The Christmas Present

Things had been strained lately between Derrick and Tynesha; they’d been arguing about small little things but it was wearing on both of their nerves. Derrick was going to go all out to make this Christmas special. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made mistakes in the past, been untruthful, let her down. This year, Derrick had planned a special present that would show his devotion and love and cement his relationship to Tynesha. Derrick had purchased a customized erotic story from AfroerotiK for Tynesha that was intended to make her feel special and to let her know exactly how much he appreciated her for all that she had put up with, to be a symbol of how far they had come as a couple.

The story arrived in a priority envelope and Derrick hesitated as to what to do with it. He held it in his hands, studying it, reading it in private, waiting for the perfect time to present it to his beloved. He was bursting with anticipation, wanting to give the present to her but he knew that this would be a present that she would never forget, so he planned, he waited, he prepared for a night like none other. It was going to be a night so erotic, so sensuous, and so charged with electricity that he was convinced it would take their relationship to a higher plane, move them to a new level of communication.

Armed with the security of having the gift safely in his hands, having read it and seen the potential for the story to open doors of exploration, Derrick approached Tynesha with the special red envelope that held the story. He taunted her with it, telling her that her present was within her grasp but she had to wait. Tynesha wanted to open it immediately but she could see the look on Derrick’s face that let her know that she should trust him completely. All week long at work, Derrick was distracted with thoughts of the weekend to come. How would she react? He wondered if Tynesha would be willing to take a leap and explore her sensuality in new ways. He was nervous and aroused at the same time. There were several times he would find himself thinking about the hot and steamy sex that he was going to have with his beautiful lady and he would have to hide his erection from his coworkers. All he wanted was for Tynesha to let down her guard and express herself the way she wanted; to give herself up to complete erotic abandon. He thought about how Tynesha would tell all her friends and coworkers about the personalized story she had gotten and the hours upon hours of erotic bliss that she’d experienced and how he would be forgiven, lifted even, to status of a hero for his special and unique gift.

Christmas eve arrived; it was do or die for Derrick. He made arrangements to get home early from work and set the stage for what he hoped was a very special evening. He ordered Tynesha’s very favorite take-out rather than try to make an attempt to cook and have an opportunity for things to go wrong. He had gone to Victoria Secrets to find something sexy for Tynesha to wear that would compliment her fine hips, thighs, and ass that he loved so much.

The anticipation was killing him. By the time Tynesha walked through the door on Saturday night, she knew she was in for a special treat. All the frustration she had with their petty arguments immediately disappeared as she realized that her man had done for her what other women only dream of having their men do for them. There were candles lit and the table was set. She could see the red package sitting neatly on the plate where she was to be seated but Derrick had other plans in mind. He poured her a glass of wine and they sat quietly on the sofa while he took her shoes off and massaged her feet. Tynesha let the wine warm her up a little bit and she made a silent vow to herself to let go of all her inhibitions and just enjoy whatever was to come.

Desperate with anticipation, Tynesha wanted to open her present. He gave her the first of the two presents, the lingerie, and told her to make herself comfortable. She emerged from the bathroom, looking like an erotic goddess, and Derrick almost forgot his entire game plan. He made her wait until after the food was served to open her very special gift. They ate and laughed without a care like when they had first met. It was almost as if they had been transported back to a time when they were carefree and passion was the only thing on their minds.

After dinner, a tiny bit tipsy from the wine, Derrick presented Tynesha with her very special gift. She opened the small book carefully and studied it, wanting to understand exactly what was happening, exactly what was going on. She read the words on the page slowly and looked around, sort of confused at what she was reading but more and more curious with every word. Derrick had apparently ordered a customized erotic story for her, but it was so lifelike it was eerie. The story before her described her relationship with Derrick and a really sexy and steaming description of how she seduced him, something she normally wouldn’t do. She read on, the words on the page going into greater detail about how Derrick wanted her to take the initiative with sex and get really wild in bed. It was more than apparent that Derrick was sexually aroused by his girlfriend and she was seeing his most intense sexual fantasies about her in black and white.

The more she read, the wetter she became. She started to squirm in the chair reading about this couple that was having an intensely erotic experience . . . but she was reading about herself. She glanced up at Derrick and his expression spoke volumes. He couldn’t wait for her to finish reading so he could make love right the on the table if need be. The more explicit the story got, the more her breathing became a task. She slid her fingers between her legs and massaged her clit a little. Derrick wanted to watch as she touched herself so he moved around to kneel in front of her and spread her legs.

“Read it out loud to me,” he instructed.

Tynesha’s voice cracked as she began reading the words on the pages in front of her. It was difficult to stay focused because Derrick had spread her thighs and started licking her wet pussy. She couldn’t concentrate on the story with that hot, wet tongue licking her and getting her more aroused. She pushed his face away and he moaned in desperation to taste her more. Tynesha took her finger, pushed it deep inside herself, and brought her lips to her mouth. She looked Derrick in the eye as she began to seductively lick the juices from her finger like she was sucking a dick.

Derrick had no more control and he unzipped his pants and started stroking his hard dick right there in front of her. Intoxicated with lust, Tynesha handed the individualized book to Derrick and said, “Here, now it’s time you read to me.”

Derrick took Tynesha by the hand and said, “Let’s finish reading this in the bedroom.”

As they made their way to the bedroom, the tension was building. He slowly undressed in front of her, revealing the body that had given her so much intense pleasure in the past, which was surely going to satisfy her every desire tonight. Naked and aroused, he lay back on the bed with the red book in his hand. He began reading the words on the page that described Tynesha giving him the most incredible head in the world. Tynesha, taking her cue, climbed on the bed and began mimicking the words she heard Derrick read.

Derrick couldn’t take the pleasure he was getting from Tynesha’s soft, wet lips so he tossed the book to the side to be finished at a later date and time. Right now, he wanted to get into the sensual sensations he was getting for the sexy woman that was licking, sucking, and swallowing his hard dick. Tynesha was like a woman possessed. She was giving him head better than she had ever done before; turned on by how special her man had made her feel. He knew she loved Zane’s stories but her own personal story was 1000 times better than reading a story about someone else. She wanted Derrick to feel as special as he had made her feel and she was proving it with her oral skills.

“No, wait baby, slow down. That feels too good,” he said, not wanting the celebration to be over before it started. Derrick wanted to get back to tasting that sticky sweetness he loved so much.

He laid his beloved Tynesha back on the bed and spread her sexy thighs. She was actually moaning in anticipation of feeling his soft wet mouth suck her aroused pussy. Derrick took two fingers and pushed them inside Tynesha and she moaned out as his lips encircled her clit. He was using his tongue to drive her crazy: licking, sucking, and tonguing her to tremendous pleasure.

Feeling bold, Tynesha pushed his head away, got up on her knees, and presented Derrick with the most perfect ass he had ever seen. She teased him, wiggling it in his face and taunting him to eat her out from behind. She spread the lips to her pussy with her fingers and told him in no uncertain terms, “Make me cum in your mouth.”

Tynesha was overcome with lust. She put her face down on the bed and let herself go to the pleasure. Derrick wrapped his lips around her clit, began smacking her ass and fingering her pussy at the same time. She was moaning and talking dirty, telling Derrick to not stop, of how good he was making her pussy feel.

Just as she was about to reach her special moment, Derrick stopped. He wanted to tease her just a bit. Take her to that place right before orgasm and then make her wait. However, Tynesha couldn’t be denied any more. She took matters into her own hands and made Derrick lay back on the bed. She climbed on top of him and held his dick at the entrance to her pussy. He could feel the heat from her body and her lips were soaked with her juices.

She looked him dead in his eye and said, “I’m going to use your dick to pleasure myself. I’m going to use it like a dildo to make myself cum tonight and all you can do is lie there and enjoy the ride.” Derrick’s eyes rolled back in his head. He’d waited for a long time to see his woman take control of her pleasure, to know that he aroused her so much that she just wanted to use him for her enjoyment.

He felt the head of his dick penetrate her and it was more intense than he had ever felt before. For some odd reason, this time, it felt like she was wetter, tighter, and hotter than she had ever been. Tynesha rocked back and forth; making his dick hit places in her that drove her to insane heights of pleasure. She began whispering in his ear as she was riding to orgasm.

“From here on out, things are going to be a little different. I want to show you exactly how much you turn me on so we are going to step things up a notch.” Derrick grabbed her breast and put it in his mouth, as she described all the naught fantasies that she wanted to fulfill with him. They were both moaning loudly, grunting and groaning from the intense pleasure. Tynesha could feel her orgasm about to hit her. It was coming fast as she began bouncing up and down on Derrick’s dick and using it to get herself off.

Dre had to concentrate on not losing it as he felt Tynesha’s juices cover him. She was cumming all over him, convulsing with pleasure. As much as he wanted her to feel enjoy her orgasm, he wanted to fuck the shit out of her, to make her feel him pounding her, thrusting himself inside her.

Still not finished with her first orgasm, Derrick flipped Tynesha over and put her on her back. He stared deep in her eyes and held her legs up in the air as he was about to penetrate her. “Do you forgive me,” he asked?

She mouthed the words, “fuck me,” to let him know that he had done a good thing and she wasn’t mad any more. Derrick shoved his dick deep inside Tynesha and began pumping with a steady rhythm. Tynesha wrapped her legs around Derrick, pulling him closer and closer, deeper and deeper. He could feel his nut about to explode and Derrick closed his eyes and surrendered to the feeling of pleasure

They drifted off to sleep together but the weekend was far from over. For the next two days, Tynesha and Derrick made use of every minute of the weekend until they were drained and exhausted. It was a memorable gift that set the stage for some intense lovemaking. Derrick could hardly wait for the Valentine’s story to arrive.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Long Distance Love

You have to work really hard to maintain the delicate equilibrium of a long distance relationship in order to make it work. The time apart, the distance, the lack of stability can wear on anyone’s nerves. Even under the best of conditions, fragile long distance relationships can disintegrate, even if both parties want it to work. Add to the mix the pressures of an interracial relationship and it would seem virtually impossible for a couple to make it under those circumstances. Chris Henderson and Michelle Givens seemed to be the exception to the rule.

They met quite by happenstance. Chris was in Atlanta on a business trip. While he was checking into the Hyatt, minding his own business, he noticed a woman carrying a rather large painting, trying to navigate the heavy glass revolving door of the lobby with the large canvas. He ran to her assistance, holding the side handicap door for her like a gentleman would do, his midwestern manners integrating well into his temporary southern residence.

As she passed, sparks of electricity singed his very soul, igniting a chemical reaction that could have caused an explosion. She maneuvered her heavenly body through the door, positioning the painting as a barrier between them. For a brief moment, they both froze, maintaining intense eye contact. Chris took in every detail. Her butterscotch colored skin was flawless and her naturally curly hair was pulled tightly on top of her head and exploded in a poof of curly q’s. Her full, sensual lips looked so inviting, her smoky eyes were captivating, and her fragrance smelled like a delicious blend of fruit and flowers. The stood eye to eye, taking in details of one another, held captive by an immovable force of attraction. As she eased her way past Chris, she whispered the words, “Thank you,” softly. Chris watched her lips part and he was captivated by the way her pink tongue seemed to sensually caress her ruby colored lips and sort of make love to her words.

“Whoooo was that? Do you know who that woman is? She’s breathtaking,” Chris asked the desk manager, staring back at the doors, watching the captivating woman delicately arranging paintings in the back of a plain white van.

“Oh, that’s Michelle Givens. She’s the director of the Apex Museum here in Atlanta. They lend us paintings for the lobby every February for Black History Month. I have her business card and a brochure here if you want to check it out.” Chris fingered the card, distracted as he watched her drive off. The manager added, “Yeah, she is pretty hot,” as the two men shared a moment of appreciation for her beauty.

Barely able to concentrate, Chris couldn’t wait to pay a visit to the Apex later that afternoon. He was trying not to look conspicuous as he browsed around, trying to run into her again.

“Did you see something you were interested in today,” Michelle queried as she approached him?

Chris turned to face her and was again overwhelmed with her professionalism, sophistication, and sheer beauty. He took the flirtation ball and ran with it. “Very much so. In fact, I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of what I saw today, I had to make it my business to come and let you know personally.” He reached for her hand, held it to his lips, and kissed it softly. Michelle was overwhelmed by his charm in that moment and the rest, as they say, is history.

The two became rather inseparable from that moment on, at least every time Chris was in town for business. They would dine together, go hiking on the weekends; Chris would even attend all the events Michelle coordinated for the Apex. He was extremely proud of her and it became increasingly more difficult to return to Fargo after they would spend time together. North Dakota became bland in comparison his time in North Carolina and was losing its appeal the more Chris realized that Michelle was his soul mate.

It was their perfect, symbiotic relationship the fueled them. Neither of them had to compromise themselves or their identities to be with the other. Chris loved that Michelle was so unconditionally supportive of him and his endeavors. He felt like he could accomplish anything with Michelle by his side. She loved that she could be unapologetic in her blackness and not have to conform to an identity outside of her comfort zone. They just fit well together.

It was sexually, however, where their compatibility went off the charts. Never before in his life had Chris met a woman who understood his desires and matched them so perfectly. Every fantasy, every fetish, every kink, Michelle mirrored in delicious desire. It was as if they were created from the same erotic mold.

The time spent apart was becoming more unbearable. After nine months of long distance love and what was sure to be a tumor forming from endless hours of talking on the cell phone every night, Chris was contemplating ways in which he could make the relationship more permanent. He fingered the ring box in his pocket nervously as he deboarded the plane. Michelle was there to meet him, looking as stunning as ever, and her eyes lit up when she saw her man struggling with his two carryon bags. He took her in his arms and held her close. It never failed that every time he saw her, he felt the same jolt of electricity in his body as the first time he laid eyes on her. She kissed him rather sensually and every man in business class that was behind him felt a stab of lustful envy.

Michelle seemed to be particularly excited to see Chris and she was anxious to get home. She let him take the wheel and she sat in the passenger seat and wasted no time lowering her mouth to Chris’ lap and removing his hard cock from his pants, sucking him while he was doing 70 miles per hour on I-75. He was trying to concentrate on driving safely but it was damn hard to do that with his incredibly sexy girlfriend giving him the best head of his life.

He pulled the car into her garage and he was practically undressing before the ignition was off. Michelle had other plans and left Chris in the carport to get his belongings as she rushed inside with a mischievous smile on her face. Chris unloaded his bags, brought them inside, hung up his coat, and made his way to the kitchen, being led by the aromas of a fabulous seafood meal that was simmering on the stove. He was opening pots and inhaling delectable smells when Michelle approached him from behind. “Welcome home,” she said. Chris felt so at home, so at peace, she was reminded of the important question he wanted to ask Michelle.

He turned around and was caught off guard as he took in the full image of his ladylove. She was wearing black latex thigh-high boots and a matching latex bra. Completing her outfit was a black strapon dildo sticking out from her body. He felt a lump in his throat and instinctively dropped to his knees. He wrapped his lips around the hard black cock and looked up at his lover. She placed her hands on the back of his head and guided him to suck it. Turned on, she started pumping her full hips, fucking his mouth as Chris struggled to free his raging hard cock from his pants, stroking it in time to the pumping his mouth was getting.

They were both too turned on to make it to the bedroom so Michelle pulled his hair gently, signaling for Chris to stand up. She bent him over the kitchen counter and reached for a bottle of olive oil to pour on her strapon. There was something primal about fucking in the kitchen, with his pants around his ankles and his face pressed against the cold granite. Chris looked back at Michelle, pulled his asscheeks apart with both hands, and said, “What are you waiting for, girl, FUCK ME!”

Never one to disappoint, Michelle lined up the head of the Ebony strapon with his pink hole and pushed forward. She was slow but she was relentless, not stopping until every inch was buried deeply in Chris’ ass. He started grinding, squirming, and begging her to fuck him harder, deeper. They were grunting, groaning, moaning and fucking like animals. “Yeah, you like this hard cock in your slutty hole, don’t you baby? You love me fucking you like you’re my little bitch. Or would your prefer a real dick? Is that what you want? You want to get fucked by a real thick, stiff, hard dick? You want hot cum shooting deep in your asspussy?” Michelle clearly knew all the right buttons to push for her man to turn him on.

“Fuck me harder!”

“Take it deeper!”

“Fuck!”

“Shit!”

There was no stopping the endless string of profanity and the intense heat that the sexy black and white pair was giving off. Michelle was like a machine, pounding him with a steady rhythm, using his asshole for her pleasure. Chris was about to explode, in love with the sexy woman with whom he was so connected, literally and figuratively. He could smell her pussy, wet with excitement. He could feel her black hard cock deep inside him. They were both rushing to orgasm. Michelle was like a woman possessed and Chris was a like a crazed slut. He was fucking her back and begging her like a desperate slut for her to give it to him deeper. He stroked his cock; it was aching it was so hard. He shut his eyes tightly and reveled in the pleasure he was experiencing in every pore of his body as he felt the sensations overtake him.

Michelle kissed him softly and pulled him towards the bedroom for rounds two and three. They were sure to enjoy all sorts of sexy and loving encounters in the upcoming week. He scrambled to pull up his pants and check for the ring he would present to her later that evening, assured that he had found his perfect match and the end to his long distance love.



Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Order your very own customized and personalized erotic story written just for you. Valentine's Day is right around the corner. Place your order now.

Tantalizing Letter

The Tantalizing Letter is perfect way to find just the right words to let the person in your life know how you feel. Let us give you the words that you want to say but can't quite formulate. Consider it a tempting quickie for your lover. Printed on beautiful stationary, it will be a keepsake and a reminder of your intimate bond for a very long time. It's great for those that are deployed overseas.

Tantalizing Letter

My Beloved AfroerotiK

I've created several tracks that I want to see made into a CD but I haven't gotten any feedback, comments, or criticism. I don't know if I'm wasting my time. I don't know if they suck or not. I know they aren't professionally done, but I get tired of putting work out there and not getting any feedback from people to let me know if I'm wasting my time or not.

Words copyright 2005 AfroerotiK Music copyright Rasa music

Your Home

Lyrics Copyright AfroerotiK Music copyright from A Gift of Love

Sensual Escape Story

The Ultimate Black Strapon Domme

Warning!!! This is NOT for the faint of heart. It explores hardcore interracial themes and intense sexuality. Listen to the story of a commanding Black Mistress control, use, and manipulate a submissive strapon slut. It's about the exchange of power and the dynamics of psychological domination. Enjoy!

The Admiration of Lovers

Sit back, open a bottle of wine, and enjoy this soothing track with your lover. Let your mind drift off and enjoy the soothing words and melodic sounds that speak to the desires of your soul. It's AfroerotiK . . . your passion and your pleasure. It's AfroerotiK . . . your ecstasy divine. Revel in the sumptuous gift that only lovers can share.

Music copyright from A Gift of Love - - Deepak & Friends Present Music Inspired by the Love Poems of Rumi. The album shows physician/author Deepak Chopra, MD and numerous guest artists (including Madonna, Demi Moore, Rosa Parks, Robert Thurman, and Goldie Hawn) reading poetry by the famed 13th century Persian poet Jalaleddin Rumi. Featuring new translations by Fereydoun Kia and Chopra - - as well as translations by Rumi scholar Coleman Barks - - musical backdrop composed and arranged by Adam Plack, Yaron Fuchs, Richard Horowitz and Sussan Deyhim.

AfroerotiK Couple's Delight Story

Talking Dirty

For many people, sex isn't hot unless they it's accompanied by dirty talk. The dirtier the better. What are your thoughts on hot talk in bed? What do you like to be called, what words do you like to use in bed? Share your steamy sex talk with us. Click on the audio and listen to a little hot audio erotica and share your feedback about what gets lead in your pencil and your juices flowing.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

AfroerotiK Intimacy Cards

AfroerotiK is . . . Podcast

You are invited to listen to the very first ever broadcast of AfroerotiK is . . . a titillating talk show that takes a peak into Black sexuality and discusses topics that dismantle offensive stereotypes and that provides a forum for the healthy expression of Ebony sensuality. This month, AfroerotiK is tackles a lot of myths and false perceptions about Black male sexuality and includes a VERY sexy erotic reading. It’s informative as well as entertaining and you are invited to listen and give your feedback.

It takes several minutes to download and your patience is appreciated.

My dearest love

I was in deep reflection today, thinking about making love to you. For some reason, thoughts and metaphors and analogies kept floating around in my head like lyrics to a song. I couldn’t stop thinking about how when you are deep inside me, and our bodies are moving together, we are like an instrument. A guitar perhaps; your fingers gently strum my taut and tense places which elicits a sounds that serenade the angels. Perhaps we are more like artist and instrument; I am your harp, cradled gently between your legs as you play my body with artistic flair. More than an instrument, we are like magical music together. The staccato rhythm and pounding beat of our bodies making that hot sweaty passionate love is a concert to the senses. Your taste is the melody, your scent the rhyme, your moans of pleasure are a sensual harmony and the feel of your dick deep inside me keeps time. You are Marcus Miller laying the baseline for my Miles and miles of orgasmic bliss.

Damn, what have you done to me? I can’t stop thinking about how you make me feel. You hit my sweet spot and get my pussy soooo wet. I can’t decide which sensation I like the most. Your tongue is magical; licking me, literally, from head to toe. Your arms envelope me and make me feel like I’ve found home. Your hands grab my hips and let me know you are steering this ship of pleasure and I’m a passenger on the Lust Boat.

What do you say to the idea that we not let all this passion I have for you go to waste? I have a taste for your dick in my mouth and it’s not going to be satisfied by anything else. I want to hear you moan and tell me how good I make you feel. And if you are a good boy, there might be some other little surprises in store for you as well. I think I owe you a night of selfish pleasure for all the times you’ve made me cum so hard I couldn’t see straight. You like full body massages, right? If you’re feeling adventurous, maybe I’ll tie you up so you will have no choice but to let my hands and mouth pleasure you any way I see fit. Can you imagine, my love, me bringing you to the very verge of orgasm and stopping until you are more desperate to be inside me than you’ve ever been?

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Funky Jazzy Cafe

Jason moved effortlessly around the Tabernacle, making sure everyone was being entertained, that everything was flowing smoothly. There were so many details, so many things that could go wrong but he managed to pull everything off and make it look like he didn’t break a sweat. Kemit was spinning, getting everyone’s juices pumping with old school house jams and the place was at capacity early on in the evening. He was stealth in his movements, he greeted people, and smiled did everything a host would do to make you feel welcome like it was his home, not a 20,000 square foot venue.

She was there by herself. She stood out from the crowd but there wasn’t one particular reason why, it was everything about her. There was something in her eyes and the moment Jason saw her, he was left . . . speechless. He approached her with caution, careful not to make too many sudden moves lest he reveal how anxious he was to meet her. She watched him, her eyes never leaving his, as he walked up to her. Without saying a word he extended his hand. She gently placed hers in his and they shared an electrical moment. The chemistry between the two of them could be felt from those that dared to peek at their intimate exchange.

She stepped close to him, pressing her smooth brown body against his and embracing him like they were long lost lovers. Jason’s knees buckled for a moment, he wasn’t used to a woman being so confident and so breathtaking. She cradled his face in her soft and delicate hands and they stood like that for what seemed an eternity. It was merely seconds but the way she held him created a glitch in the time and space continuum.

He regained his composure and pulled her to the dance floor. As fate would have it, Kemit started spinning reggae and the sexual tension between the two began to rise. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her to him with just enough pressure to let her know his intentions were more than that of gracious host. He whispered in her ear, “I’m Jason.”

“I know,” she whispered back. She continued with her sensual and seductive grind without missing a beat.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he said.

“Would you want me any more than you do know if I did?” she replied.

Jason was outdone. The smell of her fragrance was an intoxicating elixir. Her smooth bare shoulders looked like silk waiting to be tenderly kissed. He could detect the swell of her breasts against his chest, even through his white linen Moshood dashiki. He slid his hands down the small of her back and rested them on her full hips. She started grinding on him more, fully aware that her actions were getting him aroused. Her hands roamed his body freely, caressing his thighs, his arms, his neck, shoulders, and waist. The evidence of his arousal was more than apparent as they danced and the couple seemed to have a glow about them that emanated from the heat they shared.

She stepped up the pace and she started gently kissing his neck and earlobe. She began whispering naughty things in his ear. “Jason, my pussy is soooooo wet right now, and my clit is so hard it’s throbbing. I can just imagine what your mouth would feel like on me right now. Are you going to take me home tonight Jason? Are you going to fuck me senseless until we can’t do it any more?”

Jason was insane with lust. He grabbed her ass hard and thrust against her and her body moved with him like two well choreographed dancers. She lifted her leg and he held her thigh in his hand. She teased him even more with her words. “Jason, I want you inside me, I want to feel your dick inside me and make me scream with pleasure. I want to let you taste all that sweet and tasty treasure you are getting all worked up. I want to lick you from head to toe. Complete me Jason, I want to feel every drop of your cum inside me.”

“What’s your name?” he asked again, “who are you?”

She laughed playfully and turned her back to him. She made sure to rub her soft ass all around his erection. She closed her eyes, lay her head back on his shoulder and drifted off to a place where no one else was around. In her mind, they were alone and he was behind her, thrusting himself in her, making her scream, making her crave every ounce of his passion. She could feel her juices coating him, her muscles squeezing him, she could feel the steady rhythm of their transcendent love making. In that moment, she was his little girl, his mommy, his mistress and his lover. Jason was lost in his own intense fantasies. He needed to feel the softness of her breasts in his hands as he gently licked and kissed them. He wanted to feel her silky smooth lips as they licked and sucked him to the verge of orgasm. He was desperate to feel the soft, wet, hot folds of her tight pussy give way the very first time he penetrated her.

Just then, someone called his name. There was a situation that needed to be dealt with. He let her go momentarily to get the details of what happened and when he looked up again. . . she was gone. He felt his heart drop for a brief second until he reached in his pocket and felt a card. He pulled it out and it was an invitation to continue in private from his mystery lover.


Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK


Custom Photography Session

Friends and Lovers

In my lifetime, the men that I’ve maintained substantial and meaningful friendships with have been men with whom I’ve had no physical relationship. Often times, my attraction to them grows because of the communication and intimacy that we share but it’s not based on an initial romantic attraction. Occasionally, Men that want to get me into bed and then realize that it’s not going to happen, they usually make a half hearted attempt at being a friend. That illusion doesn’t last for very long, a couple of months at best. Once it sets in that they aren’t going to get any pussy, they stop calling and aren’t available when I call.

There are exceptions to that rule. I have one amazing male friend with whom we were both immediately attracted to one another but our respect for each other’s intellect and individuality allowed us to set boundaries that we’ve never crossed. We’ve engaged in sexual play that has included everything but penetration. He’s one of the two men that I know that can sleep in the bed with me and will not try to have sex with me. There are times when I ask him to come over and snuggle and he lets me know up front that he won’t be able to do that because he can’t handle the temptation and I respect him tremendously for that honesty. On other occasions, he’s called me and asked if we can explore some of his fantasies and we share an evening of sensuality without intercourse. Once, we got together with another friend of mine and had a threesome, without penetration. Our friendship has lasted for years and even though we don’t see each other very often, we have a mutual respect that transcends our sexual relationship. He’s been there for me anytime I’ve needed him and I know without question that he respects me as a person above all else.

Women often have friendships with men with whom they are not physically attracted. The stereotype of the “faghag” is all too common. Women often seek friendships with men with whom they can share non-sexual male/female bonds. Men, not considered attractive by societal standards often relegate themselves to the role of buddy to attractive women because women overlook them as potential partners.

Men choose friendships with women based on physical attraction and the prospect of a sexual relationship. Men don’t have the same standards for their male friends; a guy can have a friend that is fat, sloppy, slovenly and they are still their boys. It’s extremely problematic for us as a people if we can’t form friendships unless they are based on sexual attraction.

Married women express objections when their husbands have friendships with women and I’m not at all convinced that married women pursue friendships with men unless there is some sort of romantic undertones. Friendships formed prior to marriage must, inherently shift and be redefined when a person gets married. I’m pessimistic enough to believe that the vast majority of intergender friendships within a marriage are unhealthy. Women afraid of their husbands having with women is problematic and I know personally that the married men that identify me as friends to their wives would all like a shot at my panties. The only platonic friendships I have with married men are those in which I am friends with the wife as well. I have had married men that attend church every week, good providers, the model of the perfect husband try to fuck me. Men that say they are perfectly happy in their marriages have tried to get the panties.

I have a friendship with a gentleman that has survived years of evolution. It started as an internet romance and has evolved into genuine love and respect for one another as individuals. We got together recently and we ended up in a pretty steamy situation and it has altered our relationship. Where we go from here is going to be based on our communication but it seems evident that we are both holding back now. I don’t see the potential for a relationship even though I was the one that had the stronger attraction when we first met. Sex fucks up friendships.

I’m not questioning if men and women can be friends; yes it’s possible. It’s possible for men and women to have friendships but under the current conditions it’s highly unlikely that male/female friendships are based on a solid, healthy foundation if attraction as the motivation for the friendship. I am well aware that the level of friendship between genders that exists now is dysfunctional but there has to be a shift. Men must decide to look at women as human beings, beyond the physical to form friendships. Friendships should be based on common interests, personalities and experiences, not on how attractive a woman is. Women must stop putting “men who are attractive on the inside” in the friends category and pursuing pretty boys as mates. We can get to the promised land but we have a lot of work to do to get there.

Raising Biracial Children

One of the stories I wrote for my upcoming book is a story about a biracial man that has to face the fact that he was raised by a white mother as Black a black man and has never once had to deal with the fact that he was half white. I intentionally created his character to be raised in a way that I think is atypical of the way that the vast majority of biracial children are raised to bring light to the numerous biracial children, raised by single white women, with no attempts whatsoever to expose them to any sort of authentic positive black experiences. The beauty of being Black is not going to a Klan rally to witness racism first hand. I’m not criticizing the effort; I’m just saying that seems to me to be a little reminiscent of showing the worst of being black and not having the exposure to the beauty of being black to balance it. The beauty of being Black is going to South Carolina for the summer and playing with cousins all day in the oppressive summer sun and getting blacker than coal and eating watermelon like it’s going out of style. It’s sitting next to your grandmother in church, with Vaseline on your Mary Jane’s, white tights, and $.55 cents, red and white peppermints, and an embroidered handkerchief in your little purse. It’s visiting the sick and shut with your parents in on a Saturday afternoon in a house that smells like liniment, lavender, and urine and not being able to wait to get outside to play. Being Black is sitting in the beauty parlor on a Saturday morning while your mother gets her hair done and getting that tingly feeling “down there” looking at the pictures of the Jet Beauty of the Week and then going straight for the Top Twenty Songs to see which ones you like and which ones suck.

The ugly question behind all of this is, how does a white person know how to raise a Black child? It’s not an easy answer. For generations, the foundation of our parenting was to teach our male children to assume a passive attitude with authorities in order to keep from being lynched, in order to keep your job, in order to avoid the constant racist behavior that was often a threat to life and limb. Now that racism has changed, now that it’s more stealth and institutionalized, how does a person who has never experienced that or who has no historical knowledge of what it is to be black raise a child to deal with it? Where’s the happy medium between teaching your child to internalize racism and to not acknowledge it at all? I don’t have that answer. You see, Black men not staying around to raise their children in not just a burden on the Black community, it’s creating a race of people that have no cultural identity to hold on to. Sadly, in far too many instances, when a brotha chooses to date and procreate (sorry, that sounds so gross but I can’t say in most instances they choose to be a parent) with white women, in a great many instances, his motivations to do so are based on self-hatred (although they don’t see it that way) and a strong desire to have children that aren’t Black. Those aren’t necessarily the best individuals to raise a child to understand the beauty of being Black and I’ve seen far too many instances (at every single one of my family reunions . . . the number of my male cousins with biracial children is staggering) Black men raising their children to be white, as if that is some sort of preferred status.

I do know that a lot of white people think that because they have a sexual or romantic preference for people of color they believe deep down in their heart that means the are not racist. While they may not be sheet-wearing Klansmen, it does not mean that person is totally devoid of racist beliefs. I’ve spoken with a lot of white women, my age and older, that tell me that their daughter has “Black” children and I’ve heard the most outrageously insensitive racially tinged statements come from their moths followed by, “I’m not racist.” Teaching your child that he or she is brown, or some amalgamation of black and other, seems to me to be the most offensive and damaging practice possible. Being Black is not a matter of skin tone its an identity. It’s like teaching light skinned African American children that they aren’t really Black. If you can’t raise a child to be proud of being Black, that being Black is more than a color in a crayon box, then you have failed as a parent to teach your child their true identity. They will never relate to the fact that they are descendents to the Black Africans who were the architects of civilization, who survived the single most horrific act of genocide known to man, and who have the blood of heroes coursing through their veins.

Is a Black woman more capable of raising a more well-rounded biracial child? I’m going to say that I’ve not seen many instances of healthy parenting in the Black community with Black children, I can’t imagine that somehow that adding another element to the mix somehow creates a better parenting skills. There are too many unresolved issues that need to be addressed before I can give us a clean bill of health. The said fact of the matter is we are raising our boys to become emotionally immature men, we are raising our girls to become women that think that their value is in their physical beauty, and creating a materialism that is pathological. If a Black woman isn’t comfortable with her own natural hair texture, then it’s not possible for her to raise a child that is going to love their inherent African-ness. One has to ask themselves, what exactly is the benefit of being an Oreo? Color issues, internalized racism, unprocessed emotions . . . all the things that are unresolved issues when raising a Black child don’t magically disappear when raising a biracial child. We as a people don’t even have a real grasp of our own history; it adds more complexity when raising children with two different histories in which one has historically oppressed the other.

I know my own two mentees feel that racism is over because they can see both black and white videos back to back on MTV. When I point out that their school system is under funded and they don’t have the same educational opportunities of white children in other school districts and that is racist, they tell me that Justin Timberlake is cute and tell me that racism ended back in the Martin Luther King days. Are any parents, of black, white, or other children, teaching their children about the Long March, the Trail of Tears, Blood Sunday, or why isn’t something to be ashamed of to be a descendent of slaves? Who will honor the enslaved African in all of us that fought to survive so that we might have breath in our lungs today? Who will keep that memory alive and honor them? I think this “browning of America” that everyone says is the saving grace of all of us and the signal that racism is over, will erode away Black identity and preserve whiteness. I don’t see that as being a good thing.

Soul Mates

At the beginning of time, the Creator split one soul into masculine and feminine energies. Those energies evolved over the course of many lifetimes, perfecting themselves so that they could be reunited in the physical plane as one. You, my love, are my twin flame, my divine right partner, the yin to my yang and I am now made whole again with you.

Making love to you is transcendent. Every breath you take I feel as my own. I can’t tell if I’m inside you or you are inside of me. My vibration rises and my senses become overwhelmed when I’m with you. I have nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Your gentle moans of pleasure fill my ears when no one is around and your touch caresses me throughout the day.

My fears, dreams, hopes, and aspirations are wrapped up in you. Your fingertips hold my pleasure; your shoulders carry my insecurities and doubts for me. Your mouth speaks the words that soothe my savage soul. Your tears wash away my hurt and I am baptized in the sweetness of your nectar.

I want you to know that only you can fulfill me and there is no reason to for me to look elsewhere. I feel electricity and sparks every time I see your face, every time I look in your eyes. I want to kiss you for hours, losing track of time. I want to be late for work because we can't bear the thought of starting the day off without connecting. I want to bathe in your essence my soul mate.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Ebony Latino Love

She held her breath as she waited amongst the masses in the terminal at Hartsfield Airport. After more than two years of loving and fighting and loving again, they were finally going to meet. Theirs was an Internet/interracial love that had gone through more stages of development than an unborn child. Metaphorically, if things went well, Chantal and Juan were about to give birth to a love that defied definition.

He ascended the escalator and a lump formed in his throat. All of his dreams were wrapped tightly in this encounter. Finally, he was to know deep within his heart if the love he had felt for her the minute they virtually met so long ago was real. I was her openness for learning Latino culture and his adoration of the strength and resilience of Black women that kept them together. It was their stubbornness that kept them apart.

Their eyes connected instantly, as if they were drawn together like two inseparable parts of a whole. He dropped his bag at her feet and took his Ebony beauty into his arms. She fit perfectly in his arms as she stood on tiptoe to find her spot in his arms. He became erect immediately, not because of lust but because he knew immediately that he belonged to her. He had found his spiritual home within her soul and he knew his search had ended. Her tears flowed steadily and he comforted her with his soothing, gentle voice and whispered his professions of love to her. The crowd around them disappeared as they melted into each other’s arms.

The ride to her home was made in silence. Juan had to adjust himself at times to accommodate the raging erection that he couldn’t control. Chantal was afraid to speak because she thought the magical spell would break. Juan was too busy staring at his wife to make idle conversation. Not his future wife, but his wife in the most spiritual sense. No license or ceremony in the world could validate the love that emanated from his very being for her at that moment. Nothing could keep them apart from this point on. He couldn’t help but stare at her beauty and poise and enchanting curves.

Chantal fumbled with the key to her apartment for a few seconds; afraid to open the threshold to what could possibly be her wildest dreams becoming a reality. Juan knew he was home the second he stepped in the door. He would have to call his job and take a leave of absence while he looked for a job in Atlanta because he knew there was no way in hell he was going back to Cali without her. The door was barely closed when he pulled her to him and showered her neck with kisses. She responded more passionately this time, uninhibited by the presence of weary travelers and Homeland Security personnel. Her nipples were hard and the moistness between her legs was only a tiny signal of the passion that was about to transpire.

They kissed and it cemented in both their minds that there was no turning back. Chantal pulled Juan to the floor on top of her as their lust consumed them. She was grabbing for his dick and he was ripping the blouse from her body as buttons flew everywhere. They were two passionate, lust-filled animals in heat writhing on the floor as they surrendered to the years of intellectual and emotional foreplay they had shared.

Their kisses fed their hunger for one another. They feasted on each other, drank of each other’s essence. Chantal spread her legs and awaited her moment of reckoning. He lowered his mouth to her sweet center. Her slippery and sweet juices were flowing freely. Her lips were parted slightly, exposing her silken and pink center. His tongue softly flicked at her clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. Chantal’s body jerked and shook every time his lips sucked her sensitive button. The more he licked the wetter she became. Her moans and utterances of profane and graphic directions were music to his ears. “Baby, I love the way you lick my pussy . . . oh shit . . . fuck . . . yesssss. . . finger me. Oh Papi, it feels so good. Ay Dios mio. Mas duro, por favorrrrr. Ahora.” Juan cupped her ass in his hands and pulled her pussy to his mouth and drove his tongue deep inside her. I need you inside me now. NOW,” she screamed. Chantal was lost in so much pleasure her tears began to flow as freely as the cum that now coated Juan’ face.

Juan held back the tears in his own eyes as he prepared to take his final journey home. They moaned out in ecstasy as he penetrated her very soul. Juan was content that he had found his reason for living. Every trial, every pain and hurt that he had ever suffered, was washed away by the sweet juices that coated his raging hardon. He was so deep inside her, so completely enveloped in the core of her being, he got lost in her identity and they became one.

His orgasm hit him hard. More than just the physical sensation of pleasure overtook him; it was the realization that they could not be separated ever again. He had left his mark inside her; his seed would surely grow. He collapsed on top of her and she cradled him and comforted him in her sweet and loving embrace.

“Te quiero mucho,” she whispered, as they drifted off into a peaceful slumber—forever to be man and wife.



© AfroerotiK.com

1001 Nights Collection

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

Sexy DVDs

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

One of the real joys of the holiday season is how the kink community comes together to celebrate. It seems that everyone is allowed to let their hair down that much more, to party like pagans, and to lose him or herself to pure hedonistic pleasure. This holiday season, the Houston kink community was coming together not only to celebrate in grand style, to say goodbye to ’05 and usher in a brand spanking new year, literally and figuratively, but also to raise funds for those in their BDSM family that were displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Meaning, quite bluntly, insurance companies left many Black Dominas from Crescent City to fend for themselves when it came to replacing many of their custom built pieces of furniture, equipment, and paraphernalia while their white counterparts got a check cut, no questions asked. Houston PEP recognized the disparity and decided to have a fundraiser for its newly adopted Lousiana transplants to help them re-establish themselves and to embrace them with open arms and have a hell of a blowout party at the same time.

The generosity of the partygoers that evening was beyond compare. People brought everything from whips and paddles to swings and straight jackets, to a St. Andrew’s Cross and everything in between. One generous benefactor was even kind enough to donate space so that Mistresses Eden, Cree, Ana, Ebony, and Chocolate would have a place to set up shop without much hassle.

Electricity was in the air as the ladies mixed and mingled among their newfound family to introduce themselves. Charlie Papadopoulos was particularly aroused at the presence of the guests of honor. He had always been attracted to women of color and he had acknowledged that he was submissive for nearly two decades. He was like a kid in a candy shop, distracted and fidgety. His wife, Eva, was barely able to have a conversation with him because he was so preoccupied. He hadn’t even heard her inform him that he was going to be a contestant in a very special selection process to serve and worship the honorees for the evening. It wasn’t until she led him to the stage by a leash where he stood among four other subs and waited to be inspected to see if he would have the privilege of serving the Black Dommes that he truly got an understanding of what could potentially happen.

His heart was beating fast and his face was flush. His cock was so hard it ached as he stood for what seemed like hours. People passed by, making comments and speculations about who would win and be subjected to the sadistic whims of FIVE strict Dominatrixes. Charlie swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the floor. He dared not look at the other subs that stood next to him. He felt inferior; his body not as young, lithe, or muscled as his other competitors. He could hear their laughs and taunts as they described his small cock and middle-aged paunch, assured, in their minds at least, that they would get a place at the feet of the Dominas and the opportunity of a lifetime.

The lovely Dommes examined the submissives one by one. First was Mistress Eden. The youngest of the group at 21, she had a lot to prove. She wanted everyone to know that she was truly a dominant and not just a kid playing at being domme. Charlie only saw her well-pedicured feet as he kept his eyes on the floor but he certainly felt the pain in his nuts as he grabbed them and twisted them enough to bring him to his knees. He wouldn’t, however, crumble that easily and he kept his composure through the pain. His honor was at stake and he focused his mind to endure whatever was necessary in order to serve. He would endure more humiliation, more degradation, more pain than the human mind and body was capable of for the honor of serving. Mistress Cree, dressed in a full-length latex gown, and Mistress Ana, wearing a leather corset and panties, poked and prodded Charlie like he was a piece of livestock. They opened his mouth and examined his teeth like they would a horse as he stood stoically as the onlookers took bets to see who would survive the next elimination. They bent him over and fingered his ass and Charlie couldn’t help but whimper. He felt his knees weaken slightly but the prize was too close. Two of the others had been eliminated and it was down to just him and two others. He felt them shoving fingers in his tight mancunt and he looked out into the audience and saw Eva casually chatting away with her friends, oblivious to his predicament while everyone else in the room seemed to have their eyes glued to the makeshift stage.

Mistress Ebony was a super-sized BBW, tipping the scales at well over 300 pounds. Her red see-through negligee showed her pendulous breasts and rolls of fat. She seemed to be intrigued with having each sub on his knees to swat his tender flesh with her riding crop, listening to the most creative pleas for more punishment. Charlie was in sub space. He was intoxicated with lust. The words came tumbling out of his mouth as the crop came down on his body. “Oh Mistress, I crave your punishment. I’m a dirty, filthy, lowly white pig that lives to serve your Superior Ebony whims and desires. Make me endure the most cruel penalties, the most degrading tortures and I’ll prove to you that I want more by begging your to push me further. I’m a disgusting white slut that needs to be used and I will gladly eat your ass, drink your piss, or anything that you desire to show my submissiveness to you.”

By the time Mistress Chocolate stepped on the stage, it was down to Charlie and one other sub. The crowd was in a frenzy. Mistress Chocolate didn’t lay a finger on him. She simply whispered in his ear with a sweet melodious voice, that if she selected him, she was going to make regret his desire to submit to her. She began stroking his cock, twisting it, slapping it, and rubbing it gently with her black satin-gloved hand, trying to bring him to orgasm. Every tendon, every sinew in his body was tensed as he focused on her words and kept his eyes focused on the crowd. She pressed her very muscular frame into his back and whispered, “I’m going to take you down. You’re the one I want to see suffer. You have the most to lose. You, with your high paying job, your middle class air of superiority. I want to see you kneel at my feet and worship me.” Charlie let out a moan like a wounded animal and fought with every ounce of his being to hold back his cum. Everyone was in a state of arousal. Subs were licking wet pussies and being forced to lick feet as the all white crowd watched with wide eyes.

Charlie passed out. When he awoke, he was trying to figure out what had happened. Had he won? Had he cum? He tried to speak but he was overwhelmed with the sensation that he was firmly secured in a stockade in a room with a glass window. He couldn’t turn his head to see anyone but he assumed that there was a large audience.

For the next few hours, Charlie was the plaything of the five black women. Mistress Eden was intent on using his asshole with her black strapon like he was a whore. No longer feeling the need to hold back, he moaned, groaned, and begged for more. “Oh Mistress, I need your hard, thick, black strapon rammed in my sissy pussy. Fuck me. Fuck me harder, make it hurt. It feels so fucking good, ram me. Use my white slutty asshole. Can’t you fuck me any harder than that?” His taunts were met with the Domme fucking him like a rag doll. His pleas for more weren’t to be heard for very long because he his mouth was quickly put to use licking the huge, sweaty asshole of Mistress Ebony. He could barely breath with the fleshy mounds of her enormous ass covering his entire face. He worked his tongue in and licked the musky flavors as he could hear the muffled laughs as he felt he was going to pass out.

Deeper in sub space than he had ever been, being watched by dozens of onlookers, Charlie felt the sting of even more punishment applied to his ass. Mistress Ana administered a cat-o-nine tails on his back, ass, and thighs, hitting his tender balls. He would have cried out if Mistress Cree hadn’t grabbed his hair firmly in her hands and pressed her hot cunt to his mouth and forced him to drink her hot piss. It was a never-ending onslaught of sensation, each woman demanding pleasure in different ways.

It was the mysterious and gorgeous, Mistress Chocolate, however that stalked her prey. She wanted his singular focus and she waited patiently for the others to tire of using him. Charlie wanted more; he was desperate to be pushed past his limits. His neck was aching as he strained to look up at her. Her toned brown legs were inches from his face. She lifted her skirt slowly, making the crowd gasp in shock. Underneath the short miniskirt was the fully functioning cock of a transsexual. It was a full 8 inches in length and impressively thick. Charlie swallowed hard and started begging, “Feed me that hot black cock, shove it in my mouth, fuck my face, make me suck it like the depraved cocksucking whore that I am.” Not one to disappoint, Mistress Chocolate fed him her entire dick, making him choke and gag. In the zone, Charlie used his tongue, lips, and mouth to make that gorgeous cock shoot loads of creamy cum in his mouth.
Exhausted and sore, Charlie and Eva made the trip back home the next day in relative silence. Charlie could be proud because his actions were part of a terrific fund-raiser for a very worthy cause. It was a night to remember and the stuff dreams are made of for a white sub named Charlie with an incredible desire for chocolate.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Leather Bondage Kit

Vacation Paradise

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To be a Black domme

Probing into the motivations and core beliefs of white submissive's serves a key and essential function in Black women being able to dismantle negative images of ourselves and redefining ourselves. Knowledge is the key to transformation, and understanding the motivations and drives of subs helps Black women empower themselves to be able to assert their power and control over submissive’s. Being able to tap into and manipulate the subs hot buttons rather than just randomly stabbing in the dark with hit or miss tactics that leave both domme and sub feeling frustrated and unsatisfied ultimately. It's the difference in being a true master of someone, actually controlling their essence, their thoughts and desires, and trying to feel empowered by being an irrational bitch that makes subs jump through hoops and inflict pain based on some desire to feel in control. Just as true dommes know how to identify true subs, true subs know the difference between a woman who is truly in control and a woman who is pretending to be in control to boost her self esteem or take out her frustration on men.

As more and more black women embrace our power, it's essential that we at least come to the table with the information that will enable us to be more than fetishized Black stereotypes, that we will understand that being dominant can be a healthy expression of our sexuality and not just a way to have someone to hurt because we haven't dealt with our own issues of hurt inside. Being a domme doesn't mean you are rude, being a domme doesn't mean you are inflict pain on someone to prove you are superior, and it certainly doesn't mean you come to the table without being fully prepared. Being a domme means you are confident and aware in your self and can experience pleasure from mutual play that fills both the needs of your subs and yourself. No longer do we have to be the sassy Black mammy that yields her strapon and whip to control the naughty white boy. We can be the informed, intelligent Black woman who tenderly and gently breaks down the vestiges of arrogance in her subs and completely controls his desires based on her insights into his motivations. Can the church say amen?

Certainly it helps me as an amateur anthropologist understand the phenomenon of white submission, how it's evolved and the factors perpetuating it. With that information I can either figure out ways to exploit the trend for the betterment of my people or identify commonalities that might lead to me recognizing the same behaviors in men I deal with that are in positions of power. I recognize that an individual's preferences aren't formed in a vacuum.

What is your secret sexual fantasy?

For far too long, sexuality has been steeped in secrecy and shame. Rather than allowing people to grow and evolve in a mature and healthy way, beliefs about sexuality have remained stagnated and dictated by a puritanical standard that makes sex something dirty, not to be discussed, and narrowly defined. This is NOT a forum to point the finger of moral indignation or to stand upon the pedestal of condemnation; this is the place to boldly embrace all aspects of our sexuality. If we are to grow as a people, we must be able to bring our desires and fantasies out of the dark and into the light. You are not alone; there are many others out there that share your sexual preferences. Unfortunately, if we don’t discuss our desires we will forever feel isolated and shamed and never be able to feel comfortable in the skin we are in.

This is your time, your chance to shine. From mild to wild, from sedate to extreme, this is your platform to be an innovator and open the discussion up explore the many facets of Black sexuality. What is it that drives you wild? Do you long to be submissive to a dominant partner that makes you do unspeakable things? Are you intrigued by fantasies of being intimate with someone of the same gender? Do fantasies of orgies, CBT, golden showers, incest, strapons, or cross dressing rev your engine? Whatever tickles your fancy, the importance of this opportunity is to feel validation that you are not alone.

Since I’m sure this topic will be outside of most people’s comfort zones, I’ll start the ball rolling. My fantasy is to have a man that is equally as aroused by being on the receiving end of anal stimulation as he is in giving. I am very aroused by the level of intimacy involved in a man confessing to me that he has bisexual fantasies. I rarely think of vaginal penetration any longer, most times I get aroused with fantasies of anal sex. Tongues, fingers, toys . . . anal stimulation arouses me on a cellular level. If you are up to the challenge, share your thoughts, opinions and comments.

White Skin Black Mask

Yeah, yeah, I know. Fanon's book is called Black Skin White Mask. But I have to talk about my personally feelings on dating interracially. I have often said that, in my attempts to find companionship with a like spirit, that I can't delude myself to think that somehow I would not feel like I've compromised my standards if I were to be with a white man. How could I look at him and not feel a sense of loss for not finding my black partner? It is truly black men that make my heart skip a beat. Yes, I can find a white man that is on my same level intellectually and emotionally but will he make me get butterflies in my stomach when I watch him get dressed in the morning? How can I ask him to be with me if he knows that my true love will always lie with a brotha?

I always feel a sense of frustration at having to explain the black experience to white men. It gets tiring to have to explain racism all the time. Sure, there are plenty of black people that think that racism ended in the 60s, can’t we all just get along, and that color doesn't matter. They can’t explain the disparity in the prison population; the economic and educational institutionalized racism. They are the type of people that would do well in relationships with white people. I'm not that sista. I have never gotten along intellectually or philosophically with those brothas that say that they date any woman, purple, green, or blue. When they start naming colors in the crayon box, that means they prefer white women. If you like white women, then you sure as hell won't like me.

Here's my general rule of thumb. If I have to explain to you what happens during a Black church ceremony, then you aren't the one for me. I don't want to have give lessons before, during or after about what's going to happen, when to stand, when to recite, and what everything meant in a post game wrap-up. (And let it be known that I'm NOT Christian) If the only comments a man can make after a Black church experience are about the music, they are not the men for me.

The comfort I feel with a brotha goes beyond what I can describe with words. I have had white men that I've shared amazing connections with, whom I love dearly as soul mates. It breaks my heart to explain to them that I can't be with them because they are white and they don't see what the issue is for me. They don't feel what my heart feels. They don't know that with a brotha, I FEEL more and I can't let that feeling go.

I dated a brotha once that looked so white that people didn't believe him when he said he was a brotha. He would put black on his applications and people would change it. With the exception of his incredibly gorgeous three-foot long locs, he looked like a white man. That being said, he couldn't have been more Afrocentric. He taught in inner city schools, Africa was his spiritual and cultural homeland, he played African drums every week and attended an Afrocentric place of worship. He wore sarongs around the house that were so sexy it hurt. We were both vegan and neither one of us interested in material things. (Damn that Black motherfucker for being intimidated, I was crazy about his ass) I've not been caught up in the light skin, light eyes thing since I was in high school. When I saw him, I saw a black man. I am convinced I saw something different than most people saw. I saw a magnificent African man. While most of the men I'm attracted to look like me: tall, athletic bodies, similar complexions. He was truly a different color physically but he was the same color on the inside.

I have to wonder if I could ever find a white man with those sensibilities if I could love him? I wonder if a white man like that could exist?

White Double Consciousness

Dubois wrote of the Double Consciousness of Black folks. saying that we have a public persona that we present to the white world and a private one we use in the company of other black people. There is a similar trend in white people that is growing in scope. I'm fully aware of the trend for white people, both male and female, to crave perverse levels of humiliation and degradation from Black people privately. If find that interesting because the public and society at large seems to be moving towards a more racist and bigoted groupthink. I hear the same things from white subs consistently, that white people need to pay for the past, that they feel inherently inferior, that the Black race is naturally superior and that they need to submit themselves to me for the ultimate in degradation.

I'm also aware that white men are becoming more abrasive, threatening, and confrontational when I speak out about the trend. I've received death threats from white men that insist that there is no such trend. I've been called a N!*$$% bitch more in the last year since I've started to speak out about the trend than I've been called in my entire 40 years of life combined.

Here's the deal. I don't think that white people that privately acknowledge their submission to black people rid themselves of the racist beliefs that are ingrained in people in this society. Any country built on the oppression of one race is going to pass on those beliefs as the foundation for all thought processes. The whole, "I don't see color," is nothing more than rhetoric and doesn't indicate anything other than a person not willing to look at their own misperceptions. That being said, this desire to submit to Black people, or more accurately, black genitals, is extremely pervasive. I'm looking for some insight into the phenomenon from someone who interacts with the blatantly racist white people that want to go back to the good old days and who craves mind boggling humiliation from black people behind closed doors. Share your thoughts, perceptions, realizations and revelations about how you have come to the place you are and how you integrate your dual consciousness with your peers.

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 38 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 Rikki, Oprah, Montel, 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 desire or 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.