Light skin and good hair

I love spending time with my older relatives. They have such rich stories to tell, they share so much history and give me perspective. I’m always amazed at what they had to endure and how closely their stories resemble tales of slavery. They are stories white people don’t hear, so it becomes easy for them to think that slavery was over and it has no effect on today. They are stories that the youth of today don’t want to hear so they live in oblivion about where we come from and just how bad things were for us not so long ago. It’s an ignorance that leads people to believe that we are totally emancipated from dysfunction when the truth is, we are passing on detrimental beliefs directly from slavery and thinking it’s normal.

I had the opportunity to spend time with a relative the other night. She’s 68 years old and she brought pictures to show me. It’s a conversation I don’t think I’ll forget for a very long time. She told tales of being degraded by white people that had my skin crawling. What was everyday life for her was like something I’ve never seen in any movie. She’s an exceptionally light skinned woman, wearing her cotton jogging suit and wig, like millions of other black women her age. She related tales of a cheating husband and how she had to cope with that in order to keep a roof over her head for her children. I looked at old black and white pictures from the forties and fifties of dark skinned men with light skinned black women.

I have a huge family. Any family reunion you go to, you’ll see that the majority of the male relatives under the age of 55 are married to or have baby mommas that are white women. I sat the other night, looking at picture upon picture of cousins with white women and my older relative justifying it by saying how good their children’s hair was.

I saw a baby picture of a child who had the thickest hair I’ve ever seen on a newborn child in my life. While I was in awe of this beautiful baby, my older cousin started lamenting over how bad and nappy the hair of this child was and how her mother couldn’t wait to perm their hair now that she was older. My uncle, who only dates black women who are light, bright, and damn near white with long flowing hair, defended this family elder’s assertions by reinforcing that if the girl child did in fact have a “bad grade” of unmanageable hair, that they should look to getting it permed and braided as soon as possible. They laughed and talked about nappy hair while I sat in silence, thinking about the self esteem of that poor girl child, having to hear scores of female relatives and beauticians tell her that her natural hair, the hair god intended her to have, her beautiful African hair was bad, wrong, and ugly.

My heart ached for that girl child’s self-esteem. How can she ever feel inherently beautiful if she feels that her natural hair is a mistake? I sat there all night and I could say nothing. I understood that this family elder had no idea that her beliefs were formed from the idea that black people were inferior. The need for black men 50 years ago to have light skinned women was because they believed black was ugly. Generations of black women were told that our hair was ugly and it had to be controlled and changed to look like white women’s in order to be beautiful.

My uncle claims that the fact that he’s only attracted to black women that can pass for white has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that that’s his personal preference. It’s his personal preference and the preference of a generation of black men who can’t understand that hearing tales of unmanageable black hair and ugly dark skin forms your preferences. I have cousins who have never dated a black woman in their lives. Their mother’s complain to the black women in the family but praise their son’s choices and compliment them for having children with “good hair.”

I know this trend isn’t exclusive to my family. I’ve seen family gathering photos of other people’s families and they justify the fact that not ONE, not one single black man married a black woman as merely coincidence. We aren’t evolving; we are staying stagnant and justifying it. We are still thinking that our natural hair is bad and wrong; we are still perpetuating the belief that light is right. We will perish as a race holding onto these diseased beliefs and hating what makes us black and beautiful.

Our dark skin isn’t ugly, it’s gorgeous. Our nappy hair isn’t bad, it’s exactly the way the Creator wanted it to be. Our thick lips and noses aren’t unattractive except if you believe that white people are better. I’m weary from seeing how disabled we are as a people and how intent we are to pass on that self-hatred to our children and exalt that dysfunction as normal.

Starting Over and Healing a Broken Past

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AfroerotiK Meditation

Close your eyes and slip into a deep meditative state. Allow yourself to enjoy true relaxation and peace as you are guided into a deep, restful state where you can explore sensual freedom.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

The Naughty Phone Call

Today my love will overpower any
hurt and abandonment in my life.
I will be gentle with myself.
I will respond victoriously to my fears.

I will embrace my love freely

The days of empowered women are long gone. There was a time when women fought to have their voices heard, demanded to be treated as equals and not as objects, a time when feminist wasn’t a dirty word and meant more than “angry lesbian.” Those days are long gone. Today, women live to be the voiceless, un-opinionated, glamorous playthings of rich, high-profile men. There’s been a shift from women wanting to define themselves as human beings capable and autonomous, to women willing to accept that they are nothing more than sex objects defined by the length of their hair, the price of their outfit, the roundness of their behinds, and the attractiveness of their feet. Whereas, the 60s were the days of women asserting themselves and fighting for equality, the new millennium is the day of women showing off their midriffs and having men pay for their company.

Black women have been the targets of a very concerted effort to silence their voice, to stifle their growth. Thirty years ago, Black women were standing up for the right to be more than teachers, maids, and nurses. Today, sistas are striving to be the well-kept trophies of successful thugs and be rated on the sexist scale of attractiveness. Black women have been convinced that being a woman means having a man, and not having a man is a stigmata of shame, a lack or void that surely signifies that you aren’t good enough in bed, you aren’t beautiful enough, you don’t live up to your primary role in life of pleasing a man. Forget holding men accountable for their actions, forget having standards that fall outside of material possessions, to hell with asserting that being a woman is more than living up to a patriarchal model that feeds the distorted egos and libidos of men. Yeah, that crap is over. Today, women want to be objectified, complacent, and conform to the role of being seen (as beautiful) and not heard.

For a lot of women, they defend the notion that being a woman means how many men want you. It’s easy to do for the women that have light skin, that have long hair, that have a size six body with a size ten booty that look like a model and can pull the men that want to buy their souls in exchange for a roll in the hay. For the women that fit the profile, it’s all about maintaining that image and not rocking the boat. For the women who don’t fit that image, for the women with dark skin and hair that doesn’t flow in the wind, for women that don’t look like they stepped off the pages of a magazine or fresh from the set of a music video, they are left to deal with their self-esteem in a society that tells them that they are less than a woman. It’s a burden Black women don’t talk about because it’s shameful to admit that you don’t compare to the standard of beauty that Black men want and you feel like you’re fighting an uphill battle within yourself that you can never win, that’s beyond your control. What about the women that will never be able to wear the skimpy little halter tops and the five inch heels, and fling their shoulder-length hair and have men stumbling all over themselves to pay their car note? What if you look in the mirror every day and feel like you’ll never measure up? Those are the women that perpetuate the myth of the Strong Black Woman. They feel the need to suffer in silence and to endure a lifetime of abuse and pretend nothing hurts, to put up an impenetrable shell of distance and melodrama that leaves them perpetually emotionally drained. Convinced it’s an honor to be a strong Black woman, they hold onto the pain and feelings of inadequacy like a gold medal in the Depression Olympics.

For years, Wanda harbored feelings of dejection and low self-esteem. She didn’t know where the feelings came from; she couldn’t identify the source of her own pain. All she knew was she was suffering from having her ex husband leave her for a white woman, a wound that she would never let heal because it served to remind her that she wasn’t woman enough. She concentrated on her career; she raised her children alone, wearing the badge of strong black woman proudly and moving through life in silence, never giving voice to her pain.

One day, things changed. Wanda picked up the book, The Real Lives of Strong Black Women by Toby Thompkins, and it transformed her life. She’d seen it in Essence magazine and she thought it was going to be a book to validate her belief in her role as a strong, Black woman. Little did she know that it would be the turning point she needed to grow. The book was the source of healing for a tremendous amount of her pain and allowed her to begin moving past her hurts and disappointments and toward to a life of empowerment and redefining herself. She started looking in the mirror and seeing true beauty. She started getting up in the morning with a renewed vigor, seeing colors more vividly, able to let go of past hurts and see herself in an entirely different light. She began defining herself and her life from the inside out and letting go of the beliefs that kept her feeling like she was never good enough. Within the pages of the book, she found freedom, strength, and a deep and abiding love for herself.

The benefits of Wanda’s emotional rebirth spilled over into every area of her life. Freeing herself from mental chains from her childhood, from past lovers that had hurt her, from the demons in her head, allowed her to truly take charge of her life. It was her sex life that reaped the greatest rewards. No longer inhibited, no longer afraid to ask for what she wanted, Wanda became liberated sexually. Rather than feeling like she needed men to validate her, she was inspired to explore her sensual side with men that honored her new vision for herself.

George had been a supporter and lover of her even before her transformation. He’s always been there, in the background, quietly prodding and pushing her to see herself the way he saw her, as nothing less than a beautiful Nubian queen. He reaped the rewards of Wanda’s sexual awakening and loved every second of it. The woman who had been hesitant to ask for what she wanted was now confident to demand pleasure and feel no regrets. She hadn’t become a dominating bitch, she was a self-assured woman who owned her sensual feelings and had no problems expressing her desires. Wanda called George on Friday night and asked him if he was interested in getting together. Anxious to see her, he asked her to dinner and suggested that he would get a nice hotel room for them for the evening if she wanted.

“The kids are going to be spending the night at friend’s houses and I’m in no mood to come home to an empty house.” Wanda was sounding particularly seductive and George was more than turned on. “I’ve got a little something special for you that I think you’ll like too,” she said, creating an air of mystery and leaving George throbbing, wondering what was in store. Having experienced Wanda’s erotic liberation, he knew that whatever was going to happen, it was going to be smoking hot.

Wanda had arranged to meet him at Houston’s for a bite to eat before they headed off to the Park Plaza Hotel for the evening. George got there early and put their names on the list. Wanda arrived a few minutes late but it was well worth the wait. She was radiant as she walked in and she oozed sexuality from every pore in her body. Her red dress fit every curve and she was swaying her hips with confidence. George stuck his chest out a little bit more, proud that he was the object of envy for all the guys that were lingering on from the after-work happy hour, scoping out all the single ladies who walked in.

Wanda greeted him with a gleam in her eye and a seductive smile on her lips. They were seated almost immediately and placed their order. George was trying not to be too forward but he was curious to know what the surprise was going to be. His nervousness as well as his anxiousness to experience the intense sexing he knew he was gong to get showed on his face. Wanda was in her element. She was casually flirtatious and playing him like a violin. Her hands roamed freely under the table, caressing his thighs and she snuggled close up close and whispered polite dinner conversation in his ear. He could feel her warm breath on his neck and her breasts pressed against his arm. Wanda did everything but take his dick out and stroke him underneath the table.

Ready to leave and get things underway, George was rushing through the meal, trying to get as quickly as possible to his hot chocolate dessert. If only he was in control, if only he had any say in the events of the evening. Wanda was clearly steering the erotic ship and George was second in command. She handed him an envelope, slid back in her seat, and licked her lips sensually.

“What’s this?” George was as puzzled as he was intrigued.

“Just open it,” Wanda was smiling like a Cheshire cat. She slid off her shoe and ran her foot up and down his leg as George ripped open the seal to read the contents of the envelope.

“This coupon is good for one Naughty Phone Call? Gee . . . that’s nice, thanks.” Disappointment showed all over his face. It was an AfroerotiK Intimacy Coupon and needless to say George was hoping for something more, well, something a little more dangerous.

Wanda slid out from her seat, whispered in his ear that he should get the check and announced that she was going to go to the ladies room and would be right back. George’ disappointment was short lived; he began looking forward to an evening of sensual exploration with his lovely dinner companion. The waitress was waiting patiently for him to sign his credit card receipt when George’ cell phone rang. He looked quizzically at the caller ID; it was Wanda calling.

“Hey, what’s going . . . ,” he was interrupted before he could finish his words.

“Hey sweetie, mmmmm, I’m so looking forward to feeling your tongue in my pussy tonight. You know, it’s so wet right now. I bet it will feel so good when you are sucking my clit. Mmmmm, my juices taste so sweet,” she said, licking her fingers. “Are you going to lick my pussy till I cum in your mouth?” She was purring sensually and George was looking around like he was on a hidden camera television show. He swallowed hard and subconsciously grabbed his rapidly swelling dick. The waitress cleared her throat and quickly brought him back to reality. He signed the bill and gave her a huge tip while Wanda whispered naughty things in his ear and he fidgeted in his seat.

“Are you going to fuck me good tonight, George? I’m really looking forward to feeling your stiff dick inside me, thrusting deep inside me. You want that don’t you? You want to feel my tight, wet walls gripping you, squeezing you. I know you do. I know you want me to ride you, work that hard dick, up and down, using you to get me off. You want to suck my hard nipples while I’m fucking you? Oh yeah, grip my hips while I work my hot pussy on you and get myself off”

George was aroused beyond his imagination. He did his best to reason with her like a man negotiating the deal of a lifetime without letting the people at the next table know what he was talking about. “Listen, let’s get out of here and we can see about taking care of your needs. I’ll be more than happy to lend my services to you, hopefully to your satisfaction.”

Wanda toyed with him. “I’m going to suck your dick so good you’re going to be screaming like a little bitch. I’m going to lick that head, I'm going to swallow it and use my lips to drive you crazy. I’m going to give you the hottest, wettest, sloppiest blowjob you’ve ever had. How’s that sound?”
George swallowed hard and could barely catch his breath. The woman of his dreams, a sexy, self-assured, black woman was seducing him with confidence and skill. She knew exactly how to demand what she wanted and that turned him on more than he had ever experienced before. He was in a daze, listening to her soft whispers and naughty promises when she casually strolled up to the table, still on the phone, still taunting him with erotic images that had his blood boiling. “Can you hear me now,” she teased.

He hung up and made no effort to hide his desire to leave. He was going to take her up on every one of her offers and then some. He put his hand on the small of her back and escorted her to the door. Outside, in the cool night air, Wanda stopped George and planted a sexy kiss on him. She pressed her body to his and put her tongue seductively in his mouth. He feasted on her soft, full lips and ran his hands up and down her back.
He opened the door to his car and watched her slide in. By the time he made it around to the driver’s side, Wanda had her dress up and was fingering her pussy, shoving her fingers inside, fucking herself with abandon. Where her panties were was anybody’s guess. George was frozen. All he could do was stare. He glanced around nervously in the parking lot to see if anyone could see his lovely date about to have an orgasm.

Wanda played him well, teasing him all the way to the hotel. By the time they made it to the room, George felt like he was going to explode. They were rippeing their clothes off like horny teenagers. Wanda pushed him back on the bed and mounted his face. She worked her pussy over his mouth, feeling his tongue probe deep inside her hole. He grabbed her thighs held on tight as she came in his mouth.

She wasn’t finished with one orgasm. Steadying herself, she stood up and walked over to the dresser, bent over and looked back through lust-filled eyes and said, “George, fuck me!”

George stood behind her and took aim. His dick was rock hard and he rubbed the head along her wet slit. Shutting his eyes, he grabbed her hips and thrust himself into her. He was releasing his sexual frustration; he was trying to make her scream. He was intent on ramming every inch of his hard dick inside her. Wanda was fucking him back, rubbing her clit, moaning so loud that the people in the next room could hear. They were like sweaty, hot animals in the throws of primal passion. Wanda’s legs started shaking and she was going to cum. “Fuck me harder, fuck me deeper, fuck me. That feels so good. Oh shit, I’m going to cum.” George wasn’t far behind her. He pulled out and stroked his dick, shooting hot, white cum all over her smooth, brown ass.

Exhausted, they fell on the bed in a tangle of quivering flesh and limbs. Wanda had a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Empowered and satisfied, she was a woman of true strength and beauty and all the tools to define herself, the real definition of a strong, black woman and George was the lucky beneficiary of her newfound esteem.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

http://www.tobyspeaks.com/homepage.htm

Have A Wondeful Interview

The owners of haveawonderful.com have been so kind to interview me to be featured on their brand new website. The interview is a no holds barred, very frank discussion of Black sexuality and the trials and tribulations of AfroerotiK.

www.haveawonderful.com

Raising Healthy Children

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Spice

It was with some frequency that James Hartman returned to his old stomping grounds in the ATL for job related responsibilities. Atlanta held many memories for James, good times, pleasant reflections and melancholy longings. It was a trip he always took with much anticipation because it presented itself with the hope of exploring his deepest, darkest, most perverted desires. James had a dark side that hadn’t had an outlet for quite some time. On this particular trip, wanting to step up the pace a little, he contacted an old girlfriend that knew of his proclivities and invited her out to dinner. Jessica was a sweet woman, not nearly as exacting in her ability to push James’ buttons as he preferred but her company was better than spending time alone in a hotel room.

You see, James was, by his very nature, a lowly and pathetic submissive. He longed for a woman to help him realize his true temperament, to bring out the filthy and untouched needs he harbored deep inside. He craved a strong and commanding Black woman to reduce him to what he knew he was inside, a worthless and pitiful excuse for a man. His job, his public persona was all a façade. James was, at his very core, a piece of shit and his entire life existed either trying to keep people from finding out that fact or longing to realize it in a way that allowed him a freedom he’d never known.

Dinner was to be at Spice on Juniper. It was one of the better restaurants in Midtown but money wasn’t really that much of an issue because everything could be expensed. Jessica was to meet him at 8, and with any luck, she would head back to James’ hotel with him to explore some of his desires. Running late, he called her on her cell to let her know that she should get a table and order a drink and appetizers because business was going to put him about 20 minutes behind schedule. By the time he got to the restaurant, appetizers were being served.

Jessica looked lovely and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He sat down and ordered a drink and started looking at the menu. As he settled into his seat to relax and enjoy his date for the evening, he glanced around to take in his surroundings and get a feel for the place. He froze. There, in the restaurant, was the one individual that had haunted James’ dreams and fantasies for years.

There are people that come into your life that make a lasting impression. Roberta Wonder was the woman that James just could not shake from his consciousness. She was the quintessential Ebony Domme that had tormented his dreams and fantasies for years; he was unable to rid himself of her influence on his very being. She had done things to him that made him question reality, that had pushed him past boundaries that no one else had come close to discovering. He belonged to her in many ways, even though she despised him on many levels. It was, however, her callous disregard for him that fueled his undying love and his yearning to prove himself worthy of her attention.

She was breathtaking, completely unaware that James was there. She was dressed to perfection and engaged in a deep conversation with her date, an attractive Black man that looked like he was basking in the glow of her company. The two seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the place, mesmerizing people with their fluidity and unspoken sexual chemistry. Her date made no attempts to hide his hands caressing her long, smooth legs beneath the table and she seemed to be aware that they were putting on a show for onlookers as she played up to that fact. It was like watching a movie that James couldn’t take his eyes off of.

Sensing the energy of someone staring her down, Roberta turned and made eye contact with James. It was as if she looked right through him, her eyes holding his gaze like a hypnotic trance. Jessica, sensing James’ distraction, tapped him on the shoulder and asked how he knew the couple. He fumbled for words and tried to direct his attention back to Jessica but she would never compare to the utter devotion he felt for Roberta. He made small talk, continuously glancing back, wondering if she was noticing him.

Wanting to assert himself and draw the attention of Roberta, needing her approval, he began mirroring the actions of her male companion. He pulled Jessica close and began showing very public signs of affection. It was more than apparent that they didn’t have the same commanding presence or chemistry of Roberta and her date but he was desperate to assert himself in some way. He knew not to approach her, he had been warned for years to leave her alone but there was something in him that was desperate for her acknowledgement. If he had been a peacock, he would have been showing his feathers and prancing around in an effort to get the attention of the female hen. His movements were vulgar however; they looked obscene rather than sensual, offensive rather than compelling. Jessica, while attractive, looked pale and trashy compared the deep sensual persona that Roberta exuded.

“It never ceases to amaze me how utterly contemptible I find your presence. You have the unique ability to make my flesh crawl from across the room.” James, startled by the words, turned to see Roberta towering above him. He rose and greeted her with a kiss to the cheek like she had said, “I’ve missed you so much.” The look on Jessica’s face was one of horror. It was more than apparent Roberta was amused by the disruption she had caused.

“How have you been?” he asked, sitting and making introductions between the ladies as cordially as he could, trying to hide the fact that her abrasive comments aroused him in a place that he didn’t understand himself. Roberta gestured to her date across the room and he waved back and she introduced him as Terrance, her significant other. He nodded back with a look that made James cringe. He feared that she had told him every detail of his dirty little secrets, that every nuance of his sick desires had been revealed. James swallowed hard and nodded, feeling emasculated somehow by the fact that he had always craved being the man in Roberta’s life and seeing evidence that he couldn’t measure up in any way. Terrance was smooth, refined, and sophisticated and it showed in the way he held his wine glass, the way his stylish clothes fit what was obviously a sculpted body. There was no doubt about the fact that Terrance was Roberta’s equal in every sense of the word and he hadn’t even opened his mouth.

Before there could even be any discussion or catching up on any details, the waiter brought the food they had ordered. Roberta seemed less concerned with talking to James as she did with Jessica. She sat at the table and turned her back to James and they made pleasant small talk, complimenting each other on shoes and lipstick and such. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you two to your evening. It has been such a pleasure meeting you Jessie.” She stood to leave, James rising to be cordial. She turned momentarily and looked James in the eye and spit directly on to his food. James’ heart sank. “Enjoy your meal.” With that she turned quietly and walked back to her table.

Jessica was outraged. She started to get loud and draw unwanted attention to the table. James’ heart sank. He sat and tried to calm her down, to quiet her. “Is she crazy . . . are you crazy?” The utter confusion on her face was only lessened by the fact that she was outraged that the woman was so casual in her disrespect. James sat at the table a defeated man, staring at the plate, knowing full well that he could not walk away and leave it there or have it returned. It was far too precious a gift and he had to enjoy it. He couldn’t even hear Jessica’s words, he was in a trance. He kept looking to see if Roberta was watching but she was completely ignoring him, wrapped up in conversation with her lover. He slowly picked up his fork and knife and cut into his steak, carving out the piece of meat that held the most saliva. He closed his eyes and brought the food to his lips and placed it in his mouth. He could detect the taste of her slimy offering more than he could taste the prime cut of beef he held in his mouth. It was better than caviar or lobster; it was the precious and divine spit of the woman he craved.

Jessica was outdone. She had calmed herself down enough to stop drawing attention to herself but she needed answers. She was calling James names, trying to make him be a man, threatening to go slap that black bitch herself, dumbfounded as to why he would eat the food. You see, she wasn’t a true domme like Roberta; she had no clue that true domination was done in the mind and Roberta had masterfully exacted her domination without so much as raising her voice.

Just then, the waiter returned and asked if everything was okay. He handed James a bill and said, “The lady and gentleman over there have indicated that you are going to be picking up their tab so would you like to settle for them now or wait and have me bring you both your bill and there bill together?”

James looked down at his plate in silence. He didn’t say a word as he reached for his wallet and his little cock was now raging out of control in his slacks. He looked over at them and they waved back with familiarity and thanks. Jessica was PISSED and demanding answers. This had gone too far; she needed to know why on earth had he just paid for their meal? There was a barrage of unanswered questions as James just sat there, feeble and ashamed.

As they walked towards the front door, Terrance’s arm holding the small of Roberta’s back, she stopped and turned back to James’ table. “I’ve been thinking that you, Terrance and I should have some fun tonight, you know, for old time’s sake. Jessie dear, it was a pleasure; we’ll have to get together sometime. James, let’s go.” She took a step back and motioned for James to join them as they left. James’ eyes glanced back and forth between Roberta and Jessica. Roberta showed no signs of anything on her face other than quite possibly amusement. Jessica was outraged and threatened by the power Roberta possessed, desirous of it.

“Now, James,” her words were as soft and sensuous as her entire persona and James responded like a person who had been hypnotized. He signaled for the waiter again and whispered that he wanted to pay for their meal now, virtually untouched by either of them. The waiter was taking too long to return and he threw four twenties on the table and stood to leave. He knew without being told that his first test of the evening was to leave Jessica sitting at the table. His knees were shaky and he could faintly hear the curse words that Jessica was spewing but he found himself following Roberta and Terrance out the front door, ten steps behind, like a flunky.

Out in the night air, James breathed deeply. Roberta told him that he was to come with them in their vehicle. The valet brought around a champagne colored Navigator and held the door for Roberta to get in first. James sat in the back while Terrance drove and before he knew it, they were traveling northbound on GA400 towards Alpharetta. They chatted about James like he wasn’t even in the car, laughing about how he looked like he wanted to lick every drop of the spit off the food, about how he was so pathetic he didn’t even raise a fuss at paying for their meal, they even laughed about how Jessica would probably never speak to him again. James wanted to speak up on his own behalf but he felt like a child, incapable of articulating himself. If only his cock wasn’t so hard, if only he wasn’t so turned on by the control Roberta had over him by ignoring him.

They pulled into a subdivision with nothing less than million dollar homes. They pulled into the driveway of a huge house and parked the truck in the driveway. Roberta leaned over and gave Terrance a sensual kiss that made James’ heart drop. He knew that as long as he lived, he would never be the recipient of anything as tender and wonderful as that kiss. Terrance came around and held the door open for her. James was instructed to remove his clothes and place them on the seat. His cock was extremely hard as he longed for the degradation and humiliation only Roberta knew how to administer.

It was Terrance’s voice that barked the next command. Terrance pushed him up the walkway, causing him to stumble. James felt clumsy and awkward and profoundly humiliated that a man such as Terrance would be able to push him around without so much as a word in retaliation. It was Roberta’s way of controlling James, making him feel like less than a man.

Inside the house, James was led to a basement and made to stand in a corner. He heard Roberta and Terrance talking but he couldn’t make out the words. Without warning, Roberta approached him and said, “It’s going to be pretty difficult to explain your expense account with charges to your company credit card of plane tickets to Aruba, wouldn’t you say?” A lump formed in his throat and he couldn’t breathe. Roberta was not one to make idle promises; she was letting him know that his job was in jeopardy and she was going to reap the benefits with a well paid vacation. There was no way he could report the credit card lost or stolen, it would be an indication that he would never get the opportunity to serve her again. No matter how remote the possibility, no matter how detrimental to his livelihood, James could not take that chance. Before the interrogation was over, he had given her his PIN number to his personal account and assurances that all of his assets would be under her control. James inquired if that meant that he could now become her full time submissive if he relinquished all of his possession over to her, if he would be allowed to serve her malevolent wishes if he only lived in poverty. Roberta assured him he could have no such assurances and that she might not ever see or speak to him again. Terrance laughed out loud, making note of how funny it would be to see the supposed high powered white executive living on the streets in exchange for one night of domination with Roberta. James began to cry like a baby. He was filled with a shame that was beyond human comprehension. He wanted to run, he wanted to put a stop to everything but he stood in silence and very erect.

He could feel Roberta circling him but she was reticent to touch him. His very presence was repulsive to her. His pasty white skin made her want to wretch and his tiny cock deserved to be kicked and slapped it was so small but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it. He could smell her perfume and feel her body heat near him. She made him kneel on the floor and Terrance attached weighted nipple clamps on him. He screamed out as searing pain shot through his entire body. It was just like Roberta to push James past his limits and the humungous weights caused him extraordinary pain, more than he had ever endured before. The fact that he was in more pain than he had ever experienced caused him a sense of pride that he would be able to tolerate it for his ultimate mistress.

Nipple clamps in place, Roberta approached him and whispered sweetly in his ear. “I want you to see what a real man looks like.” He blinked his eyes to get used to the dimly lit room and he saw Terrance standing before him completely naked. He averted his eyes to the floor quickly, ashamed and afraid to look. He was perfection, a sculpted body with a massive cock sticking straight out. “Isn’t he lovely, James? A million times better than you, you disgusting piece of shit.” James cried openly, saying he wanted to end this game, that he wanted to go home. He knew what his fate was and he was having second and third thoughts about if he could go through with it. If only his little cock wasn’t so damned hard, he might have been a little more convincing.

Terrance approached him and stood inches from his face. Roberta moved next to him and stroked him to full hardness. James could smell the manly aromas emanating from him and he swallowed hard. The tip of Terrance’s cock was only a few centimeters from his lips and he could feel himself breathing hard. “James, you are a sissy faggot bitch, aren’t you?” Roberta’s voice remained syrupy sweet and as smooth as silk, never rising a decibel. His knees were aching and the pain in his nipples was about to cause him to pass out but he uttered a defiant, “NO!”

The sting from the slap across his face was more excruciating than all of his tortures combined. “You pathetic fuck, are you saying that I don’t know a dirty little cock sucking faggot when I see one?” If she had only displayed some measure of emotion, some detection of hatred in her voice, but her consistent and soothing voice made him melt as he conceded that she was correct. She wasn’t content with just an affirmation; she needed him to say the words. Knowing her as well as he did, he knew that his confession would have to be creative and inspired to please her. “Mistress, I’m a perverted, nasty sissy faggot bitch that loves having real cocks from real men fuck my slutty pussy mouth.”

“Good boy,” as she patted him on the head. James’ heart practically leapt from his chest being the recipient of Roberta’s praise. He wanted more humiliation if only it made her proud of him. “Show me how you like to suck real cocks. Make me proud by proving that you are a filthy cunt that loves getting your mouth fucked with ten hard inches of real man meat.”

James opened his mouth and didn’t have to do much. Terrance grabbed the back of his head and forcefully shoved practically the entire thick weapon in his mouth. James gagged and choked but he saw the look of disappointment in Roberta’s eyes and quickly stepped up to the task. He grabbed his little cock and started stroking it furiously. Roberta grabbed the clamps and pulled on them even harder and James tried to scream out in pain but it only forced Terrance’s cock deeper in his throat. He was sweating profusely and he felt like he was about to pass out. Terrance began moaning and saying he was about to cum and James sucked that much harder. He wanted to be the best head Terrance would ever get from one of Roberta’s submissives.

Almost without warning, Roberta pushed James to his hands and knees. He gasped for air as could breathe for the first time. He was babbling incoherently now, chanting and begging for more. Terrance repositioned himself in front of him and this time he dove for that monster cock without prompting, he loved the taste and feel of it and he was going to enjoy his journey into being a filthy cocksucker as long as it pleased his Mistress. As he began sucking it like there was no tomorrow, he felt Roberta’s hands on his back. He froze for a moment and continued on with his duties. Terrance grabbed his head and forced it all the way down on his cock and held it there tightly, forcing James to breathe through his nose and smell the manly scent of Terrance’s pubes.

Roberta’s hands spread his ass cheeks and he felt the head of a dildo pressed against his hole. He tried to scream but Terrance just held him in place like a rag doll. The lubricated head of a strapon rubbed his asshole over and over, sending chills up and down his spine. “Tell me what you want, James.”

Knowing his role, he began spewing out his desires. “I want to be used like a slut. I want to be your sissy faggot bitch. Fuck the shit out of me. Fuck my useless pussy raw, Mistress. Please use me.”

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he felt the searing pain of the head of the dildo penetrate his ass. He was getting fucked in both holes now, being used like he’d never been used before. He was sucking that cock like there was no tomorrow and before too long; he was experiencing nothing but pleasure from the strapon in his ass. His body was alive with pleasure. He felt Terrance tense up and start to unload a huge load of cum in his mouth and James realized he could no longer go back to his normal way of existence. His life would no longer be the same. All of his dreams, all of his desires were being realized in that moment. He was being completely used and manipulated by one of the most beautiful, dominant, utterly superior women he’d ever had the pleasure to meet. She had reduced him to the unthinkable and he loved it, he craved even more. He was about to explode as he felt Roberta’s soft thighs pounding against his ass and he realized he didn’t deserve that sort of pleasure, he realized that others would pay dearly for the opportunity he was experiencing.

Terrance pulled back and shot load after load of sticky cum on his tongue and James swallowed every drop. He looked up at Roberta as she smiled sweetly down on him. Terrance removed the strapon and fondled Roberta as only a lover could as James watched with jealousy and envy. Roberta instructed James to lie on his back and jerk off that poor excuse for a cock. He did as he was told; not needing much stimulation to get reach and orgasm, his level of arousal was at an all time high. She kicked him gently in the side as he moaned out more from the stimulation than the discomfort as she stepped over his head. She squatted lower and for the first time in his life, James saw the pussy of perfection that had filled his dreams. It was more exquisite than he had imagined and he could smell her sweet essence in the air. He longed to lift his head up and taste her but he knew he would not be allowed. He was stroking his cock and staring up into perfection when he felt the first drops of piss splatter on his face, He moaned out loud and opened his mouth as the delicious golden piss rained down on him. He swallowed hard and jerked off harder. He could hold back no longer and cum shot out of his cock like molten lava.

Some time during the early morning hours, he was kicked out of the home with a brown paper bag that held his clothes; he was naked and smelling of Roberta’s piss, his balls drained and his body full of Terrance’s cum. He had no money or credit cards in his wallet and he couldn’t call a cab. He had to rely on someone to come pick him up. “Hello, Jessica. I’m really sorry about last night. I need to ask you a really big favor. . . “

Training Kit for BDSM

How to fuck an Asshole

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CIVIL RIGHTS DEFINING ITS MEANING, DEFENDING ITS MOVEMENT

One can barely have a discussion about civil rights without discussing the movement of the 1950s and 1960s, the two being virtually synonymous in conversation. In this paper I will look at my perception of civil rights as it applies to African Americans and discuss my personal perspective as to its historic and current implications. I will address my concerns as a present day activist and relate my experiences as a child reared in the household of a hero.

In its classical definition, civil rights can be defined as the inalienable rights granted by a nation to its citizens. Rights that are supposedly afforded to everyone, irrespective of race, gender or age, nor to sexual orientation, national origin or physical ability. Duly noted, civil rights should never have to be championed in this, the supposed seat of democracy; they should be administered justly, without discrimination. The very fact that this country was founded on the premise of all men being created equal, while millions of its inhabitants existed as chattel beneath citizenship, speaks to the very inequities of the political and social clime that we as contemporary African Americans emerged from. When one’s citizenship is granted as an afterthought, as an amendment, it’s reasonable to assume that liberty and justice will most certainly not be for all. It also might be safe to postulate that those persons with original privilege, and their descendants, are more likely to be the beneficiaries of the judicious administration of rights.

The need for equal access to employment, quality education, housing, voting rights, and protection under the law is still very much an issue, if not more so, than it was 30 years ago. Racism and discrimination, instead of being administered at the hands of hooded cowards in the dark of night, is now stealth and institutionalized. Yes, we can ride on the front of the bus but African Americans are at risk for being denied loans for housing, being looked over for promotions, unjustly imprisoned and grossly undereducated. But because there are no more marches, no more poignant speeches from eloquent leaders, we have been lulled into a false sense of security that we have our civil rights. Perhaps we think that the struggle is over because there are no more dogs and fire hoses. We ignore modern day church burnings and the lynchings of Black men as insignificant. The fact remains that African Americans are more likely to be pulled over in our cars for perceived and minor infractions, victims of “Driving While Black.” Brown skin will land you in jail for a negligible possession of drugs while the white perpetrator of the same crime will end up in rehabilitation or on probation. Substandard housing has become so acceptable for economically disadvantaged African Americans that no one even raises an eyebrow at their deplorable conditions; there are many of us who have come to view urban decay as a sign of “Blackness.” Now, with the presence of a black middle-class that drives big cars and lives among the oppressor with relative ease, it becomes easier to overlook the social injustices of the masses. Yet the fight for social justice and civil rights is far from over.

Civil rights has in fact become a term that is synonymous with African Americans. Race becomes the pervasive and deciding factor when one is discussing civil rights. Color trumps sexual orientation, age, creed and disability. The white homosexual will always be able to slide under the proverbial discrimination detector when driving in his car. The black homosexual is a Black man first, and is afforded no protection from his own skin. The loan officer sees black skin approaching the desk first, not religious affiliation. Such is the case with the black elderly, the disabled and gender biased offenses. Affirmative action, enacted to counter the privileges of inherited hierarchy and grant equal access to all, is truly flawed. Its greatest beneficiaries in the government sector are white women. Little is mentioned about the fact that those white women head up corporations in name only and are married to white men who actually control the businesses. The Gray Panthers lobby for the rights of seniors, but the poor, Black and elderly are the least championed in health care, prescription costs and protection from fraud. African American children are imprisoned in outrageous numbers in comparison to whites, live in abject poverty, and are intentionally undereducated. The list could go on and on. The system is dangerously flawed. Disparity based on race is rampant and the ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness seem to be more and more evasive for people of color in this society.

I’ve noticed from a few of my contemporaries an interesting trend towards disregarding the contributions of the warriors of the civil rights movement by saying that what they did was counterproductive to the betterment of Black people. According to some, the civil rights movement was lead by a middle-class, elitist, bourgeoisie whose only agenda was to fatten their pockets and “Tom” their way to the political forefront. I find this an interesting position in that the real villains of justice to Afro peoples in this country wear white, whether it be skin, collars and/or sheets. Public policy has done more harm to the advancement of African Americans than those foot soldiers that risked their lives so that we might have a better way of life. It smacks of a certain amount of disrespect to belittle the contributions of those that sat-in, those that marched, those that put their lives on the line. Rather than attack racist agendas and GOP politics, they point the finger at those that resisted the status quo with negative critique. It is my contention that the civil rights leaders of the past did the best they possibly could under the extreme circumstances. The civil rights movement didn’t die in the 1960s, it was assassinated. It didn’t end because Negroes had obtained all of their rights and were finally equal; it ended with a bullet on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel. It ended in gunfire at the podium of the Audobon ballroom and in illegal raids in Oakland, CA. The movement ended because its efforts were effectively halted and the forward movement of an oppressed people quelled. The remaining civil rights leaders didn’t pack up their things and move to the suburbs saying, “job well done, I got mine.” Agendas became scattered, organization broke down. Everyone, working and middle-class alike went their separate ways, doing the best they could to carry on in the shadow of injustice.

I cut my teeth on the civil rights movement, learned to walk with freedom and equality as my goals. I am the offspring of a civil rights leader and it was towards the end of the volatile era of the civil rights movement that I garnered my agenda for affecting social change through civic-minded responsibility. Through the eyes of a child, I saw the remnants of a dream that had been killed, and I struggle to resuscitate it daily.

In 1968, Operation Draw Fire was an initiative in coordination with Lincoln University and the Maryland NAACP to desegregate local eating establishments in response to the arrest of three South African students trying to get served at a local pub. In the plan, a colored operative would go in and order food, and if he was denied service, he would then signal for the second team of whites to come in and request service. This lone individual went into these establishments unarmed, without backup in the territory that was the headquarters for the Klan in the violent 1960s. Tensions were high and tempers easily flared at the thought of a Negro trying to take away white privilege. On many occasions, guns were pulled and life and limb threatened. There is very valid reason that none of this information is footnoted and documented. This story is a part of my legacy, tradition I can call upon at any time. That solitary colored operative was my grandfather. It is the blood of a hero that courses through my veins, and it is his name that I carry.

On July 25, 1968, Ku Klux Klan members threw 15 sticks of dynamite into the home of the first Black man to run for political office in Cecil County Maryland. Fortunately, the dynamite rolled down a bank and no lives were lost. If the perpetrators of that deed had accomplished their mission, I would not be alive today. I was in that home along with my uncle and my grandparents. It was my grandfather’s dedication to paving the way for all Black people that motivated him to continue to struggle past the death threats and attempts on his life. Not greed or power, it was his passion to fight for our rights as human beings.

My mother desegregated her high school in 1960 and was the only Black student in North East High School for three years. She went on to be arrested four times in 1964 attempting to integrate a movie theater as a student at Morgan State University. She was sprayed with insecticide, fed moldy food, and housed in the general population of the jail with murderers and violent criminals. As you can see, my heritage is rich with the tradition of the civil rights movement. Today, I head a non-profit organization created to battle the injustices of inequality in this society. It is my mission to create social change and to make level the playing field that keeps my people disadvantaged.

In conclusion, I might suggest that one’s civil rights in the new millennium are just as elusive as they were for the freedmen during reconstruction. The culprits are not as blatant, but they are equally as oppressive nonetheless. I will leave you with the words of my grandfather and his admonition to my generation in the pursuit of civil rights for us all: “As you travel along life’s highway, keep a sharp eye on that door that leads to equality, don’t let it close because your brother or sister may be trying to get in.”

Key Elements for a Healthy Relationship

It’s become more and more apparent to me, over the course of the last couple of weeks, that most people are absolutely clueless when it comes to what constitutes and establishes a healthy relationship. What’s worse, we aren’t even interested in changing our behaviors in an effort to move to a different place, we want to hold on to obviously dysfunctional and destructive patterns, justify them, and then blame other people for hurting us. The choices we make in our relationships are blatantly unhealthy and then we cry and boo hoo that the other person has wronged us. I know that everyone isn’t on the same path of healing but it seems almost incomprehensible that it’s 2005 and people are not even willing to make efforts to examine their lives in a conscious effort to build a stronger relationship.

NOW, I’ll be the first to say that I’m not an expert on relationships. I haven’t been in a relationship for almost 15 years. In those 15 years however, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to analyze why I’ve chosen the relationships I’ve been in, what I did wrong, what belief systems I need to change, and trying to conceptualize exactly how I want any future relationships I enter into. I’ve tried to determine exactly what I want my partner to be like, how I want to interact with my partner, what I bring to the table, and what things I will and will not compromise on in a partnership. I’ve come up with some things that I think are essential for building a healthy relationship and I’m going to share my thoughts on the subject with the hopes that some other people will come up with criteria that will work for them in building a strong relationship.

First and foremost, in order to build a healthy and strong relationship, you must, you MUST look at why you are the way you are. You have to figure out why you like the men that don’t like you, why you choose the women that need to be rescued and then you resent them when they ask you for security. You have to look at the reasons behind why you fall in love in a week and then three months later you hate that person like they are a serial killer. Why do you continue to love people that don’t love you? Why do you feel like your life is over when you get rejected? All of the reasons why we behave the way we do are set up in our childhood. We duplicate the things we experienced in our childhood so we must figure out what caused us to be the way we are. Your dad wasn’t around, your mother played the martyr “Strong Black woman” icon, you saw her have a string of no good men come in and out of your life, you wanted your daddy to love you, you wanted to be like your daddy, cool and aloof and unattached . . . whatever the belief system, you have to figure that out first and foremost so you can identify the pattern in your relationships and work to correct it. When you see that red flag pop up, you can understand where it comes from and then work towards moving to a healthier place. The problem with looking at our past is that it’s painful. We don’t want to have to face the fact that we think we are unworthy of love because we feel fat, ugly, insecure, or flawed. We don’t want to admit to ourselves that we have fears of abandonment from when we had to go live with our auntie when we were little. It is that acknowledgement and that ability to examine YOUR OWN LIFE that will make you a better person in a relationship and without that, you are doomed to continue to perpetuate those same horrible relationships over and over again.

You must have a set of emotional criteria that you feel is essential for what constitutes a loving relationship for you. You must define your emotional boundaries and establish what you need emotionally in a relationship and you have to demand that from your partner. What does that mean? Everyone has different things that would make them feel loved and valued, you have to have that clearly defined in your head and then seek a partner that is willing to help you paint that picture. If you meet someone and they can’t subscribe to your vision of love, if its too much of a burden for them to do the things you need to feed you emotionally, that’s not the person for you. For some people, you need a partner that will call you every day and check in with you just to make sure you are doing okay. For others, it means you need physical affection, constant hugs and kisses, and intimacy. Others still might need a relationship in which there is no fighting. You have to know what you want your relationship to look like in order for you to be able to achieve it. The trick is to identify the emotional things that build strong relationships and not the material things that damage them.

Suppose, as a woman, you think love is having a man buy you all sorts of thing and pay all your bills. You seek that out in a partner and then he beats you, controls your every move, you feel trapped. What you’ve done is identify a selfish material need, not an emotional need. The emotional need would be to feel security. Security comes in many forms and can be expressed in lots of ways. If your man helps you organize your bills so you can pay them on time yourself, helps you get your resume together so you can get a better job with more income, quizzes you with interview questions, if he helps you plan a budget so that you can save to buy a house and you won’t have to be uprooted once a year, that’s meeting your emotional needs, not your physical ones. If, as a man, you want a relationship where you have a woman that looks like she stepped off the cover of a magazine or a video set every day in order to show other men that you are better than them, in order to prove that you have what it takes to get the best looking woman, what you are looking for emotionally is confidence and self esteem. That can’t come from a woman; true confidence and self-esteem must come from inside. That woman that has her hair done all the time, her nails and toes painted to match, that wears the designer outfit in her two-seater, convertible sports car will not honor you as a man, she will use you for your money and move on when the next man with more money offers to buy her. The woman that will help you go back to school and get your degree, and who will get up at 5 am on a Saturday morning to help you train for that marathon is the woman that will support your accomplishments and be a loving partner. As long as you go for the packaging and not what’s inside, you’ll be doomed to be miserable in your relationships.

3. A healthy relationship must be built on integrity and selflessness. Integrity means steadfast adherence to a strict moral or ethical code and selflessness means exhibiting, or motivated by NO concern for oneself; unselfish. Those are foreign words to most people these days because we’ve been socialized to look out for self. The idea of putting another person’s feelings above our own is impossible for some people to grasp. You can’t be in a healthy relationship if you lie, cheat, or make choices that benefit you and not your partner. Every choice, every decision, every move you make has to benefit your partner or your relationship. Now, here’s the rub. Your partner has to have the same commitment to the relationship in order for it to work. You can’t say, “I love XYZ, but I have to go out on Friday night to party because that’s what I love to do and if they don’t like it, too bad.” Well, that’s not entirely true. You can say that but you will be in a very unhealthy relationship if you do. To be in a healthy relationship, you have to put your needs last and have a partner that is willing to put their needs last as well. If both of you are working on building a relationship where you honor and love the other person, where you put the other person’s needs ahead of your own, both of you will be in a relationship where neither on will jeopardize the relationship by doing something selfish. That means you can’t have instant gratification all the time. That means you won’t cheat when the opportunity comes up because you think you can get away with it because you will think about your spouse and know that your actions would hurt them. You won’t stay out all weekend without calling because you will know that they will be worried to death about you. You won’t buy the super expensive hot tub or the entertainment system you’ve always wanted without asking permission first because you know any selfish choice you make for yourself in the relationship will negatively effect how you get along. You will ask your partners opinion on things and come to a compromise that honors both of you.

4. It almost goes without saying because it’s so essential and most people will say they want it in a relationship but hardly anyone at all practices it. Honesty is the foundation for a healthy relationship. Honesty means telling your partner all your dirty little secrets, fears, fantasies, dreams, and insecurities. Honest y is the ultimate measure of respect for your partner and it’s the cornerstone for two people relating in a way that will grow and build. You must start by being honest with yourself. That means you must be able to admit to yourself that you really do like the idea of having sex in a tub of chocolate pudding and that it’s not going to go away, no matter how much you want it to. You have to tell be able to tell your partner all of the things that make you tick or otherwise you are only presenting a shell of yourself to your partner and you are not allowing them to love all of you. If you have a sexual fantasy that you are afraid to share you’re your spouse, that means you are ashamed of your fantasy. If you are ashamed of your fantasy, that means you are not being true to yourself. “But my wife will never understand that I want to get fucked in the ass with a strapon, she’ll think I’m gay.” “My boyfriend will never understand that I want to be gangbanged.” If you are with a partner who will not be willing to communicate and love you for who you are, you aren’t in a healthy relationship. There is no consensual sexual fantasy or fetish that should not be able to be discussed. You, as an adult, should be able to A.) point to the emotional need it fills in you and work to get that in other ways, and B.) keep in mind that if you choose to fulfill a fantasy without your partner, you’ve violated the rule of putting your partner’s emotional needs first.

Honesty goes far beyond just sharing your fantasies. You have to be able to tell your spouse that you peed your pants in the third grade when the teacher called you to the blackboard and you were nervous because you didn’t know the answer. You have to be able to tell your spouse that your cousin molested you when you were 10 and it’s fucked with your head ever since. You have to have a commitment to telling your partner that you’ve made a mistake and were unfaithful and let them choose how to process that information in a way that is healthy for them. You have to not keep the information that the IRS is going to repossess your home for tax fraud you had before you got married. Any time you keep a secret from your spouse, any time you lie, and time you allow dishonesty to come between you and your partner, you are chipping away at the foundation of your healthy relationship.

“Well, I’m in a relationship and I know that he or she will leave me if I told them the truth about all the shit I’ve done.” That is a glaring indication that you are in an unhealthy relationship. There are too many things that will work to destroy your relationship outside your front door. Again, you have to have a commitment to telling the truth and you have to have a partner that is equally as committed to telling the truth. If you start letting dishonesty in your relationship, your partner will not have your back when the shit hits the fan. Having a healthy relationship is not easy, in fact, it’s very hard. Lies and healthy relationship just don’t mix.

5. Good communication is essential in building a healthy relationship. You and your partner must have a way to disagree that doesn’t include yelling, screaming, and calling names. Most of us don’t know how to do that so go get a book on communication or go to counseling. You must be willing to let your partner be mad without getting defensive. You must be willing to let your partner have the space they need in order to process their emotions. You have to be willing to look things from their perspective and see things as they see them. You have to be willing to find a partner that is committed to having the same standard to communication as you or else you’ve just entered into another dysfunctional relationship.

6. Similar belief systems are a key ingredient to building a strong, healthy relationship. I’ve heard many people say that they want a partner who shares the same social interests as them but they don’t care what their philosophical, or political, or spiritual beliefs are. That is a recipe for a shaky relationship at best. It would be great if you and your partner liked the same music and movies and you both liked to bowl. Those things are entertainment and it would be great to share those things with your partner. If, however, you are looking to build a healthy relationship with you partner, those things are icing on the cake and not the key ingredients to building a relationship. If you are a radical libertarian and you get involved with someone who thinks Bush is the best president since Reagan (which is saying a whole helluva lot) then you are going to be setting up arguments in your relationship about your core beliefs. If you like skating and your partner likes chess but you both are staunch Green Party, Pro-Choice, Anti-war, vegetarian, Hassidic Jews then you can go out skating, your partner can go out and play chess and when you come home you’ll be share your thoughts and feelings over a plate of curry lentils and plan out a strategy to hug a tree and rally for legislation to bring our soldiers home. Those are the things that will make the community better and building a strong community starts with building a strong family unit first. If you like 50cent and your partner like Cold Play, you can set times to listen to your music and his or her music that doesn’t piss both of you off. If you believe in your heart that a gay couple has a right to adopt and your partner does not, you are going to go to bed pissed off and mad many, many night.

If you aren’t in a relationship now and you want to be, how do you ensure that the next relationship will be healthier than your last? Go down the list and start by making a commitment that you are going to work on all of those things before you enter into a relationship again. Practice being honest, it’s not easy. Practice resolving conflicts in a different way. Decide what emotional needs you want met in your relationship and be willing to put them on the table as non-negotiables. When you find a person and they fit the outside criteria and not the emotional needs, make a commitment to pass and continue to invest your time and energy into relationships that is healthy. Sit down and write out all the things that shaped your personality. Take the time to really get to know a person BEFORE you commit to them. Take some time to get to know yourself. That means stay in the house for a few weekends, don’t talk on the phone every night trying to find someone to hook up with. Don’t be so desperate to be in a relationship that you throw yourself at the next person that shows interest in you. I’d say if you did any combination of those things, you’d be on your way to a more fulfilling, satisfying, enriching relationship than the ones you’ve been in in the past.