Relationships, at least here in the self-centered West, have a specific pattern. When a couple meets, they feel each other out, they date, they make an assessment as to whether the person to whom they are attracted is worth the emotional effort, and if said couple falls in love, the couple decides to pursue a relationship. The understanding is always that the couple is pursuing a “long-term relationship”. The unspoken definition of a long-term relationship, as we have been led to believe, is one defined by no end date. A long-term relationship is supposed to be forever, happily ever after, it’s supposed to symbolize the dissolution of the individuals and the birth of a couple who combine their lives and goals and stuff in a romanticized notion of pair bonding.
I have the distinct pleasure, the very unique opportunity to be in a short-term relationship. A short-term relationship is, as I have defined it, a relationship that has no specific end date but one that is also not formed with the false belief that it will last forever. A short-term relationship is one that takes advantage of the feelings of love, intimacy, companionship, and connection one can feel with an individual while taking into consideration that there are very specific impediments to the relationship that will not withstand the test of time, that will not pass the long-term-litmus. A short-term lover is one who has the benefits of all the closeness, passion, commitment, and love without the threat of maintaining everlasting bliss looming overhead.
My lover, my manfriend and partner, the person with whom I share my life and body is an amazing man whom I love conditionally. He is someone with whom I share a history -- a history that has been blemished by his betrayal and poor decision making. We are vastly different individuals in many ways who are also so alike it is scary at times. I hold no fairly tale illusions about a happily-ever-after with him but I am more than willing to revel in the happy-right-now feelings I have in my heart (as well as my other body parts that are outrageously satisfied). I’m working hard to implement all the things I’ve learned over the years about what it takes to be in a healthy relationship, the things I’ve practiced in my mind with my fantasy partner about not expecting him to read my mind, trying to communicate my fears and dissatisfaction without trying to belittle or demean him. I’m loving every minute of being able to express all the love I have in my heart by spoiling him, nurturing him, by loving him totally and completely without hesitation or reserve. Our core philosophical compasses are so dangerously opposite however it would be foolish to think that we can build a life of long-term goals together.
I am Black. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not only Black, but I’m super, unapologetically Black. I’m passionate about providing people of color, descendents of slaves, individuals of African descent a model and example of healthy relationships and sexuality that celebrates our differences without having to whitewash our unique identity, without conforming to clownish stereotypes, while divesting ourselves of detrimental and destructive behaviors we’ve acquired in trying to conform to an identity that is not our own. While he is a man of color on the outside, he doesn’t identify himself as such. He rejects his identity; he is comfortable, dare I say happy being surrounded by rednecks and very, low-class white people. He has spent his entire life believing that being Black is something negative that has to be overcome, something he has to deny in order to be accepted by his peers. To think for a minute that he and I have the potential to form a long-term relationship would be foolish. I NEED someone in my life long-term who can be supportive of my goals and objectives. I need a partner who not only can believe in my goals but whose goals are similarly aligned with my own. For right now, however, I can overlook those differences and see the things about him that are exceptional.
Because we have been socialized is such different circumstances, my great fear is that because his core/intrinsic attraction is to smoking, drinking, bi-polar, dysfunctional, mentally unstable, white women that I will once again become the discarded victim of his need to distance himself from being Black. He is uncomfortable with my blackness. He doesn’t like me talking about race unless I say that color doesn’t matter. He is more willing to let white people ridicule him about his race than he is willing to consider that I have a right to publicly express my displeasure with the way Black people are portrayed, depicted, and stereotyped. So . . . we choose not to talk about race. For the short term, that works. I can compartmentalize my life in such a way that we can laugh and joke and share a great number of conversations that don’t touch upon race, we can enjoy the moment without the burden of projecting what is going to happen years from now. Can I do that forever, for the long-term? Unquestionably, no!
He has never seen a healthy relationship; I come from generations of Black couples loving each other as far back as slavery. Our perceptions of what it takes to be in a healthy relationship are vastly different as well. His approach to relationships is not to think about anything, never question his choices. My approach is to analyze, dissect, think, and think again. We both see each other’s position as being flawed. I need to assess the mistakes and patterns of my past so that I can grow, mature, and make healthier choice in partners and relationships. His belief is that every choice he’s made in the past has been valid and justified because he was doing what he thought was right at the time, no matter how detrimental the outcome. We live in a tiny, backwards town where adultery, drugs, alcohol, and violence are the norm for relationships. We live in a town where everywhere we go, we are faced with one of his past dysfunctional lovers, all of whom he still cares about and defends as valid choices. I could easily say that I don’t need the drama, that I deserve better in a partner but that would be stupid of me to dismiss the fact that I’ve never met a man more committed to my pleasure, to my happiness, I’ve never met another man more willing to try to be a better man with me.
The things I love about him, the things that make him such an exceptional man, are largely the things that make him so vastly different than most African American men that have been socialized in Black communities. He doesn’t have the defensiveness, machismo, or absurd notion of what it means to be a Black man so he can be his authentic self. He makes me happy. I love being with him; I know deep in my heart that he loves me; I know that being my boyfriend is important to him, so much so that he’s willing to try something different than what he’s tried before. I question his ability to be completely honest but we are working daily on that with very good results. I’m working hard on trying not to change him, I’m trying not to be judgmental of his current emotional maturity but accept him for who he is and all the wonderful things that he brings to the table. I can be outrageously condescending in believing that my way is the only right way and that he has to think and believe as I do. I’m working on that. I know him to be thoughtful and kind, he is beautiful, sweet, sincere, intelligent, warm, and loving. When I think of his accomplishments and abilities, given his surroundings, I’m in awe of how outstanding a man he is. I know that when I tell him my concerns and objections that he’s going to make a concerted effort to address them immediately. He is attentive to my every desire and need. Those things have more value and weight in my choice to be the woman in his life, to be his girlfriend, than the fact that he was raised in a community of rednecks and has embraced them as his peers, loved them as his partners.
I think of all the romantic interests I’ve had in the past that would have benefited from a short-term philosophy. I think about how many nuanced things that adults should experience in a relationship that I’ve been deprived of because my relationships didn’t have long-term potential. I’m not at all sure that my man understands or believes in the whole short-term concept but he’s wiling to take things one day at a time and see where it leads us.
This culture, this society bombards us with clichés about opposites attracting and love conquering all but I’m introspective and self-aware enough to know that those are just empty words meant to distract people from the very real, very hard emotional work it takes to build a healthy relationship. I’m attempting to replace the dysfunctional, romanticized Hollywood picture of a long-term relationship with one that is based on appreciating the good things a person brings to the table while those good feelings last. When will our relationship end? As my grandmother used to say, “Honey, you have to ask someone smarter than me.” I would like to think that our relationship will come to an amicable end when it is time for one of us to move from this place. Maybe the relationship will end when one or both of us decide that the current situation is no longer fulfilling. Ideally, the relationship will end with no hurt feelings and the acknowledgment and recognition of the tremendous love we have for one another and how it has been a wonderful component to what will be our history as we move forward. There are those who would have me believe that our relationship will be long-term as long as we continue to accept each other, love will prevail, don’t be a cynic, anything is possible. etc. Equally as loud and equally as critical of my short-term relationship model are those who say that any man who has hurt me in the past, who doesn’t value me for who and what I intrinsically am as a person is not worth my time and effort as even a short-term partner. I have to say that I’m not only comfortable with my choices but I’m outrageously happy. I have weighed his pros and his cons and the benefits FAR outweigh the negatives. For the short-term, what he and I share is positive, affirming, beautiful, loving and wonderful and that works for me.
Scottie Lowe Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved
Monday, November 02, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
To Be a Black Feminist
I recently read a deluded and sad “Letter to a Black Feminist” by a gentleman who blamed feminists for . . . well, basically, anything and everything he could think of. The fact that he didn’t even correctly identify what a feminist was or our real agendas didn’t seem to bother the numerous people who responded and told him how insightful and well thought out is misguided ramblings were. I am a feminist. I am an unapologetic Black feminist. I’m saddened by the lies, mistruths, and ignorance being perpetuated in my name and feel it’s my responsibility to share the truth for anyone who may be so inclined to learn and grow.
Here’s the Feminist Primer as simply as it can be explained.
Feminists work to dismantle the social, sexual, political, and economic disparity between the genders.
Feminists seek equality. Equality doesn’t mean we think we are as physically strong as men; it means we want our different strengths and abilities to have the same weight as men’s strengths and abilities have.
Feminists don’t want to be superior to men; we are not looking to replace patriarchy with matriarchy.
Feminists don’t want to emasculate men (although the concepts of masculinity and femininity are flawed, that’s besides the point). We have no agendas to make men more feminine but simply understand that there is a certain harmony and peace when masculine and feminine energies are in balance.
Feminists don’t seek to form matrilineal societies where women rule and have multiple spouses.
Feminists want to be seen as human beings, not objects, not submissives, not broken ribs or whatever fairy tales Black men want to quote to justify their insecurity with the concept that man and women should hold no power over each other.
Feminists aren’t lesbians, although we can be, but our sexual orientation has nothing whatsoever to do with our desire to fight the systems that keep women as second-class citizens.
Feminists don’t hate men although we certainly have a right to hate their privilege.
Feminists aren’t “against the family,” as so many Black men want to imply, we just don’t want the family to be based on a patriarchal model where men have the final say just because they have a Y chromosome.
Feminists simply take a stand against the oppression and tyranny of women under the false assumption of men being somehow inherently superior.
Feminists don’t want to be defined by how attractive we are to men but by our intellect, skills, talents, abilities, and our humanity.
Black men are so terrified of being equal to women that they raise these absurd and paranoid rants against feminists in order to deflect from their own emotional immaturity. Black men are hysterical. They yell and scream about how they want an end to the fallacy of white male supremacy but they don’t want anything to do with the end of male supremacy, ESPECIALLY if it means they might lose their historically unearned place as leader, ruler, and so-called king. As long as Black men feel they have a right to oppress, subjugate, or dominate women because some white man wrote a book that said that God deemed that anyone with a penis has special privileges to view women as inferior, then black men will be forever handicapped by their own ignorance and arrogance. Emasculating or hating men has NEVER been the agenda of feminists, that's nothing but bullshit rhetoric from immature and insecure men who want to keep women silenced and maintain their privilege of oppression. The very men who so vehemently hate feminists, who make us out to be evil estrogen wielding castrators, are the very men who are raping women, who are committing domestic violence, who are complacent when they see women being treated like whores and objects. Misogyny is a sickness within the Black community; it is a rampant disease that threatens our very existence. Until Black men can boldly declare that they are feminists, activists who fight for the equality of women, meaning they are willing to divest themselves of their unearned penal privilege and address how dysfunctional our society is in terms of gender, they will forever be emotionally handicapped oppressors.
Black women aren’t much better. We have no clue what a feminist is other than what we hear Black men yell and scream, we are so conditioned to try to conform to Black men’s whims, fantasies, and irrational demands, that we never question anything they tell us and we go along with what they say. Black women can more easily define what a touchback in football is rather than correctly define the term feminist, even though one is meant to make them appear more attractive to men and the other benefits their status and standing as a woman in society. Of those who have a tiny clue what the word means, they inevitably say, “White women have commandeered the feminist movement for their own agenda so I consider myself a womanist.” Ask a Black woman, “What’s the difference between a feminist and a womanist?” “Well, a womanist is more concerned with Black issues.” Does that mean that we need to come up with a different name for Democrat since I’m more concerned with Black issues than white Democrats? “Well, a womanist is more concerned with the family.” Well, white women get married more than Black women so this Black womanist movement isn’t being particularly effective, is it? You lessen your position of power if you refuse to face Black men head on with their misogyny and you attempt to side step them by using a more neutral term that they don't object to. You cannot be a warrior in the struggle if you are starting your crusade from a place of concession. If you refer to yourself as a womanist, you’ve already said to the world, “I don’t want to be equal to men because I don’t want them mad at me for being too radical.” Womanism is not the lite version of feminism, it's not the Black version of feminism, it's the patriarchal conformation to Black men's insecurities.
If there was ever a platform upon which we could stand and unite, all men and women, it is the feminist one which states that we will be seen as human beings, no more, no less, that women serve a greater role in the world than doing housework and being receptacles for sperm to satisfy men’s lust. We are individuals with equal strengths to bring to the table as men. They are not the same strengths, but they are equal nonetheless. Just as left is not better than right, hot is not better than cold, up is not better than down, white is not better than black, let us all agree the man is not better than woman.
Scottie Lowe
Here’s the Feminist Primer as simply as it can be explained.
Feminists work to dismantle the social, sexual, political, and economic disparity between the genders.
Feminists seek equality. Equality doesn’t mean we think we are as physically strong as men; it means we want our different strengths and abilities to have the same weight as men’s strengths and abilities have.
Feminists don’t want to be superior to men; we are not looking to replace patriarchy with matriarchy.
Feminists don’t want to emasculate men (although the concepts of masculinity and femininity are flawed, that’s besides the point). We have no agendas to make men more feminine but simply understand that there is a certain harmony and peace when masculine and feminine energies are in balance.
Feminists don’t seek to form matrilineal societies where women rule and have multiple spouses.
Feminists want to be seen as human beings, not objects, not submissives, not broken ribs or whatever fairy tales Black men want to quote to justify their insecurity with the concept that man and women should hold no power over each other.
Feminists aren’t lesbians, although we can be, but our sexual orientation has nothing whatsoever to do with our desire to fight the systems that keep women as second-class citizens.
Feminists don’t hate men although we certainly have a right to hate their privilege.
Feminists aren’t “against the family,” as so many Black men want to imply, we just don’t want the family to be based on a patriarchal model where men have the final say just because they have a Y chromosome.
Feminists simply take a stand against the oppression and tyranny of women under the false assumption of men being somehow inherently superior.
Feminists don’t want to be defined by how attractive we are to men but by our intellect, skills, talents, abilities, and our humanity.
Black men are so terrified of being equal to women that they raise these absurd and paranoid rants against feminists in order to deflect from their own emotional immaturity. Black men are hysterical. They yell and scream about how they want an end to the fallacy of white male supremacy but they don’t want anything to do with the end of male supremacy, ESPECIALLY if it means they might lose their historically unearned place as leader, ruler, and so-called king. As long as Black men feel they have a right to oppress, subjugate, or dominate women because some white man wrote a book that said that God deemed that anyone with a penis has special privileges to view women as inferior, then black men will be forever handicapped by their own ignorance and arrogance. Emasculating or hating men has NEVER been the agenda of feminists, that's nothing but bullshit rhetoric from immature and insecure men who want to keep women silenced and maintain their privilege of oppression. The very men who so vehemently hate feminists, who make us out to be evil estrogen wielding castrators, are the very men who are raping women, who are committing domestic violence, who are complacent when they see women being treated like whores and objects. Misogyny is a sickness within the Black community; it is a rampant disease that threatens our very existence. Until Black men can boldly declare that they are feminists, activists who fight for the equality of women, meaning they are willing to divest themselves of their unearned penal privilege and address how dysfunctional our society is in terms of gender, they will forever be emotionally handicapped oppressors.
Black women aren’t much better. We have no clue what a feminist is other than what we hear Black men yell and scream, we are so conditioned to try to conform to Black men’s whims, fantasies, and irrational demands, that we never question anything they tell us and we go along with what they say. Black women can more easily define what a touchback in football is rather than correctly define the term feminist, even though one is meant to make them appear more attractive to men and the other benefits their status and standing as a woman in society. Of those who have a tiny clue what the word means, they inevitably say, “White women have commandeered the feminist movement for their own agenda so I consider myself a womanist.” Ask a Black woman, “What’s the difference between a feminist and a womanist?” “Well, a womanist is more concerned with Black issues.” Does that mean that we need to come up with a different name for Democrat since I’m more concerned with Black issues than white Democrats? “Well, a womanist is more concerned with the family.” Well, white women get married more than Black women so this Black womanist movement isn’t being particularly effective, is it? You lessen your position of power if you refuse to face Black men head on with their misogyny and you attempt to side step them by using a more neutral term that they don't object to. You cannot be a warrior in the struggle if you are starting your crusade from a place of concession. If you refer to yourself as a womanist, you’ve already said to the world, “I don’t want to be equal to men because I don’t want them mad at me for being too radical.” Womanism is not the lite version of feminism, it's not the Black version of feminism, it's the patriarchal conformation to Black men's insecurities.
If there was ever a platform upon which we could stand and unite, all men and women, it is the feminist one which states that we will be seen as human beings, no more, no less, that women serve a greater role in the world than doing housework and being receptacles for sperm to satisfy men’s lust. We are individuals with equal strengths to bring to the table as men. They are not the same strengths, but they are equal nonetheless. Just as left is not better than right, hot is not better than cold, up is not better than down, white is not better than black, let us all agree the man is not better than woman.
Scottie Lowe
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Phone Bone
I've come to accept that I might not ever share my bed with a true partner. A true partner is someone who appreciates me, accepts me, someone who loves me for all that I am. My bed might only ever provide temporary refuge for men who feel a connection but fear the connection. It's very possible my lovers will be men who leave me feeling insecure and ugly, questioning my value and worth as a woman, a lover, and a partner.
But I am a woman with needs and desires that go unfulfilled for months and even years at a time. I long to feel desired and loved just like any other human being. I don't have casual sex; I can't go out to the club on a Friday night and meet someone I'm attracted to. I've learned the hard way that I can't go on a dating site and find someone with whom I share chemistry and connection.
I find comfort, safety, and release occasionally in phone sex. In the familiarity of my own bed, practicing the safest possible sex, thanks to AT&T, I can experience the intimacy, love and connection I desire. The men need not be perfect. I can pretend there in the dark that he is my ideal lover. His voice can caress me, his words can satisfy my hungers. I can touch myself and pretend that my dream lover tenderly, sweetly, gently delivers each and every stroke.
Phone sex is my only outlet. It's the only form of sex I can seem to have and not have crippling guilt and remorse afterwards. The longer I'm alone the more I realize how essential physical connection is. Every time I have sex with someone undeserving of my body and my love, I feel like I have to punish myself. I feel like I need to revirginize myself and go without sex for painfully long periods of time in order to purge myself of my "sin" of weakness. It's my weakness to my urges that I know are human and normal and natural that haunt me. With phone sex, I have no such angst, that disappointment in myself. My phone lovers aren't real so I can let down my hair and be primal and feral and never feel an ounce of remorse. I feel lonely afterwards, that's for sure, but FAR less than I do when I have sex with and I know that when he leaves my bed, he may not return.
My phone lovers, too, are few and far between. To be honest, most men are not great at making love to a woman's mind so it stands to reason that the skills needed to seduce a woman over the phone are underdeveloped as well. I don't want to be called a bitch; I don't want to hear fake and contrived scenarios. I just want a man to tell me how much he desires me, my body, my personal brand of pleasure. I want to experience his private pleasure with his words and sounds. I want to dance to images in my head sung to a poetic sonata of sensual bliss. I want to cum together and cry out in the night and feel that bond.
Ideally, I would be able to find a man who wants me and who is a great communicator and we could supplement our amazing sex life with occasional phone sex to keep things spicy. Minus that, I will have to find satisfaction in cellular love.
But I am a woman with needs and desires that go unfulfilled for months and even years at a time. I long to feel desired and loved just like any other human being. I don't have casual sex; I can't go out to the club on a Friday night and meet someone I'm attracted to. I've learned the hard way that I can't go on a dating site and find someone with whom I share chemistry and connection.
I find comfort, safety, and release occasionally in phone sex. In the familiarity of my own bed, practicing the safest possible sex, thanks to AT&T, I can experience the intimacy, love and connection I desire. The men need not be perfect. I can pretend there in the dark that he is my ideal lover. His voice can caress me, his words can satisfy my hungers. I can touch myself and pretend that my dream lover tenderly, sweetly, gently delivers each and every stroke.
Phone sex is my only outlet. It's the only form of sex I can seem to have and not have crippling guilt and remorse afterwards. The longer I'm alone the more I realize how essential physical connection is. Every time I have sex with someone undeserving of my body and my love, I feel like I have to punish myself. I feel like I need to revirginize myself and go without sex for painfully long periods of time in order to purge myself of my "sin" of weakness. It's my weakness to my urges that I know are human and normal and natural that haunt me. With phone sex, I have no such angst, that disappointment in myself. My phone lovers aren't real so I can let down my hair and be primal and feral and never feel an ounce of remorse. I feel lonely afterwards, that's for sure, but FAR less than I do when I have sex with and I know that when he leaves my bed, he may not return.
My phone lovers, too, are few and far between. To be honest, most men are not great at making love to a woman's mind so it stands to reason that the skills needed to seduce a woman over the phone are underdeveloped as well. I don't want to be called a bitch; I don't want to hear fake and contrived scenarios. I just want a man to tell me how much he desires me, my body, my personal brand of pleasure. I want to experience his private pleasure with his words and sounds. I want to dance to images in my head sung to a poetic sonata of sensual bliss. I want to cum together and cry out in the night and feel that bond.
Ideally, I would be able to find a man who wants me and who is a great communicator and we could supplement our amazing sex life with occasional phone sex to keep things spicy. Minus that, I will have to find satisfaction in cellular love.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sensual evolution
When I was a child, I thought as a child, when I became a woman . . . the theory is supposed to be that my thoughts and perceptions shifted to that of an adult. I’m convinced that one’s orientation doesn’t shift, one’s primary programming doesn’t evolve, one just becomes older and more adept at justifying and validating the belief systems passed down to him or her generationally.
In an effort to define my sensual evolution, I’ve taken some serious time to assess where I was and where I am now and where I want to go in terms of my sexuality. I’m reluctant to use the term evolution because I’m not convinced that my shift in sexual desires has moved to a higher plane. Perhaps it has just shifted around like a box of tissues in the back window of a car on a bumpy ride.
When I was a developing teen with raging hormones and no one to help me navigate my sexual feelings other than my other pubescent friends, my sexuality was defined by my mother’s collection of pornography in her closet. I was thrilled with words more than pictures and obviously, given my career choice, a fact has carried over into my adult life. I learned about sexuality from overtly misogynist and sexist material that objectified women. Thusly, my sexual desires reflected that fact. I wanted to be seen as desirable and subsequently my fantasies were in relation to that. My earliest fantasies were of doing the things that would make men want me, to see me as the most beautiful, to be the most pleasing to men. I worked hard to perfect my skills at giving head; I would construct intricate and complex scenarios to seduce my boyfriends, all my fantasies revolved around giving pleasure to men. Rarely, if ever, did I fantasize about men giving me pleasure. Two rapes, a failed marriage, a decade of being single, and the conscious effort to become more comfortable with my sexuality have caused my fantasies to shift. I no longer have a desire to be seen as beautiful or desirable to men, in fact, my desires are just the opposite. I want to be seen as a human being and a woman and the person inside the package.
For many years now, I’ve been asexual. I’ve put up a wall around my sexuality intended to keep people out. For me, the concept of planning a seduction and performing outrageous feats of sexuality to please a man are totally foreign to me. My sexual fantasies now mostly revolve around me being seduced and pleasured. In my 43 years of life, I’ve only been seduced once. I’ve had plenty of men want to give me pleasure but that really had nothing to do with pleasing me as a human being, it had more to do with conquering me as some sort of trophy or possession. I do fantasize of once again planning intricate and detailed seductions for my mate but the concept of finding a mate that appreciates all of me are the details I can’t seem to fill in in my imagination.
I used to fantasize about being with women; it’s been years since I’ve had those sorts of thoughts. I used to fantasize about sucking dick; now I chant “Eat me” in my fantasies. In fact, for the first decade of my sexual life, I never asked a man to perform oral sex on me because I thought that was an indication of being selfish. I would REFUSE to sit on a man’s face, even if he insisted that I do it. In my mind, it was indicative of something exclusively for me I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. (I still don’t like doing it but that’s mostly because men tend to suck too hard on my clit when I’m on top and I like it SOFT) I still fake orgasms, almost pathologically, because I can’t let go of my conditioning that says that I have to make the man happy. Today, a large percentage of my fantasies unashamedly revolve around reciprocal anal play. Five years ago, the concept of two men together sexually triggered what I call the “knee-jerk talk show reaction.” That’s the standard, “That’s disgusting,” indignation that 99% of people have in the audiences of Jerry and Maury when the concept of male bisexuality is discussed that is blatantly absent when the issue is two women together. I realize now that my beliefs were part of conservative, Protestant-ethic, brainwashing that has no basis in really dissecting the causes, issues, and genesis of same sex couplings. Today, I find myself aroused by the concept of two men together and I also am aroused by the act of intimacy that a man extends to me in sharing his bisexual desires. Rarely do I fantasize about being penetrated and when I do, my fantasies are romantic more than sexual. In recent years, I was aroused by dominating men. Now, I no longer have a need to be sexually dominant I just accept that as a part of my sexuality. I don’t have a need to assert power over men, or to psychologically manipulate them, I simply long to be treated as a queen.
My ideal sexual fantasy at this stage in my life is to have a mate, lover, partner, boyfriend/husband that is committed to pampering me each night. I dream of a man that draws my bath every evening and pampers my body with oils and lotions and shea butter. Completely relaxed, he then takes painstaking efforts to bring me to orgasm based on the things that arouse me specifically, i.e. licking my asshole, fingering my magic spot, sucking my nipples gently, and eating me SOFTLY. Then and only then, when I’m completely satisfied, do I fantasize that I’m so wickedly pleasured that I have to have him inside me and we make love in a passionate and intense erotic experience. Upon awaking, he’s there behind me, to give me the morning wood that I love so much. I do fantasize that I take great efforts to keep him aroused and plan intricate seductions but it’s difficult to get a good picture of how I do that for the simple fact that I can’t see a man in my life.
I’ve tried to map out a roadmap of where I want to go in my sexual life from here but a lot of that is dependent upon finding a mate. Right now, I tend to think that I’m going to be primarily celibate for the rest of my life and that I’ll supplement my sex life with meaningless episodes once a year or so. That saddens me more than one can imagine but I’m extremely pessimistic about finding a mate. I would like to see myself evolving sensually with my mate, practicing tantric techniques and growing in love and communication. Where I go, how my fantasies will evolve is yet to be seen but I will be sure to monitor my motivations and desires in an effort to track my sensual evolution.
Have you assessed your sensual evolution? Have you asked yourself what things went into making up your sexual personality and how have you grown or changed? How are your desires different now than in years past and are they more healthy or have you just continued on without thinking about your sexual motivations? Share your thoughts and opinions.
In an effort to define my sensual evolution, I’ve taken some serious time to assess where I was and where I am now and where I want to go in terms of my sexuality. I’m reluctant to use the term evolution because I’m not convinced that my shift in sexual desires has moved to a higher plane. Perhaps it has just shifted around like a box of tissues in the back window of a car on a bumpy ride.
When I was a developing teen with raging hormones and no one to help me navigate my sexual feelings other than my other pubescent friends, my sexuality was defined by my mother’s collection of pornography in her closet. I was thrilled with words more than pictures and obviously, given my career choice, a fact has carried over into my adult life. I learned about sexuality from overtly misogynist and sexist material that objectified women. Thusly, my sexual desires reflected that fact. I wanted to be seen as desirable and subsequently my fantasies were in relation to that. My earliest fantasies were of doing the things that would make men want me, to see me as the most beautiful, to be the most pleasing to men. I worked hard to perfect my skills at giving head; I would construct intricate and complex scenarios to seduce my boyfriends, all my fantasies revolved around giving pleasure to men. Rarely, if ever, did I fantasize about men giving me pleasure. Two rapes, a failed marriage, a decade of being single, and the conscious effort to become more comfortable with my sexuality have caused my fantasies to shift. I no longer have a desire to be seen as beautiful or desirable to men, in fact, my desires are just the opposite. I want to be seen as a human being and a woman and the person inside the package.
For many years now, I’ve been asexual. I’ve put up a wall around my sexuality intended to keep people out. For me, the concept of planning a seduction and performing outrageous feats of sexuality to please a man are totally foreign to me. My sexual fantasies now mostly revolve around me being seduced and pleasured. In my 43 years of life, I’ve only been seduced once. I’ve had plenty of men want to give me pleasure but that really had nothing to do with pleasing me as a human being, it had more to do with conquering me as some sort of trophy or possession. I do fantasize of once again planning intricate and detailed seductions for my mate but the concept of finding a mate that appreciates all of me are the details I can’t seem to fill in in my imagination.
I used to fantasize about being with women; it’s been years since I’ve had those sorts of thoughts. I used to fantasize about sucking dick; now I chant “Eat me” in my fantasies. In fact, for the first decade of my sexual life, I never asked a man to perform oral sex on me because I thought that was an indication of being selfish. I would REFUSE to sit on a man’s face, even if he insisted that I do it. In my mind, it was indicative of something exclusively for me I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. (I still don’t like doing it but that’s mostly because men tend to suck too hard on my clit when I’m on top and I like it SOFT) I still fake orgasms, almost pathologically, because I can’t let go of my conditioning that says that I have to make the man happy. Today, a large percentage of my fantasies unashamedly revolve around reciprocal anal play. Five years ago, the concept of two men together sexually triggered what I call the “knee-jerk talk show reaction.” That’s the standard, “That’s disgusting,” indignation that 99% of people have in the audiences of Jerry and Maury when the concept of male bisexuality is discussed that is blatantly absent when the issue is two women together. I realize now that my beliefs were part of conservative, Protestant-ethic, brainwashing that has no basis in really dissecting the causes, issues, and genesis of same sex couplings. Today, I find myself aroused by the concept of two men together and I also am aroused by the act of intimacy that a man extends to me in sharing his bisexual desires. Rarely do I fantasize about being penetrated and when I do, my fantasies are romantic more than sexual. In recent years, I was aroused by dominating men. Now, I no longer have a need to be sexually dominant I just accept that as a part of my sexuality. I don’t have a need to assert power over men, or to psychologically manipulate them, I simply long to be treated as a queen.
My ideal sexual fantasy at this stage in my life is to have a mate, lover, partner, boyfriend/husband that is committed to pampering me each night. I dream of a man that draws my bath every evening and pampers my body with oils and lotions and shea butter. Completely relaxed, he then takes painstaking efforts to bring me to orgasm based on the things that arouse me specifically, i.e. licking my asshole, fingering my magic spot, sucking my nipples gently, and eating me SOFTLY. Then and only then, when I’m completely satisfied, do I fantasize that I’m so wickedly pleasured that I have to have him inside me and we make love in a passionate and intense erotic experience. Upon awaking, he’s there behind me, to give me the morning wood that I love so much. I do fantasize that I take great efforts to keep him aroused and plan intricate seductions but it’s difficult to get a good picture of how I do that for the simple fact that I can’t see a man in my life.
I’ve tried to map out a roadmap of where I want to go in my sexual life from here but a lot of that is dependent upon finding a mate. Right now, I tend to think that I’m going to be primarily celibate for the rest of my life and that I’ll supplement my sex life with meaningless episodes once a year or so. That saddens me more than one can imagine but I’m extremely pessimistic about finding a mate. I would like to see myself evolving sensually with my mate, practicing tantric techniques and growing in love and communication. Where I go, how my fantasies will evolve is yet to be seen but I will be sure to monitor my motivations and desires in an effort to track my sensual evolution.
Have you assessed your sensual evolution? Have you asked yourself what things went into making up your sexual personality and how have you grown or changed? How are your desires different now than in years past and are they more healthy or have you just continued on without thinking about your sexual motivations? Share your thoughts and opinions.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
As Smooth as Silk
I like to splurge sometimes on life’s little luxuries. It makes me feel sexy to have some of the world’s finest silk caressing my body beneath the severe business suits I have to wear during the day. Delicate satins, sheer lingerie, and alluring teddies in red, black or pink contrast my conservative public demeanor quite uniquely.
Of course, at night, I can completely let my hair down and be as decadent as I want to be. Just know that tonight, I’ve taken an especially long time bathing, pampering myself and making sure every square inch of my body, from my perfectly pedicured red toes to my matching red fingertips, is soft, supple, and waiting for you to explore. While we are at the restaurant dining, you can imagine my full breasts encased in black lace, waiting to be released so you can suck my hard nipples. If you think you can be discrete so no one else will notice, you can slide your hand up under my skirt and caress my thighs. My matching black lace panties are already moist and my pussy is leaking with sweet juices in preparation for your mouth, licking my hardened clit, sucking my wet, slippery folds, tongue fucking my hot hole. Do you like the way my ass looks in these panties, with my butt cheeks peeking seductively out from the bottom? Would you like to peel them down and stick your tongue between those full mounds of brown flesh? MMmmm.
My silk stockings are imports directly from France. The seam runs perfectly up my sculpted calf and the sexy lace at the top is secured with my garter belt. We have to be especially careful not to run them, so perhaps you might want to use extra caution when removing my black, patent-leather high-heeled stilettos. A nice foot massage would feel really nice; feeling your hands caress my high arches and your mouth sucking my toes would drive me crazy. You licking and sucking my nylon-covered foot feels so fucking good and I won’t be able to help but rub my other foot on your hard dick, desperate to be freed from your pants while I sensually rub my stockinged foot up and down your shaft. Of course, if you like, we can keep my stockings and garters on while you fuck me, feeling my silk-covered legs wrapped around you as you drive your erection in my hot, tight, pussy over and over as I call out your name. You can pump your stiff meat in me and use the straps of my garters as reigns to fuck me from behind. I love playing dress up for you. I love the feel of your hands caressing my sexy, satin covered body as you tell me you love the way it feels. Come on lover, what are you waiting for?
Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK
Of course, at night, I can completely let my hair down and be as decadent as I want to be. Just know that tonight, I’ve taken an especially long time bathing, pampering myself and making sure every square inch of my body, from my perfectly pedicured red toes to my matching red fingertips, is soft, supple, and waiting for you to explore. While we are at the restaurant dining, you can imagine my full breasts encased in black lace, waiting to be released so you can suck my hard nipples. If you think you can be discrete so no one else will notice, you can slide your hand up under my skirt and caress my thighs. My matching black lace panties are already moist and my pussy is leaking with sweet juices in preparation for your mouth, licking my hardened clit, sucking my wet, slippery folds, tongue fucking my hot hole. Do you like the way my ass looks in these panties, with my butt cheeks peeking seductively out from the bottom? Would you like to peel them down and stick your tongue between those full mounds of brown flesh? MMmmm.
My silk stockings are imports directly from France. The seam runs perfectly up my sculpted calf and the sexy lace at the top is secured with my garter belt. We have to be especially careful not to run them, so perhaps you might want to use extra caution when removing my black, patent-leather high-heeled stilettos. A nice foot massage would feel really nice; feeling your hands caress my high arches and your mouth sucking my toes would drive me crazy. You licking and sucking my nylon-covered foot feels so fucking good and I won’t be able to help but rub my other foot on your hard dick, desperate to be freed from your pants while I sensually rub my stockinged foot up and down your shaft. Of course, if you like, we can keep my stockings and garters on while you fuck me, feeling my silk-covered legs wrapped around you as you drive your erection in my hot, tight, pussy over and over as I call out your name. You can pump your stiff meat in me and use the straps of my garters as reigns to fuck me from behind. I love playing dress up for you. I love the feel of your hands caressing my sexy, satin covered body as you tell me you love the way it feels. Come on lover, what are you waiting for?
Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK
Monday, August 24, 2009
Black Porn Sucks
The images of African Americans in the adult industry are largely atypical of the true Black experience. The perpetuation of racist and stereotypical images prevalent in the adult industry work to foster unhealthy and diseased perceptions of African Americans and render the majority of African Americans without avenue for healthy erotic expression. The perpetuation of the Black woman as the Ghetto Bitch, Ghetto Whore, and Ghetto Freak is not reflective of the vast and overwhelming majority of Black women. The perpetuation of the Black man as the barely literate, one-dimensional bull is offensive and steeped in sick prejudices that are not reflective of the vast majority of African American males as well.
The quality, or lack thereof, of Black or Ebony adult material available is horrific. Internet sites tend to list ebony or interracial content as “fetish” as if there is something freakish or abnormal about Black sexuality that sets it apart from the norm. The videos available are as low budget as one can possibly get; the actors and actresses are usually taken from the most disenfranchised and marginalized portion of the population, the sets appear to be nothing more than housing project residences with an HD camera and a tripod purchased from Best Buy. Similarly, Black oriented magazines seem to produce a fair amount of income from recycling images from 1975 with production costs that range around $.04 per poorly printed copy.
The word nigger is a racial epithet, not an aphrodisiac. There needs to be an immediate cease and desist of the use of the word Nigger (or any pronunciation thereof) in adult films/websites. That word should not ever be used in connotation to sexual arousal. When used in that context, it becomes the sexual trigger for people of other races and they then associate that word with Black sexuality and their arousal. It’s unacceptable convince anyone that it's erotic or sensual to throw that vile, offensive word around during sex to fulfill or perpetuate their racist/slave/Mandingo/dark continent fantasies.
Intentional and concerted effort needs to be made to show African Americans in a more favorable and well-rounded light. Black people are capable of more than interracial couplings and Freak Fest Ghetto Extravaganzas. Black adult stars are rarely ever featured together, implying that Black people are only arousing when paired with white people. All black adult entertainment usually panders to the lowest common denominator, virtually excluding those individuals that might be seeking adult entertainment that does not originate from housing projects or Black Bike Week.
Using economically disenfranchised African Americans as tools for adult entertainment is standard fare for the industry. The very nature of the practice is racist and offensive. It leave people of other races with the false impression that Black people are all on welfare, all victims of gunshots, and only capable of the most vanilla and mundane sex acts perform while drunk on malt liquor. It leaves the "actors" themselves with a false sense of identity by promoting the concept that all they are capable of is sex in exchange for money. Most importantly, it is not entertaining or arousing for the vast majority of African Americans that exist outside of that reality. It is offensive to suggest that showing such a miniscule portion of the Black community in an adult light is the source for arousal for all of us.
African Americans that come from all walks of life and aesthetic expression should be represented in tasteful, erotic scenarios. Black women can be beautiful and sexy with natural hair yet they seem to be dangerously missing from the adult industry. Showing image after image solely of African American female buttocks simply serves to objectify and dehumanize the subjects. Apparently, lighter complexioned African American men are not considered attractive or sexual because their presence in the adult industry is minimal which only serves to reinforce the “Mandingo, cotton-picking, big-dicked-Negro-as-Buck” stereotype. That negatively defines Black manhood as being equivalent to skin tone and penis size.
I find it disheartening that it's almost 2010 and I, a reasonably intelligent, sensual mature Black woman, can't find one single erotic film/video that speaks to me. It's sad that my female peers feel the need to deny their sexuality because we have no concept of what it is to have erotica that isn't raunchy and degrading, because we have no erotic outlet other than books. I'm prepared to take the industry by storm, create material for us, by us, that speaks to us and appeals to all races. I create erotica that arouses men and women, both black and white. I write stories that show our complexity and sensuality that aren't whitewashed, colorless tales but rather I write about our issues in our language and that isn't a coon/minstrel show that makes us look like buffoons. People of African descent deserve adult material that is light years ahead of what's available to us now. "Well, the adult industry isn't going to change. We have to make our own." I hear that all the time from the legions of people who share my frustration. Unfortunately, the white power structure has to sign on, someone has to open the door in order for us to get our foot in or else we will be spinning our wheels in futility.
Copyright 2009 Scottie Lowe
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Nigga What?
We embrace calling ourselves niggers, like that’s empowering, when in actuality, it’s disrespectful to our ancestors and just plain ignorant. To believe yourself to be a nigger, to behave like you are an ignorant sub human (the true implied meaning of the word) has no benefit or value. Defending the use of the word, trying to rationalize that it has been changed into something positive is insanity. Nine times out of ten, the usage of the word is meant to be disparaging and degrading, EXACTLY the way white people intended it to be used, and on the tenth time, it’s an empty a sign of self-hatred masquerading itself as a term of endearment.
White people expect us to behave like niggers, so calling ourselves that, ESPECIALLY in front of them, does nothing but reinforce to them that we are inferior. To carry yourself like royalty, to walk with dignity, to boldly declare that you are not only equal to but better than white people with your speech, your actions, and your intellect is FAR more threatening to white people than calling yourself a nigga. Want proof? Write a blog calling yourself a nigga and talking about cars, drugs, guns, rap, sex, sports, and how much you love living in the ghetto. You won’t get a private response or two from white people. Well that’s not entirely true. You might get a response or two asking you to fulfill their sexual fantasies. Then, write a blog, grammatically correct and spell checked, that talks about the greatness of black people, our strength, and our ability to excel despite racism, oppression, and bigotry. Write about how our true history of greatness has been distorted with white lies and deception. Discuss, academically articulated with footnoted and documented proof, advanced African civilizations and how white people re-wrote history to make themselves appear superior. White people will crawl out of the woodworks to tell you that Black people are ignorant and that you are nothing but a nigger.
You have to ask yourself, what would you rather be called, what benefit do you get from calling yourself a nigga? If calling yourself that makes you feel connected to other black people, consider yourself a slave on the plantation. If you do nothing else this year, decide to stop using the N word to describe yourself, to describe other black people you want to look down on, or as some sort of synonym supposedly meaning Black person. It’s negative, unenlightened, and stupid.
Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved
White people expect us to behave like niggers, so calling ourselves that, ESPECIALLY in front of them, does nothing but reinforce to them that we are inferior. To carry yourself like royalty, to walk with dignity, to boldly declare that you are not only equal to but better than white people with your speech, your actions, and your intellect is FAR more threatening to white people than calling yourself a nigga. Want proof? Write a blog calling yourself a nigga and talking about cars, drugs, guns, rap, sex, sports, and how much you love living in the ghetto. You won’t get a private response or two from white people. Well that’s not entirely true. You might get a response or two asking you to fulfill their sexual fantasies. Then, write a blog, grammatically correct and spell checked, that talks about the greatness of black people, our strength, and our ability to excel despite racism, oppression, and bigotry. Write about how our true history of greatness has been distorted with white lies and deception. Discuss, academically articulated with footnoted and documented proof, advanced African civilizations and how white people re-wrote history to make themselves appear superior. White people will crawl out of the woodworks to tell you that Black people are ignorant and that you are nothing but a nigger.
You have to ask yourself, what would you rather be called, what benefit do you get from calling yourself a nigga? If calling yourself that makes you feel connected to other black people, consider yourself a slave on the plantation. If you do nothing else this year, decide to stop using the N word to describe yourself, to describe other black people you want to look down on, or as some sort of synonym supposedly meaning Black person. It’s negative, unenlightened, and stupid.
Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved
Interracial Relationships and Afrocentric Leadership
I think one of the great failures of African centered thinkers, a group to whom I used to staunchly belong, is the fact that they are tied to the belief that white people are somehow genetically, inherently predisposed to be oppressors. They somehow believe that only Blacks can transcend the fallacy of white supremacy, they falsely believe that whites are incapable of relinquishing their power and privilege. In the history of the world, the fallacy of white supremacy has only existed for the past 2000 or less. The Creator of All, the I Am that I AM, created all human beings as equals. White people, just as African people have the ability to realize the falsehood, lies, and distortions of the past two millennia are nothing more than illusions separating us from the consciousness of love to which we are supposed to vibrate. IF and only if two people can come together, respecting and honoring their differing histories, cultures, norms, perspectives, and share the same goals of eradicating the fallacy of white supremacy, then and only then does color not matter in terms of love. I do NOT believe most African centered scholars who have married white people have done so with partners who have transcended, I do not believe most let go of their mental enslavement that deems white people inherently superior. That doesn’t mean that Black scholars can’t contribute to our revolution. We are ALL, everyone, still enslaved to some degree. Rather than pointing the finger of indignation, we need to embrace that we all still have miles and miles to go before we reach the mountaintop. There are those in the African centered community who will tell me my contributions are invalid because I am open to loving another woman or that I don’t denounce homosexuality. Rather than worry about whom someone loves, we should concern ourselves with our collective scholarship and accomplishment and how we can find commonality to unite in our objectives.
I have had the most exceptional opportunity to meet two white people who are passionate about eradicating the fallacy of white supremacy. I was suspicious; I was filled with hate, rage, and distrust. I learned quickly that my inability to accept them for the true warriors that they are, was my flaw, not theirs. Their motives were pure and they were tackling challenges I never thought white people capable of until I expanded my consciousness and understood a more universal, more enlightened view of the beauty of all of us, not just people of African descent, being created in the image and likeness of The One Most High. Not every white person has attained such enlightenment. In fact, most haven’t even come close. I think we do ourselves a disservice by shutting the door on white people who want to help our cause and encouraging them to pick up armor and fight the valiant fight among their peers. What I don’t think we need to do is pick up their battles. I don’t think we need to help them educate and enlighten their racist peers. I think our energies should be focused on healing our pathologies and ourselves and if they want to help, embrace them, encourage them, invite them to see us in situations where we are behaving in empowered, enlightened ways.
I have had the most exceptional opportunity to meet two white people who are passionate about eradicating the fallacy of white supremacy. I was suspicious; I was filled with hate, rage, and distrust. I learned quickly that my inability to accept them for the true warriors that they are, was my flaw, not theirs. Their motives were pure and they were tackling challenges I never thought white people capable of until I expanded my consciousness and understood a more universal, more enlightened view of the beauty of all of us, not just people of African descent, being created in the image and likeness of The One Most High. Not every white person has attained such enlightenment. In fact, most haven’t even come close. I think we do ourselves a disservice by shutting the door on white people who want to help our cause and encouraging them to pick up armor and fight the valiant fight among their peers. What I don’t think we need to do is pick up their battles. I don’t think we need to help them educate and enlighten their racist peers. I think our energies should be focused on healing our pathologies and ourselves and if they want to help, embrace them, encourage them, invite them to see us in situations where we are behaving in empowered, enlightened ways.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Taste of You on My Lips
My dear, sweet, sensuous lover, I woke up in the middle of the night last night. I had the most incredible dream. It seemed so real, so lifelike; it took me a few minutes to pull myself together. I awoke last night with the taste of you on my lips. Even though you had not been there, I swear I could taste the salty skin of your neck, like when I kiss you there right after you play ball with the fellas. I could hear your gentle moans, like when I suck your fingers with every intention of letting you know that’s not what I want to be sucking.
I had dreams of tasting, licking, and sucking every inch of your smooth, cinnamon colored skin. I had to realize it was only a dream and not the reality of my mouth giving you indescribable pleasure, my soft tongue licking you all over and not the reality of my lips kissing you in places that drive you crazy. Like I know that it drives you wild when I suck and bite your nipples. I know for a fact that it’s sweet torture for you when I trace my tongue all the way down your back, to the base of your spine, and tease you with my mouth on that smooth, round, brown bottom of yours. It all felt so real.
I wonder if you could feel it too? Did you dream of me kissing you on the backs of your thighs, my tongue in your sexy little belly button, or maybe you felt the sensation of me tonguing you in naughty, unspeakable places. I sure as hell felt every luscious detail. I could feel you get as hard as a rock in my mouth. I felt the way you were at my mercy, going down on you, getting you wet with my mouth. Sliding my lips up and down you with precision and skill. I wonder if you could feel the heat and the slick sensation as my mouth swallowed you, sucked you, licked you, consumed your entire length and sucked on you some more.
Was it all a nightmare? To wake up and find that every rock solid inch of you was not throbbing in my mouth was devastating. I could hear you moaning, saying, “Ohhh, that’s it baby, take it, suck it, yessss, that feels so good.” I could have sworn I heard you screaming, “Don’t stop, oh damn. Please don’t stop. I’m going to cummmm.”
Then I awoke with the taste of you on my lips.
Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
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