car here and come get it in the morning, well, I’ll come get it in a couple of hours since it’s already morning.”

Taking his hand in hers, she said, “You don’t have to go.” There was a moment of silence when they both knew what was about to happen but didn’t dare say anything to break the spell. She stood and faced him. Time stood still for an instant and he tilted her face to his and they kissed.

Things certainly went from zero to sixty, but it took quite some time to get there. Both Sylvia and Kevin took their time, exploring each other’s bodies, and capitalizing off of each second of sensual pleasure. They kissed for what seemed like hours on that little loveseat. He wouldn’t be rushed so Kevin kissed and licked her neck, finding her hot spot and making her moan in pleasure. He licked her ears and whispered the sorts of naughty things he wanted to do to her. She would respond by spreading her legs and grinding her body in time with his. Her hands roamed freely over his back, caressing him and unbuttoning his shirt at the appropriate intervals.

At some point, her dress ended up on the floor and Kevin could do nothing but stare in amazement. She was more perfect than he had ever imagined. Her beautiful breasts were round and full and capped off by the most delicious, dark, suckable nipples he’d ever seen in his entire life. Her tiny waist held a belly chain that lay softly on her hips and sparkled in the moonlight. Her big ole booty was what made women envious and men weak with lust. Kevin was no exception and he found himself wanting to just start at her pretty pink toenails and kiss and lick his way up her whole body.

That’s exactly what he did in fact, well, that’s what he started out to do. Laying her down on the bed for more room to stretch out and get comfortable, he began exploring her body with his mouth. He parted her soft, brown thighs and couldn’t believe his eyes. Her pussy was magnificent and it was all he could do not to just dive right in and devour her. Her inner pink lips opened to reveal themselves like a beautiful orchid. He gently rubbed the tip of his finger over her exposed and hardened clit and he saw her body respond to his touch. She arched her back and gripped the sheets, moaning and encouraging him to go further.

Inserting his finger in her hole, he could feel her slippery, wet juices flowing freely. She responded with more moaning this time but she was more vocal. “Oh Kevin, eat my wet pussy. Lick it. Suck me. Make me cum in your mouth. Don’t tease me; stick your tongue in me. Put my clit in your mouth and lick it.”

Kevin didn’t disappoint and he ate her pussy like it was better than the five star meal they had earlier in the evening. Sylvia didn’t stop. “Oh shit, that feels so good, yeah, fuck, eat me, don’t stop, eat me. Damn, I love the way you are working my hot, wet, pussy with your mouth, do you like the way I taste? I’m going to nut all in your mouth.” That was just what he wanted to hear and he went into overdrive to bring her to orgasm. She held his head to her pussy and wrapped her sexy legs around his head. She was grinding on his mouth, using him, fucking his face. Noticing that she wasn’t saying much, he looked up only to see her sucking her own nipple.

Kevin was blown away by how sexy she looked in the moment and stood up and took off the rest of his clothes and straddled her body. He pushed her tits together and cradled his cock between the soft mounds of flesh. The contrast in skin color almost made him blow his load right there. He pinched her nipples gently and began thrusting his white dick between her brown breasts. Sylvia was not one to be passive and she started licking the head of his cock, sucking it between her soft, full lips.

Leaking precum, he grabbed the shaft of his cock and fed it to her, feeling her hot, wet mouth envelop him as she swallowed him. He let her control the pace and she used her mouth like a vacuum, trying to suck the cum from his nuts. There wasn’t much time for a blowjob, as sensual and as hot as it was, because Sylvia was encouraging him to go further. “Fuck me, Kevin. Pump your cock in me. I want to feel you inside me.”

That’s just what he did. Flipping her over, he positioned her on her knees. He took another taste of her pussy from behind, teasing her delicious asshole with his tongue this time and getting ready for the ride of a lifetime. He grabbed his cock and lined it up with her hole. The heat was intense and he could feel the muscles of her pussy walls grabbing him before the head was even inside. He held her hips and pushed forward, hearing her cry out. Once completely inside, she looked back and said, “Fuck me, Kevin, fuck me.” And that’s just what he did.

He pumped his engorged cock in and out of her wet, hot pussy. He stroked and thrust and drove every single inch of his hard meat inside her. She was going wild, chanting and moaning and begging for more. Her full ass was wiggling and bouncing up and down and the wet sounds of sex filled the small room as he kept pounding her. He was a man on a mission. He was intent on satisfying this incredibly sexy woman but he wanted to pour himself into the passion that he’d been denying himself for so long. He fucked her harder. She moaned louder. He could feel the cum in his nuts boiling up. He looked down to see his white cock glistening with her juices as she cried out, “I’m cumming, oh shit, I’m cumming.” He couldn’t hold back any longer and he pulled out and shot his cum on her ass.

They cuddled together until the late afternoon, waking and showering and doing it all over again. Six months later, the couple was still going strong, Mombasa was doing quite well and Kevin was even happier and fulfilled in his job, having found the balance that made his life quite content. Every day, at 3:00, he had a standing appointment to send Sylvia a text message letting her know that he was thinking about her and that she was his first priority.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

Romance vs. Seduction

In this day and age of instant gratification, people often confuse romance with seduction. Romance has to do with evoking feelings of emotional attraction; seduction involves getting a person into bed. Romance benefits both partners and can certainly lead to intense love making, while seduction, without emotion, only really fulfills the needs of the person doing the seducing. The seduced might be physically satisfied at the end of the evening, but if the seduction was based merely the pretense of emotion in order to manipulate a person into a sexual encounter, that satisfaction is purely superficial and very short lived. Men are often socialized to think that being romantic is a sign of weakness and that to be manly is to seduce as many women as possible. What many men fail to realize is that they are craving intense emotional connection in their live but trying to achieve it by jumping from bed to bed, hoping the sex will lead to the euphoric feelings of bliss.

In order to redefine romance and shift the perception of sexuality, we must as women, start learning how to ask for what we want, we have to redefine what it is in a man that is important vs. what we’ve been socialized to expect that may be detrimental to our relationships. Black men must start having discussions that start exploring how to redefine what manhood consists of and how best to have their emotional needs met while being better partners in their relationships.
1. How do you communicate to your lover if they don’t meet your needs without making your partner feel inadequate?

2. How open are you to exploring different fantasies with your partner or are you determined that there are certain roles that a man and woman have and there’s no room for deviating from those roles?

3. Where do you get your ideas for romance and seduction in your life?

4. How do you keep the romance alive in your relationship?

On the Day we Reunite

As the day gets closer to when we see each other, I’m filled with so many expectations of what it will be like. I need to be in your arms, to feel you next to me. All I can think about is you being inside me and knowing that you love me. The thought of making love to you is what’s keeping me going. I only hope that it can be all that I hope it will be.

I need it to be special when we make love, to let you know how special you are to me. I’m going to undress you slowly, kissing every inch of your beautiful brown skin as I do. I’m going to lay you down and undress for you. I want to show you how aroused I am thinking about tasting your sweet juices and making you cum with my mouth. I need you to lay back and enjoy while I lick you until you cum in my mouth. First, I’m going to be slow and gentle, teasing you with my lips and tongue, softly sucking your dick until you are moaning in my mouth and you are dripping with desire. I’m going to take it nice and slow until you explode in my mouth and cover me with your cum. Then, I’m going to take no prisoners. I’m going to lick you from the head of your dick to your asshole and back again, not missing a spot in between. I’m going to suck and lick your hard dick in my mouth until you are begging to fuck me.

Believe me, I’m going to take my time working your hard dick up in me. I want you to feel my hard nipples crushed against your chest as you fill your hands with my ass. I want to ride you hard and deep, making you feel every inch of my hot, wet walls. I want to hear you moan and scream out my name. I want to ride you hard and cum on your dick while you lay back and watch me pleasure myself. When you’re ready, I want you to flip me over and hit it from behind and stroke long and hard and deep and so I can feel every inch of your love for me.

It’s going to be one continuous orgasm for days on end. I want to feel your mouth on my pussy, licking me the way that drives me crazy. I want to explore our fantasies and make them reality. When I have to leave your side, I’ll have the memories of or glorious time together to sustain me, to keep me going until we can be together again. Know that I love you more than my words can say.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

Time

Every time I taste your lips, I’m reminded of how intense every second is that I spend with you. My senses are aroused and I’m lost in your eyes. I can feel my nature rise and my juices begin to flow simply melting into your tender kiss. Every second is a gift in your presence and I want to unwrap them slowly, methodically and with tender loving care.


Fifteen minutes. All I need from you today is one quarter hour. Steal away on your lunch break and love me down intensely but for a few brief minutes. I need to be rejuvenated by your touch, your taste, and your sweet, sexy scent. Save the foreplay and romance for another day and give me that hot, sticky passion only you know how to give me.


Time is really an illusion, it doesn’t exist. Time is really man’s way of measuring the passage of events that occur; it is really just a figment of our imagination. What is real are my feelings for you. Reality is that feeling I have when I hold your body close and I don’t know where you end and I begin.


Timeless love, that is what we share. Weeks, months, or even years could go by and you’d still be connected to me. No amount of time will alter or diminish this chemistry, this magic. You touch will forever send shivers down my spine. I will forever long for kisses from you. Your caress will always ignite my flame. We will spend eternity as lovers.


Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

He Holds the Key to my Arousal in his Hands

Is it possible to be in love with a man for his hands? Well, I’m not in love with him FOR his hands, he’s an amazing man without question but I’m definitely in love with his hands. I can’t explain it. His hands actually turn me on. The shape of his hands, the length of his fingers, even the way he holds his fork drives me to distraction. I think I love his hands more than I love his dick. Okay, let me not go off the deep end, it ain’t that extreme, but his hands give me a special thrill that I just can’t explain.

I love watching him masturbate. It’s like sensory overload. Seeing him stroke the length of his dick, his fingers gripping it tightly, seeing the cum flowing over his fingers thrills me in a way that words can’t describe. I can suck his fingers or his dick and both arouse me beyond belief. One Sunday morning he brought me breakfast in bed. He thought he was being cute by dipping his finger in the honey and putting it in my tea. I grabbed his finger and started licking and sucking every bit of that honey. We had to go to IKEA and buy a new headboard that afternoon because things got so heated after that.

Who knew that hands could be a sex organ? The first time we kissed, he held my face gently in his hands and I felt my heart skip a beat. When I’m riding him, and his hands grip my hips, for a brief second, all my attention is focused on the feel of his hands on my flesh. We walk in the park and he’ll reach out to hold my hand . . . and I feel safe, protected, and secure in the connection.
His hands represent strength to me; the centuries of labor our ancestors endured building this nation that hates us so. His hands represent tenderness to me; his gentle nature is reflected in the movement of his artistic hands. I’m mesmerized when he wears his ring; it reminds me of a sunset over a beautiful horizon.

His hands pleasure me in ways that defy definition. When my body is warm and relaxed after a bath, he’ll anoint my body with oils and massage me to sleep. Well, his intention is to massage me to sleep but feeling his hands slide sensually up and down my body, caressing my sore spots and stimulating my hot ones . . . who can sleep?

We went out for drinks the other night, enjoying a few Afrotini’s and a little jazz. He pulled my chair close and whispered in my ear that he wanted me to spread my legs. My heart started pounding out of my chest. I felt the heat of his hands on my thigh as he moved up my leg, sliding my panties to the side. There, in the middle of a very public place, he took his finger and started rubbing my clit, causing me to signal for the waiter to bring the check and get the hell outta there. He had other plans. I grabbed the edge of the table and held on tightly as his fingers penetrated me, making me bite my lower lip to keep silent. Tease that he was, he stopped, leaving me desperate to cum. He ordered dessert and would wipe his sexy mouth with his cloth napkin, which was really nothing more than his discrete way of smelling my pussy juices on his fingers, inhaling my fragrance. Of all the things that I love about this man, it’s his hands that hold the key to my arousal. I know he was made for me, I for him, because even his hands fit me.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

Filling the Void

Who would have thought that after a year of sitting at home alone, I would be on a date? Not only a date, but a date with a great guy. I’d been standing in the grocery store, minding my business, when the gentleman in front of me turned around and said, “Can you watch my daughter for two seconds, I just need to run and get some Pampers, right there.” He pointed to the aisle directly behind us and then his toddler. She was wearing the cutest little t-shirt with Kente embroidery on it and the brightest smile you’d ever want to see.

“Sure, go ahead.” No sooner than her father walked away, the little girl stood up in the cart and made a lunge for the candy, trying to leap like she was the star acrobat in the UniverSoul Circus. I grabbed her just in time before she took a big spill on the floor. “Slow down there little lady.” Rather than her being scared by a stranger, she fit in my arms perfectly and started playing with my earrings and talking to me quite fluently in little girl baby talk.

By the time her father came back, he was apologizing. “I’m so sorry. Let me guess, she made a dive for the candy. I don’t let her have sugar and her mother does so we go through a period of withdrawal every time it’s my time for custody.” She was smiling at me with this little innocent, angelic, brown face and all I could do was come to her defense.

“Nooooo, she . . . it wasn’t like that. She was just , , , “ I wasn’t very good at lying and I just stopped in mid sentence. “What’s your name, Princess?”

She told me her name quite promptly. I didn’t understand what the heck she said but at that point, she was focused on my necklace and jabbering away about something I’m sure only another two year old or a parent could understand. “Her name is Shakhari, and she is indeed my little princess. I’ll take her back now, thanks.” Shakhari was having none of that and she grabbed my neck and laid her sweet little head on my shoulder. “I share joint custody with her mother and when she lives with me, my brother, and his two sons; she’s the only woman in the house. She has a need for female bonding that defies logical thinking. That estrogen is some powerful stuff, right?”

“It’s okay, I’ll hold her, go ahead, it looks like you could use an extra hand.” While Daddy was unpacking the cart, getting his super savings card swiped, and paying, I was checking him out; he was actually very cute. He had a full beard and a delicious looking chocolate complexion and a shopping cart full of health food. I whispered in Shakhari’s ear, “You know, your Daddy is pretty handsome.”

That must have been the magic phrase because almost immediately Shakhari wanted to go back to Daddy and she reached out to him. He scooped her up and kept loading his cart with the bags like he was the featured juggler with UniverSoul. Right before they were ready to leave, he said, “Say goodbye to the pretty lady, Shakhari.” She blew me a big kiss and I could hear her saying bye-bye over and over until they were well beyond the automatic doors.

I paid for my groceries and made my way to the parking lot. I was putting my groceries in the back seat and still thinking about Dad and that sexy smile when I heard someone say, “Excuse me.” I looked up and it was Dad. “I didn’t get your name. I’m Vernon; I wanted to thank you for taking care of my little lady. I was wondering if . . . Do you think it would be okay if I gave you my number and you could give me a call . . . that is if you aren’t married or seeing someone or anything. Sorry, I’m not very good at this. I haven’t dated in a long while so I’m a little out of practice. I’m sorry.”

I extended my hand, “I’m Deborah, nice to meet you. There’s no need to apologize.” He handed me his business card with his home and cell phone numbers written on the back. A week later I was on a date with him, sitting at a table staring into the dreamiest eyes possible and pinching myself that he was so amazing.

The chemistry was just there, it wasn’t forced or anything, we just seemed to connect. He told me that he’d moved to the area two years ago, a little before Shakhari was born, and his pregnant girlfriend at the time had no intention of moving away from her family, and they had no plans to get married. “I got a chance to really make a difference,” he explained, “so when my brother told me they were opening an Office of Minority Affairs in the county, and were looking for someone to head it up, and he could get me an interview, I jumped at the chance. Janet is a massage therapist on a cruise ship for 3 or 4 months at a time so it works our perfectly that I can take Shakhari, my brother and his two teenage sons are the perfect babysitters whenever I need them. When she is with her Mom, I feel like my entire life is on hold.” He explained to me that he’d largely gotten caught up in his ex’s looks and while he could have made better choices in a partner, and used a lot more precaution, i.e. protection, he was making the best of the situation and being the best father he knew how to be.

The more we talked, the more attracted I was. Sure, we’d talked on the phone, gotten to know each other a little bit before the date, but there was something about being in his presence, smelling his cologne, seeing those shoulders, just being in the company of a man that was intoxicating. I told him my sad story, of how I’d let myself love a man who didn’t love me and how it had fucked with my self esteem so I’d been alone for a while, just trying to work on myself. Isolated was a better term for it. I’d sort of shut myself off from the rest of the world to figure things out and make sense of it all. Usually, when you admit flaws to a man, they run 100 yards in the opposite direction but Vernon was hanging right in there with me, it didn’t seem to disturb him in the least. I could tell from his actions and his words that he was really interested in finding a woman of substance, which is rare. Most men are looking for a woman of beauty, who won’t question them or demand anything of them. He explained that after Shakhari was born, he was intent on finding a great role model for his daughter and a great partner with whom he could build a life together. Boy was I glad the recipe I was using called for shallots that night and I had to run to the store.

After dinner, we walked hand in hand by the bay, looking out over the water and up at the stars. We sat on a bench for a while and watched the other couples walk by, kissing and hugging, feeling each other up as if no one could see what they were doing. I got a little chilly and he gave me his jacket and put his arms around my shoulders. It was getting late but I was in no rush to end the date so I asked him if he wanted to come back to my place for a drink.

I had no plans on having sex with him; I just wanted to appreciate his company a little more. Vernon was picking out music in the living room while I was in the kitchen getting out the glasses and opening the wine. All of a sudden it hit me that I had made a huge mistake. Wine, music, alone in my apartment. Duh, that meant SEX! Hot, buck naked, sweaty sex. My hands started shaking and I couldn’t even hold the bottle opener steady. I was trying to figure out a way to put a stop to the whole thing, call it off, ask him to leave, when Vernon came in the kitchen and said, “Deborah, is everything alright? Here, let me help you with that.”

He intentionally stood behind me, pressing his body against mine, and wrapped his arms around me, placing his hands on top of mine, and opened the bottle. My heart was racing out of my chest. I could feel the fullness of my ass against him, his chest against my back, his arms were strong but his hands were gentle. I closed my eyes and laid my head back against his chest for a moment and just stood there. He started massaging my shoulders, and he said, “This is nice, thank you for inviting me over.” I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear and in that moment, I felt like a woman. I am a woman of course, but when you spend so much time alone you don’t get a chance to FEEL like a woman. I leaned back into him fully, subconsciously rubbing my ass on him, and I could detect the slightest movement in his pants.

That’s when panic hit me. What the hell was I doing? I wiggled out from between the counter and his body and decided that I was going to gain full control of the situation. I was going to fake a headache and call it a night but Vernon beat me to it. “Whoa, look at the time,” he said! “My nephew has rugby playoffs tomorrow and I have to get home to uhmmm . . . take care of things, to get ready. I mean I need to get up early to get the kids ready and . . . well, I better get going.” He was trying to discretely reposition himself and scramble for his jacket to put in front of him.


I walked him to the door and we said our goodbyes. I guess neither one of us knew what was the appropriate thing to do. The date was awesome, there was chemistry out of this world, but we were both out of practice in the romance department. We stood at my doorway and saying what a great time we both had and how we should do it again soon. I knew good and damn well that I wanted a kiss. I could tell he wanted a kiss too. He stood there stalling for another minute until finally I just put my arms around his neck, leaned in close and closed my eyes.

The next thing I felt were his lips pressed softly against mine, his tongue softly exploring my mouth. He pulled my body tightly to his and I cupped his face in my hands. His hands explored my back and the further down they went, the more I moaned into his mouth. We went from 0 to 60 in five seconds flat. One kiss turned into deep soul kissing and there was no turning back. He sucked my tongue gently in his mouth and I got dizzy. His mouth tasted slightly sweet, like he’d eaten a mint in anticipation of kissing me while I wasn’t looking. Our lips parted and he started kissing my neck. His technique was out of this world, gently sucking my hot spot and nibbling on my flesh while his hands were pulling me closer, rubbing me all over. There was no way I was going to let him leave so I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the living room. We both fell on the sofa and started making out like two teenagers in high school.

There is something transcendent about being in the arms of a Black man. Anyone who has every had the pleasure can testify to that. Being in the arms of a beautiful Black man, after months of being alone, is like finding an oasis in the desert after crawling on the hot sands. When I’m in that moment, feeling his muscles, the power of his grasp, if feels like it’s the reason I was created, it’s like climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro and reaching the Apex. Pressing his full body weight into mine, he took my breath away. I tried to pull him closer, to become one with him, to somehow feel his breath inside of me. He put his leg between mine and I started humping on him. My skirt was sliding up and I kept trying to subconsciously pull it back down. My mind was so used to putting me off when they made advances; it was hard to turn off that record that allowed me to be fully sensual and expressive with a man.
Truth is, I was scared. I was scared of letting down my guard. I was unsure of how to be sexual with a man anymore. I wasn’t sure what healthy boundaries were. I was playing all sorts of old tapes in my head about being a slut for sleeping with a man on the first date. I’m 30 years old and I was feeling like a teenager on the couch with my mom upstairs, ready to scold me for being fast.

Vernon must have been having the same apprehensions, well, at least comparable ones. He sat up and moved to the far end of the sofa. I was still lying there, with my legs spread, breathing heavy, and a look of tortured lust on my face. I could clearly see the outline of his dick tenting his pants and he made no efforts to hide it.

“Is everything okay,” I asked, sitting up and trying to gain some composure.

“Sure, I’m cool. It’s just that I’m not really sure that we should be doing this. I can’t lie; I want to be with you. You CAN’T imagine how much I want to be with you right now. It’s just that I don’t want my judgment clouded because it’s been so long since I . . . you know. I’m into you for a lot of reasons but I don’t want to just get caught up in the moment because I’m trying to fill the void, feel me? I’m not sure if I’m thinking with the right head.”

I think we both needed that minute to catch our breath and regroup. To be honest, the fact that he wanted to slow things down made me want him that much more. Not completely because you always want what you think you can’t have, but I’m sure that had a little to do with it, but mostly because he was actually thinking about the consequences of us getting too carried away. That was a first. Every other man I’d been with, once we’d gotten to the dry humping, spit swapping, simulating sex stage, there was nothing short of a natural disaster that could get them to think about anything other than fucking.

He pulled my skirt hem down to my knees, rather reluctantly I could tell, and then he pulled me onto his lap. We talked for a few minutes but neither of us made a move to end the evening. I tried to move to sit next to him, expressing that I was fearful that I was hurting him, and he sucked his teeth and gave me a look like, “Gurl, pleeease, don’t even think that you could hurt me.” I TOTALLY felt like a woman in the moment.

It was only then that all the work I’d done on myself, redefining and healing, kicked in. I was a vibrant, vital, woman with a lot to offer and sexual needs, the need for human contact. I was deserving of pleasure and sensual release. Yes, I wanted a relationship but more than that I wanted a man to appreciate me for more than being just a piece of ass. I was reasonably confident that Vernon didn’t just want a one night stand. But the real kicker was in coming to terms with the fact that, even if he did, even if having a sex on the first date wasn’t what I’d been conditioned to think a virtuous woman did, I was empowered and responsible for my happiness. I could choose to see the situation as one of opportunity and take ownership of my emotions afterwards, whatever the outcome.

I straddled Vernon’s lap and faced him. I slowly undid the buttons on my blouse, verrrry slowly. He didn’t say a word; he just sat there and watched me. I pulled my blouse off and dropped it to the floor. I took his hands and placed them on my breasts and he started massaging them. I undid the snaps of my bra and let if find a home on the floor on top of my shirt. Instinctively, his mouth found my nipples and started sucking them. I held them up for him, feeding him, throwing my head back and enjoying the sensation of his tongue, moving from one titty to the other, licking my hardened nipples, sucking them, biting them gently, driving me absolutely fucking crazy.

I started grinding on him, undoing the buttons on his shirt. He said, “Wait, shouldn’t we . . .” I didn’t let him finish his sentence. I kissed him again, this time even more passionately than before, if that was at all possible, and silenced him.

“Vernon, do you want to . . .” I didn’t know what words to use, so I just said what I was really feeling in that moment. “Vernon, do you want to fuck me?”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Deborah, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t see straight.” He buried his face between the soft flesh of my breasts and pushed both nipples together and sucked them at the same time.

I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward my bedroom so we could stretch out and be more comfortable. He kept asking me if I was sure about this. I turned on my mackadocious music, the music I played when I wanted to get in the mood to fuck myself, and I started dancing for him, taking off the rest of my clothes. I slid out of my skirt and he just sat on the edge of the bed, looking uncomfortable. Leaving my red lace panties on, I knelt between his legs and undid his belt buckle. He was looking down at me like he was having an out of body experience. I undid the button and lowered the zipper on his pants. I reached in his boxers and felt the heat of his dick. I pulled it from the opening and looked up at him, licked my lips, and licked the head. I saw his eyes roll back in his head and I knew that was my go ahead. I swirled my tongue around the head and started licking his shaft. I slip my lips sensually up and down the length and took his entire dick in my mouth deeply. He was bucking his hips and I was matching his thrusts. He grabbed my by my shoulders and pushed me away. “Stop,” he said breathing heavily, “I need you to slow down.”

I stood up and turned around. I slid my panties down over my full hips and stepped out of them. By the time I had turned back around, Vernon was naked and laying on the bed looking like a chocolate vision of beauty. “My turn,” he said, “and he stuck out his tongue. “I want to taste you.” I climbed on the bed and tried to lie next to him. He wasn’t having that and he told me that he wanted me to ride his face. For a woman who was out of practice at having sex, I wasn’t sure I was comfortable being that assertive. I stopped myself before I got too caught up in old tapes in my head and accepted his invitation.

I grabbed the headboard and threw my leg across his shoulder. He stuck his tongue out and said, “Come on, baby, let me lick that sweet pussy.” I lowered myself slowly, letting the lips of my pussy gently caress his lips. He started kissing my pussy, frenching them like he’d done to me earlier. I was biting my lip, trying to stifle my moans of appreciation but there was no use. I felt fucking fantastic. I started rubbing my pussy on his soft lips, sliding back and forth, feeling his tongue in my hole and his lips sucking at my clit. The sensations were out of the world. Before long, I was bouncing a little harder on his mouth, riding his tongue. Grabbing my ass, he pulled me forward and started licking me from my clit to my asshole. I’ll be a black son of a bitch if I could hold back my sounds of appreciation at that point. I was moaning and talking dirty, telling him how much I loved it.

“Ohhhh, yessss, sexy mother fucker. Let me ride that tongue, shove it in me. Oh shit, that feels so good.” He grabbed thighs and pulled me tighter. Poor little thing, I could have suffocated him I was bouncing up and down on his face so hard. I could feel the tremors, they were building and there was no turning back.

I rolled over on the bed, exhausted, but energized at the same time. Vernon rolled over on me and kissed me and I could taste my juices on his tongue. “Do you need some time to recuperate,” he whispered?

I reached between his legs and felt for his dick and rubbed it on the slit of my pussy. “Fuck me, NOW,” was all I needed to say.

“Oh shit,” he said, “Hold on there sweetness.” He reached for his pants on the side of the bed and pulled out some condoms, opened the package with his teeth, and slid it on his dick. I was so happy he’d taken the initiative to be responsible because I would have kicked myself a thousand times in the morning for not insisting that we use protection.

Locked and fully loaded, he placed my legs on his shoulders. He looked down at me and rubbed the head of his dick on my slit. I was sweating, trying to get him to penetrate me. I was still soaking wet from cumming before but I hadn’t felt a real dick in my in so long, I couldn’t wait any longer. Vernon made me wait. He teased me, excruciatingly painful teasing. He pushed the head in and I gripped the sheets. I was tighter than usual I guess, from not having sex in so long, so he had to work hard to get it all in. We were both sweating and grunting and he was going deeper and deeper. Finally, I could feel his balls on my ass and the head of his dick was deep inside me.

Gripping my thighs, he started fucking me. When I say he was fucking me, he would withdraw all the way to the head and then push every millimeter inside me, rhythmically, methodically, sensually. I was twisting and turning, playing with his nipples, playing with my own, rubbing my clit, just adding to the sensations. I grabbed his ass and started trying to get him to fuck me harder. We were grunting and groaning, he was fucking me senseless. He let my legs go and I wrapped them around his back. He fell on top of me and we began kissing passionately. Our sweaty bodies were slipping and sliding together.

“Oh shit, I’m going to cum.”

He fell on the bed, staring at the ceiling, not saying a word. I pulled the covers over us and drifted off to sleep snuggled up next to him. I awoke to the sounds of him getting dressed, glanced at the clock, and it said 5:30.

“Listen, Shakhari has never woken up with me not there so I need to run,” he whispered. “I left the address of where my nephew is going to be playing. Meet us there when you get a chance. I can’t wait to see you later.” He kissed my forehead. Go back to sleep and get some rest and we can pick up where we left off tonight.”

I was relieved. While I was prepared for the big blow off, I was pleased that it looked like things were going to move ahead. Where things were going to go was entirely up to us but I was pretty assured that he hadn’t just taken advantage of me and I was confident that I had truly made the empowered choice that signaled a sensual rite of passage for me as a woman.

(And just so you know, he nephew’s team won the regional title.)

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK